Питер Ловси - On the Edge

Antonia was in no hurry to move on. She wanted the essential message to sink in first. He was not unintelligent.

When he spoke again his tone was sceptical, but he’d got the point. ‘Her body, your funeral.’

‘Exactly. That’s why you must make the arrangements. It isn’t much to do, considering what you get in return. No more worries over the Maudie business. And you’ll be a single man again. A widower for the second time. We were talking about it only the other day. A life of your own, you old goat. You’ll never hear from me again.’

‘Oh yes? Where will you go?’

‘America, with Vic.’

‘They won’t let you stay.’

‘Don’t fret over that. I’ll be married to him and he’s got that job at Princeton.’

‘ Married? ’

‘Birdbrain. Haven’t you worked it out? I’ll be using Rose’s identity. It’s simply a matter of going through her handbag after she’s dead. Her identity card will be there. If by any chance it isn’t, the key of her house is sure to be, and I’ll collect it the same evening and become sweet little Rosie Bell. I’ll marry Vic at a registry office somewhere outside London within a couple of days. New surname. New passport. New country. Isn’t it neat?’

‘What about her people? They will report that she’s missing.’

‘Hector, thousands of people are missing. Haven’t you ever looked at those lists in the Sunday papers? The police can’t keep up with it. What’s one more missing woman?’

He gave up trying to pick fault with the plan. He turned obstinate instead. ‘I won’t do this, Antonia. It’s a mortal sin. I should never have let you kill poor Maudie. I suffer terrible dreams for that. I can’t stand by and let you repeat that wicked thing.’

‘Come off it, Hector! Don’t get high and mighty with me now. It doesn’t wash. We’re in this together.’

‘Not together. Leave me out.’

‘How can I? Be reasonable. I can’t arrange my own funeral.’

There was another scrunch from the bedsprings as he kicked out in fury. ‘You tell me be reasonable? Killing another innocent woman — is that reasonable?’

‘She’s not so innocent as you think, but that’s not the point. I’m going to insist that you help me in this, Hector. You and I are going to make it happen exactly as I told you. I shall definitely kill her. If anything goes wrong, if you fail me, I swear to God I’ll see you swing for killing Maudie.’

‘Maudie! You pushed her in the pool!’

‘With your connivance. You wanted to get rid of her. You were sick of her black moods and her drinking. I told you what I was going to do. That made you an accessory before the fact of murder, Hector. That’s a hanging offence.’

‘I didn’t know how serious you were.’

‘You stood back and let me get on with it. An English court of law isn’t going to waste much sympathy on a nasty little foreigner who gets his mistress to do the dirty work for him. I might get away with a life sentence, but it’s the rope for you, make no mistake about that.’

She let him brood on that. When he spoke again it was with an air of resignation.

‘Say what you want. Exactly.’

She went over her plan minutely. And after she’d told him the undemanding but necessary part she wanted him to play, she added that she also required twenty thousand pounds to get settled in America.

He was silent.

She said it would be a once and for all payment. He would never hear from her again.

He said she could have it. Then he called her a bloodsucking monster.

She wished him a cheery goodnight.

Rose’s nerves had given her another bad night. On Wednesday morning she needed to do something to occupy her mind so she went to Gorringe’s and blued two clothing coupons and some of her new wealth on a roll of parachute silk. She’d decided to run up a set of under-clothes on the sewing machine. Her dreary Utility things would go into service as floorcloths. Walking around the shop she drew up a mental shopping list, a wardrobe for the good times ahead. After a decent interval she would get a ‘long look’ coat, a suit with padded hips and shoulders, a couple of day dresses in bright prints and some shiny sling-back shoes. But the silk undies came first. It would create a bad impression to break out too soon after burying Barry. She didn’t want the likes of Mr Sharp spreading rumours. Yet she couldn’t wait to blot out every memory of Barry, throw out all the clothes she’d worn while she was married to him and start afresh. Well, some silk undies would be a start. No one need know what she was wearing underneath. Not without an invitation, she told herself in an effort to be frivolous. People were always telling her she was too solemn. She went straight up to Haberdashery and bought five yards of lace trimming.

She snipped and machined all afternoon with the firm intention of wearing her handiwork on Saturday when Antonia and Hector took her out to dinner. Up to now she’d been intimidated by Antonia’s clothes. It would be a confidence boost to wear silk under her dreary old suit.

She was going to have no nonsense from Antonia, she decided. A week’s respite from that domineering presence had given her a chance to think for herself. Antonia was clearly playing some elaborate and tasteless charade. She had always enjoyed shocking others, but that remark about having Hector cremated had been the limit. And that dangerous escapade to obtain the blank death registration certificate was obviously part of the same ghoulish game.

Wasn’t it?

It was horrid to talk about doing away with Hector as if he were just as expendable as Barry. The two couldn’t be compared. Barry had degenerated dangerously. He’d started to get violent. There would have been no escape. But Hector offered no threat whatsoever. He’d done nothing despicable that Rose had heard of. In fact he appeared rather charming. His worst fault, it seemed, was that he talked too much about his work — hardly a capital crime. Antonia was bored with him. She wanted to be rid of him, but there was a catch. She also wanted his money, to keep on living like a countess. Not a nice reason for killing anyone.

That, in Rose’s eyes, would be a very wicked murder. Of course it was nonsense. It had to be.

She had an unpleasant shock on Friday. The doorbell rang at lunchtime and when she answered it she saw two children with the lifeless body of an adult man between them. They were trying with difficulty to support him at the armpits. His head hung over his chest and his knees had buckled under him. He was dressed in a grey trilby, shirt, trousers and boots. The elder child grabbed the head and jerked it upright.

‘Penny for the Guy, miss.’

The face was a crudely drawn mask. The body was stuffed.

‘Bonfire Night.’

‘Isn’t it rather early for that? It’s still October.’

They were the Irish children from two doors along. They stood staring at her.

‘I’ll see what I’ve got in my purse. Did you make him yourselves?’

‘Yes, miss.’

‘He doesn’t look very warm, dressed like that, in just a shirt. Wait a minute. I’ve got an idea.’

She returned presently with Barry’s demob jacket, the garment Ronald had been caught in the act of trying on. ‘See if this fits.’

‘That’s too good for the Guy, miss.’

‘I’ve no use for it. Look, it suits him.’ She laughed. ‘And here’s a tie. He’ll look smart in a tie.’

In Barry’s jacket and RAF tie, he looked distinctly smarter.

Antonia phoned on Saturday morning and suggested they met at the restaurant at eight.

‘Reggiori’s, in Euston Road, practically opposite St Pancras, darling. It’s my regular haunt, red plush and brass, suits me down to the ground, terribly decadent, but the food is as good as you’ll get anywhere. Can you make it, or would you like me to collect you?’