Питер Ловси - On the Edge

‘I can believe it.’

The matter still wasn’t settled to Antonia’s satisfaction, even though Hector had given his blessing. There was the problem of his eating arrangements. ‘How can I go up to Manchester knowing you won’t eat a thing? It’s no good looking at me like that, Hector. You’re too proud to eat in a restaurant alone.’

He shook his head. ‘Not too proud. I don’t enjoy it, that’s all.’

‘It comes down to the same thing.’ She swung round and addressed Rose. ‘You see how difficult he makes it?

The silly man won’t have a hot dinner for as long as I’m gone.’

‘How does he manage for lunch?’

‘Never eats it. This is the only substantial meal he gets. He’s going to collapse if he doesn’t eat something.’

The thought crossed Rose’s mind that if all Hector was lacking was a dining companion, she could easily volunteer. This thought was overtaken by another: this concern for Hector’s eating arrangements didn’t square with Antonia’s plans for him. No, she thought. Something lies behind this.

She slipped in a suggestion. ‘Couldn’t you cook something like a stew before you go and leave it in the oven for Hector to warm up?’

As if Hector hadn’t heard of anything so humble as stew, Antonia provided a rough translation. ‘Goulash.’

He gave a shrug.

‘Darling, he’d like nothing better, but there are two little snags. First, I couldn’t make a stew to save my life, and second, Hector would blow up the house trying to light the gas.’

‘Could I do it?’

‘Light the gas?’

‘Prepare the evening meal.’ The suggestion came from Rose spontaneously, and immediately after making it she cursed herself for being so impetuous. Then she thought about the prospect more calmly and decided that if Antonia were away in Manchester there couldn’t be any harm in it. She’d do as much for any friend. It was a practical and agreeable way of dispensing at least a little of the obligation she had to Antonia. ‘I can easily cook up a stew, but I don’t know about goulash.’

‘It’s just extra seasoning, like curry. That’s a thought!’ Antonia smiled knowingly at Hector and he nodded back.

Rose looked towards each of them in turn. ‘What’s that?’

‘Could you make a curry for him? He’d adore that.’

She liked the suggestion. It would be much more tempting to serve up to Hector than plain old stew. ‘Well, yes. I make quite a passable lamb curry.’

‘Darling, that’s awfully good of you. Let me buy the ingredients. The meat. Everything. It’ll keep in the fridge. We’ll give you a key and you can let yourself in whenever you want and do the cooking. Hector gets home about six from the exhibition. He won’t be a minute late if there’s a curry waiting. You’re an angel.’

Hector raised his glass to her. ‘The lady who is about to save my life.’

She felt herself go pink.

At the door of Reggiori’s, Antonia was handed a box not unlike the cake-box she’d picked up at the Ritz. Rose asked what the cat was getting for supper and learned that it was salmon.

They drove her back to Pimlico in the Bentley. She thanked them profusely for the meal and for bringing her home.

While Hector was turning the car she stood waving from her front door.

‘Like some little girl who went to a birthday party.’

‘What?’ Antonia was staring out of the other window at the road safety poster.

‘Rosie. Such nice manners. I believe you’re wrong about her. She wouldn’t make trouble for us with the police. Didn’t you see how she really wants to cook dinner for me? She jumped at it. How can you think of this wicked thing?’

‘Don’t start up now, little man. I’m pooped.’

‘Pooped from telling so many lies.’

Hector wasn’t used to getting the last word, so it was no surprise when Antonia pitched in as they were motoring up Park Lane. ‘She really took you in, didn’t she? You’re a sucker for the little-girl-lost look. The timid smile and watery blue eyes.’

‘No wonder her eyes are sad when her husband just died. Don’t you have no pity?’

Antonia shook with amusement, taking gusts of air through her nostrils. ‘You prize idiot! She isn’t suffering. Barry was no loss. She killed him.’

He drew the car in to the kerb and switched off the engine. ‘Antonia, I do not believe this.’

‘He was a washout as a husband so she shoved him on to the Piccadilly Line and picked up five thousand in insurance. Don’t waste any sympathy on Rose Bell, my innocent. She’s a killer. You can ask her.’

‘How can I ask such a thing?’

‘Ask her if she really misses him. You’ll see the guilt in her face.’

Rose used a key Antonia had given her to enter the house in Park Crescent early on Tuesday afternoon. Antonia had phoned that morning to say she was catching the 11.25 from Euston, adding that she’d stocked up at Fortnum’s and a little place she knew that didn’t bother with ration books and she’d left heaps of things in the fridge and Rose was to use whatever she wanted and to hell with austerity.

Until the moment the latch clicked behind her, Rose hadn’t foreseen the unease she would feel letting herself into someone else’s house. All five doors leading off from the hall were closed. She wished she’d been more observant of the layout when Antonia had brought her here before, instead of goggling at it all like a GI in Piccadilly Circus. She did remember that the blue and white sitting room looked on to the street, so presumably that was the first door, but which was the kitchen? Somewhere ahead. She stepped forward, grasped a handle, turned it and found herself staring into darkness. Judging by the musty smell, it was the route to the cellar.

She closed that door and tried another. Second time lucky. Hector’s enormous fridge gave a welcoming throb. She slipped off her coat and hung it on a hook behind the door.

There was a folded note on the kitchen table with her name on it. Antonia’s writing was huge. It ran to several sheets.

Rose Darling,

You’re one in a million.

Meat in the fridge. Also butter and as many fresh veggies as I could carry home. Onions on the windowsill. Raisins and sultanas in the canisters on the dresser (second shelf) next to all the spices. Be generous with the curry powder — Hec doesn’t believe it’s the real thing unless he breathes fire after it. Oh, and if you want to go to the trouble of rice, there’s a packet beside the breadbin. Hope I haven’t forgotten anything essential. Found the ingredients in the New World cookery book, which I’m sure you won’t need to use — I’ve never used it either!

Hec says he will be in about six each night and for once he definitely means it.

Raffles will finish any trimmings from the meat. Did I mention that he’s the cat?

I’m counting on being back by Saturday. Let’s all have another meal at Reggiori’s. By God, you deserve it!

Love,

It was a good thing that Raffles was mentioned, because before Rose had finished reading the note she felt a movement against her leg. A second or two earlier and neither she nor the cat would have got much pleasure from the contact. She picked him up and faced the scrutiny of his large orange eyes.

‘So you’re Raffles, are you? Shall we see if we can crack this safe together? Oh, my word, look at this!’

A family could have fed from that fridge for a month. She put Raffles down and collected butter and lard by the armful just to find a way through to the milk.

Having filled the cat’s saucer she went back to the fridge. Presently she located the meat — beautiful boned lamb and heaps more than she needed for a single curry, whatever the capacity of Hector’s appetite. She picked a large piece that must have weighed two pounds or so, then looked round for a knife and chopping board. She was going to need extra time for working in a strange kitchen.