Питер Ловси - On the Edge

‘I’m managing the best I can. Would you care for a cup of tea?’

‘That sounds agreeable.’

‘If you don’t mind the kitchen, it’s warmer in there.’

He stood rubbing his hands by the boiler. The teacloths from yesterday’s wash-up were draped from the struts attached to the flue.

Rose reached for the matches and lit the gas under the kettle. ‘What have you got — more forms for me to fill in?’

‘I require no more than a signature this time. The funeral was yesterday, I believe.’

‘Yes.’

‘I dare say you’re glad it’s over.’

She detected an undercurrent of disapproval in the voice.

‘It kept me busy. I was grateful for that.’

‘Stopped your mind from dwelling on things.’

‘True.’

‘Are you able to get any sleep at all?’

She gave him a long, cool look. ‘While we’re waiting for the kettle, Mr Smart, don’t you think we should get down to business?’

‘As you wish. This is what you are waiting for, I think.’ He took a brown envelope from his pocket and placed it ostentatiously on the kitchen table. ‘Your cheque for five thousand pounds.’

She resisted the polite impulse to say thank you. Why should she? Nor did she snatch up the envelope and rip it open. She put out cups and saucers and went to the larder for milk.

‘I shall require your signature on the receipt.’

‘Naturally.’ She noticed her Coronation biscuit tin taking up room at the front of the larder and remembered what it contained. ‘A piece of cake?’

Mr Smart unexpectedly laughed, and there wasn’t any humour in the laugh. ‘Tell me, is that an offer of something to eat — or self-congratulation?’

She felt the blood drain from her face. ‘What exactly do you mean?’

He gave a superior smile. ‘A piece of cake. One of those cheerful phrases the RAF has given the language. Is that what all this has been, Mrs Bell? A piece of cake?’

She clenched her teeth. She thought, I’ve been through a police interrogation, an inquest and a funeral. Am I to be tripped by this pipsqueak insurance man? He’s only guessing. He can’t be certain. She prised the lid off the tin and held her mother’s trench cake in front of him.

He selected a slice. There was a sneer on his face, as if the act of handing over the cheque had absolved him of the need to curry favour. ‘Strictly between ourselves, I’ve come across some queer things in the insurance business, but this is one of the queerest. The very day your husband is due to surrender his policy, he’s killed in an accident. Astonishing. You can hardly blame my company for wanting to make sure of the facts. We put the case in the hands of our best investigators. They find that the only person who stands to benefit — no sugar, if that’s my cup — has a watertight alibi. Sorry, I shouldn’t use the word “alibi”. It implies that an offence was committed and we know it wasn’t, don’t we? The coroner was satisfied, his jury were satisfied and our investigators were unable to prove that anything irregular had happened.’

So it was supposition. He knew nothing about Antonia.

‘Then I suggest, Mr Smart, that you stop imagining things.’ Rose pushed the tea towards him. She reached for her handbag and took out her fountain pen. ‘Do you have that receipt?’

‘In the envelope.’

He finished his tea and left without touching the cake.

Some time after midnight Hector stopped work in his office downstairs and came to bed. He undressed in the dark, padding about in his shirt-tails so as not to disturb Antonia.

He didn’t disturb her because she was still awake. She lay in silence in her own bed with her eyes open, waiting. The plan of action she was shortly to outline to Hector required his total concentration. She wanted him passive, in bed, where he had no choice except to listen. He had to be made to understand that his part in the plan was not only necessary, but inescapable.

She waited two or three minutes after he’d climbed into bed.

‘Hec.’

‘Mm?’

‘What did you think of Rose?’

‘Who?’

‘My pretty little friend from the WAAF.’

‘Rosie Bell? Nice girl. Why ask me?’

‘I’ve decided to kill her.’

The bedsprings screeched. ‘You gone mad?’

‘I knew you’d say that. Listen, will you? It’s the perfect answer to our problem. We invite her here to cook for you while I’m away.’

‘You’re going to kill her?’

‘Pipe down and listen. I said I’m going away for a few days.’

‘Going away? Where?’

‘I’ll come to that. I won’t really be away. Not far, anyway. I’ve arranged to stay somewhere near. We give Rose the key and she lets herself in to make you a pie or something. I saw the way she looked at you when you asked if she could cook. She’ll do it for you. I’ll be hiding in the house. I surprise her and knock her out with chloroform. Then I smother her with a cushion. No blood. No mess.’

‘Antonia, this is raving mad, you know.’

‘No, it isn’t, and I’ll tell you why. I’ve managed to get hold of a blank death certificate.’

‘A doctor’s certificate?’

‘No. Get a grip on yourself, Hector, and listen . A death registration. The one the registry office issues. With that we can get a body buried. We fill it in ourselves. We won’t even need a doctor’s certificate. It’s quite straightforward.’

‘You think?’

‘I’m certain.’

‘But it’s wicked to think of killing that poor sweet girl. What has Rosie done to hurt you or me? Nothing. She trusts us.’

‘Poor, sweet girl! Hector, you’re a mutt. That sweet girl is bloody dangerous. She’s got to be stopped.’

‘Stopped? What is she doing?’

‘Any day now she’ll go to the police.’ Antonia took a deep breath. ‘My fault, I admit it. I was taken in like you. Stupidly I let something slip about Maudie’s death.’

Hector groaned. ‘Maudie! Oh, no! You opened your big mouth. Crazy!’

Smoothly and expertly, Antonia embroidered fiction over the facts. ‘Days ago I made some remark about having to wait for Maudie to die before you and I could marry. Then of course she met you and almost the first thing you told her was that Maudie drowned. I don’t blame you, Hec, but she was on to it at once. She won’t let it pass. She’s been pestering me about it ever since. She’s that sort of person. I’m certain she knows already.’

‘Would she really go to the police?’

‘You’ve met her. She’s a vicar’s daughter. A model bloody citizen. She’d regard it as her moral duty. She’s got to be stopped, Hec.’

His reply was muffled, as if he’d pressed his hands to his face. ‘I can’t do this, Antonia.’

‘You don’t have to. I’m doing it. It’s too bloody late to discover you have a conscience.’

He was silent for a long time.

‘All right, you crazy bitch. After you kill Rosie in this house, what do you say to her people? She tripped over the cat and fell downstairs? She choked on a fish bone? You think her mother and father are going to believe you? And who arranges the funeral? You can’t take this certificate to the undertaker and get her buried yourself.’

‘No, my sweet. That’s your job.’

‘Mine? You make a big mistake there.’

‘Calm down and listen to me, little man. You’ve jumped to all the wrong conclusions. Give me credit for some intelligence. There will be no trouble from Rosie’s people because they won’t know she’s dead. The name on the death certificate will be mine. It will be my funeral, Hector. Can you get that into your head?’

He took a huge breath and then exhaled in a series of nervous bursts.