R Raichev - Assassins at Ospreys

‘Like Lear of the heath?’ Major Payne suggested. At once he put down his glass and cleared his throat. ‘Sorry. Shouldn’t be saying things like that.’

Beatrice giggled. ‘Oh dear, yes. Yes. So apt. Quite impossible!’ Then she became serious. ‘Len let them see all those little girls – he had no right to! I mean the photos in Ingrid’s room. He also showed them that poem Ingrid wrote ages ago – to prove how mad she was. He wasn’t himself. He’s been in a ghastly state these last couple of days. His battery has been discharging faster than it could charge. The police took copious notes. Len exaggerated terribly – that’s what made me angry, you see. He made Ingrid sound like some dangerous lunatic – some homicidal maniac. Well, I was really nasty to him afterwards. I mean – really nasty. I shouted at him and said some very unkind things. I should have been more understanding but I lost my temper. Poor Len’s got an awful lot on his mind. He is terribly worried about his letting business, poor pet.’

‘What letting business?’ Antonia asked.

‘Len owns property. Several houses in London and in Oxford, which he rents out to people. He’s got tenants,’ Beatrice explained. ‘Sounds a marvellous thing, doesn’t it, being the wife of a rentier. Everybody immediately thinks of the Duke of Westminster. Oh, you’ve got houses – you must be rolling, everybody tells me, but the truth is the poor darling is not terribly good at it. He has had horrendous problems with some of his tenants. He’s been losing pots of money – he’s had three lawsuits in the last two months! I think he’s on the brink of bankruptcy.’

‘Surely not?’ Major Payne said.

‘I am afraid so. Yes. He doesn’t want me to know, he doesn’t want to upset me, but I’ve looked through his papers. Oh, he is too good, too decent, too unassuming, too gentlemanly.’ Beatrice looked at Payne and lowered her eyes, as though to suggest that she considered him to be of that vanishing breed too.

‘What exactly is the problem?’ Antonia asked.

‘Well, unscrupulous common people think of Len as a soft touch and they take advantage of him. Everybody has been taking advantage of him – his solicitors, his account-ant, the estate agents – the exorbitant bills they send him! I couldn’t believe my eyes. Quite ridiculous, really. Inflating the already bursting coffers of the legal profession! All right. Len is not terribly enterprising – it’s simply not in his blood. The Colvilles are of the untitled aristoc-racy, you see. I know one shouldn’t say things like that but on the other hand, why not?’

‘They are all in the Landed Gentry,’ murmured Payne.

‘They are. A fine old yeoman stock. Once the backbone of the empire. The Colvilles go back to the sixteenth century – Henry VIII employed a Colville as his Esquire of the Body. Once upon a time they were frightfully rich and influential, but they have fallen on bad times – one of Len’s cousins is being investigated for tax evasion – an aunt of his is in rehab – she is eighty-seven. Terribly depressing.’

‘Tempora mutantur. Or should one say – Sic transit gloria mundi?’ Payne said, putting his forefinger to his cheek – like Rodin’s Le Penseur, Antonia thought. Or rather Le Poseur – if ever there was a statue of Major Hugh Payne, that was the inscription it should bear.

She said, ‘So Ralph Renshawe’s money will come in quite handy, I suppose?’

‘Oh yes, Antonia. Dear me – yes! It will be the kiss of life Len needs – we need. The fairy godfather solution. I will let the poor darling have every penny he needs… Would you like another drink, Hugh?’

‘No, thank you. Back to your secret assignation,’ Payne went on. ‘I assume Ingrid didn’t turn up?’

‘She didn’t. I sat at a table and waited and drank I don’t know how many cups of coffee, but she didn’t come… What time did I get to Oxford? Well, at about ten to ten. I drove there in my car. We have two – Len drives a Peugeot. I found the cafe easily enough and I sat there until twenty past eleven. There was some perfectly dreadful man who sat at a nearby table. He made advances – offered to buy me a drink. He was quite insistent.’

‘Did you accept?’ Payne asked.

‘Of course not. Hugh!’ Beatrice giggled. ‘Oh, the whole thing was so dreary! I don’t really blame that man. I mean I was suspect – woman on her own, all made up and wearing a hat – he must have taken me for a tart, but then thank God Cressie de Villeneuve turned up – a dear, dear old chum of mine I hadn’t seen for ages, so we went and had lunch together -’ Beatrice broke off. ‘What was the meaning of that phone call? Have you any ideas? I mean – where is Ingrid?’

There was a pause. Payne asked, ‘Is Colville sure he saw her?’

‘Positive. Ingrid was dressed up as me, wig and all. He saw her as she left the house and started walking in the direction of the bus stop – it’s further down the road. The number 19 takes you to Coulston and it stops practically outside Ospreys… Len was standing by the window – Oh I’ll show you!’ Beatrice rose to her feet.

‘He snapped her.’ ‘Snapped her?’ Antonia echoed.

‘I mean, took a photo of her – with the Polaroid.’ Beatrice pointed to the camera lying on the small desk beside the window. ‘He thought of it on the spur of the moment. He had a brainwave. He decided it would be a good idea to show Arthur – his Scotland Yard friend – what Ingrid got up to, in case Arthur didn’t believe him.’

‘Did he show the photo to the police?’ Payne asked.

‘He certainly did. They took it away with them, but there’s a second photograph. Len took two photos.’ Beatrice opened the top desk drawer and took out a photo-graph. ‘It’s got the date – and the exact time. 26th November, 9.12 a. m… Look… Frightful, isn’t it?’ For a moment it looked as though Beatrice was going to sit on the arm of Payne’s chair. ‘Poor Ingrid. She does look like me on a bad day. She’s put on weight.’

‘She’s wearing a jacket with your monogram on the breast pocket,’ Antonia observed.

‘Oh, that suit,’ Beatrice said dismissively. ‘So ’80s. Look at the horrible padded shoulders. To think that was all the rage, remember, Antonia? Power dressing! Always made me look enormous. I’ve only worn it once or twice. She’s welcome to it.’

Payne said thoughtfully, ‘So that was the last time she was ever seen… She asked you to go to Oxford while she – she went to Ospreys… We are assuming she went to Ospreys…’

‘Why ask me to go to Oxford when she had no intention of going there herself?’ Beatrice leant forward. ‘Why send me on a wild-goose chase? Why ask me to wear dark glasses and a hat and insist I continue wearing them in the cafe? Why ask me to put on different lipstick? I did every-thing – to humour her. It made me look a bit like Joan Collins, but I followed her instructions to the letter. In case she came along, saw I didn’t look the way she expected and left. Ingrid can be wildly temperamental.’

‘She asked you to wear a hat and dark glasses at the cafe – and different lipstick?’ Antonia was frowning. ‘While she herself was dressed up as you… Ostentatiously so – with your initials emblazoned in gold on her chest, for the whole world to see…’

‘I still don’t understand -’ Suddenly Beatrice gasped. ‘No – I do. I do understand. Oh my God. Oh my God. I see it now. Antonia, you don’t think she went to Ospreys to kill Ralph – and she wanted to make it look as though I had done it?’

‘That’s the likeliest explanation.’

‘She must really hate me. Oh, how she must hate me,’ Beatrice whispered. ‘Well of course, it all makes perfect sense now. The ingenuity of it! She didn’t want me to have an alibi for the time she was at Ospreys. She didn’t want me to be recognized by anyone who saw me at the cafe. I was to be her scapegoat. Oh my God. And she warned me not to tell Len where I was going! It all fits in. Oh, why does she hate me so much? Why?’