R Raichev - Assassins at Ospreys

‘Sure, madam. Come in… Your friends too. That’s fine. I am new here, but I’m sure it’s all right for friends of Mr Renshawe to visit him. My name is Greg. Mr Renshawe hasn’t been too bad, to tell you the truth. His appetite seems to be returning. He actually asked me to make him creme caramel!’ Greg held open the door for Payne and Antonia. ‘That was what he used to love eating best when he was a boy

… He also asked me to bring him a feather fan that had belonged to a lady friend of his!’

They walked into a gloomy hall where it felt distinctly cooler than outside. Major Payne looked round. Empty, but for two Pugin chairs and a rusty armour that seemed to have been made to accommodate a colossus. William and Adelaide gothick wallpaper. Was it faux? No – it looked authentic. He ran his hand across the wall – felt authentic too. The great staircase was made of black wrought iron and had red mahogany balustrades. Glancing up he saw angel faces with sly heavy-lidded eyes and outspread wings that seemed to have sprouted from the back of their heads hanging suspended from the hammer-beam vault above. They brought to mind monstrous bats poised for flight – or attack more likely, by the look of it, which was not something one would have expected from angels – something jolly unsettling about them – he felt they couldn’t be trusted. Surely that was not the way angels were supposed to affect one?

‘I will try to get as much out of him as possible,’ Payne heard Beatrice whisper.

‘This way, madam.’ Greg pointed to a door. ‘Oh, you know it – you’ve been here before.’

They watched Beatrice trip across the hall – as though she had done it hundreds of times – as though the place belonged to her! As she opened the door, they heard a thin voice pipe up, ‘Bee, my dear – is that you? How lovely to see you!’

The situation was curious, to say the least – well, surreal. Would Ralph see it was not the same one? Antonia wondered. And would it make any difference to his decision to leave his money to her if he did?

‘Would you like a drink? There’s orange juice and iced tea.’

‘Good idea. Thank you.’ Payne said and they followed Greg down a long corridor into the kitchen.

The kitchen was a large cavernous room with a round oak table in the middle. All the windows were open. ‘You wouldn’t think it was November, would you? All these flies and bluebottles! They keep coming in.’ Greg waved his hand.

‘It’s hot. They’ve crept out of their hibernation pad.’ Major Payne produced his pipe. He started patting his pockets.

‘If you smoke, they’ll probably go,’ Greg said. He went up to the fridge and took out a jug full of orange juice. It was very fresh. He had squeezed it himself some quarter of an hour earlier. The old man – he meant Mr Renshawe – loved orange juice. Mr Renshawe ate next to nothing, but he loved his orange juice.

‘You said there’s been an improvement?’

‘Well, yes, ma’am. I was told Mr Renshawe had been pretty bad, expected to die any minute, but he didn’t strike me as a dying man when I saw him. And he’s been even better today.’

‘You made him a creme caramel,’ Payne murmured.

‘That’s excellent news,’ Antonia said.

‘It is, ma’am. I don’t like it when my patients die.’ Greg poured juice into two tall glasses. He looked across at Payne. ‘Aren’t you going to light your pipe, sir? The nasty creatures are sure to fly out, if you do, I reckon.’

‘Sorry. Can’t find my tobacco pouch. Bloody nuisance. Don’t know what’s become of it. So you are new?’

‘Yes, sir. I arrived last night. Here you are, ma’am. Sir.’ Greg handed them the glasses. ‘The agency supplied me with instructions. I met Mr Saunders. He was here, waiting for me. Mr Saunders is Mr Renshawe’s solicitor.’

Antonia asked what happened to the woman who used to work for Ralph. Did Greg know where she went?

‘Nurse Wilkes? Oh, she left, ma’am. It was very sudden. She got a lot of money, Mr Saunders let drop. I think she won the lottery or Premium Bonds or something. Going to get married on one of those ocean liners, apparently. Lucky girl!’

‘Lucky in love as well as at cards or indeed the lottery. Doesn’t happen often.’ Payne shot a glance at Antonia and saw her give a meaningful nod. Jolly timely, he thought. A double disappearance and the nurse suddenly exits the stage. Unusual coincidences were always interesting. Still, one mustn’t jump to conclusions. ‘I suppose that’s her knitting over there?’ He pointed to a side table with the stem of his pipe.

‘I don’t know, sir, but it must be hers, yes. It was there when I arrived.’ Greg laughed. ‘ Seems she no longer wants to knit!’

‘She can’t anyhow – not with one needle.’ Payne had strolled over to the side table and picked up the knitting. He stroked his jaw with a thoughtful forefinger. ‘Where’s the other needle, do you know?’

Greg shrugged his massive shoulders. ‘Haven’t seen it anywhere. Lost, I guess.’

‘Did Nurse Wilkes leave other things unfinished or undone? Tasks for you to complete?’ Payne went on in casual tones.

‘Well, not that much – the place was spick-and-span.’ Greg stood with his arms folded before him. ‘I am talking about the ground floor. I don’t know what the situation is upstairs. It’s a big house. So I haven’t had to do much. Apart from those bloody sheets.’

‘I’d have hated to arrive at a place and start cleaning. This is delicious.’ Antonia took another sip of orange juice.

Greg frowned. ‘I did try to wash them but they were completely ruined, so in the end I threw them away.’

Payne cocked an eyebrow. ‘When you said “bloody”, did you mean it as an impolite term of exasperation – or did you mean the sheets were covered in blood?’

‘Covered in blood, sir. There seems to have been some sort of an accident. With Nurse Wilkes or the old man. There were bed sheets and three pillowcases and a pair of pyjamas – Mr Renshawe’s pyjamas, they had his mono-gram on the breast pocket – all bloodstained. Actually I don’t think Mr Renshawe cut himself or anything like that. I’d have noticed but there wasn’t a scratch on him, so it must have been Nurse Wilkes.’

‘Could she have bled over Renshawe and his bed?’ Payne murmured.

‘That’s what I wondered, sir. Nurse Wilkes had put the bloodied things into the washing machine and seemed to have forgotten about them. It was useless trying to wash them. So, as I said, I put them in a bin-liner and threw them away.’

‘Did you ask Mr Renshawe what happened?’

‘I did, sir. He said he had no idea what I was talking about. He seemed annoyed. He told me to dispose of the sheets at once. He seemed pleased when I told him I’d already done so.’

‘How very interesting,’ Payne said thoughtfully. ‘Um. Changing the subject, do you know whether Nurse Wilkes used to do any knitting in Renshawe’s room?’

Patterns, Antonia thought. He is as bad as me – trying to fit seemingly random details into a recognizable logical pattern.

‘It’s funny you should ask that, sir.’ Greg smiled. ‘The first time Mr Renshawe saw me, he asked whether I could knit. Said he’d got used to needles clicking in the back-ground. He found the sound soothing. I said I couldn’t. He said that perhaps I should take up knitting. I don’t know whether he was joking or not. He seemed serious, but then I don’t know Mr Renshawe well. He does say funny things – fancy him asking me to bring him that feather fan!’

‘Very funny, yes,’ Payne said.

Some men knitted as therapy, Antonia said. Knitting was proven to have a calming effect on people recovering from nervous breakdowns. Hadn’t the Duke of Windsor been fond of knitting? Or did she mean embroidery?