Питер Ловси - On the Edge

She should have taken a grip on herself and resumed the search she’d started. Instead she went downstairs and collected her things and left.

She walked fast down Portland Place towards Oxford Circus, wanting to shake off the physical and mental tensions. Keep moving, she told herself, and try to make sense of what happened. What was Vic doing there? He must have been in possession of a key to let himself in. His own key? Fat chance! The lover with a latchkey was an arrangement as likely to appeal to Antonia as darning socks.

No, Rose thought, Vic had been given the key for a different purpose — to check what had happened in the house in Antonia’s absence. He had been sent to see if Hector’s corpse was lying there. And he had phoned Antonia to report that it was not.

How foolhardy, how idiotic — to turn to Vic for help and put everything at risk!

Don’t get angry, she told herself. Stay in control. How will Antonia react? She might convince herself that the poison was slow to take effect. She might think it was diluted in the curry and that a second helping will do the trick. She might even guess correctly that he didn’t have any at all. After all the trouble she’s taken over this plan she’ll surely give it another night to work.

Rose carried on past Broadcasting House and All Souls into Upper Regent Street. Her step was still rapid, yet with more purpose in it than panic. She needed no proof of poisoning now, no more convincing that Hector’s life was in her hands. It was almost noon and she had plenty to do.

She made her way across Oxford Circus to the top end of Regent Street. To Liberty’s, to buy a nightdress. Thank God for that insurance money!

At the lingerie counter she asked to see the range. She was in luck. Some nightie and negligée sets in Swiss lawn had just come in. White, black and peach. The white looked marvellous against her skin. She pictured herself in the negligée, at home with Hector, in front of the bedroom fire, sipping champagne from the crystal glasses her glad-eyed Uncle Ben had given her as a wedding present. They’d never been used because Barry said champagne was for launching ocean liners. She would definitely find a shop that sold the stuff. And scent. The funds could run to something more alluring than the eau de Cologne she’d used for years.

‘Will madam be taking the white?’

Madam took the white. And then took a taxi to Selfridges’ to pick up a vintage Pommery. After that to the cosmetics counter for a bottle of Chypre by Coty, some Arden powder, a cherry-coloured lipstick and a bottle of Cutex Cameo nail varnish.

After that it was laughable being driven back to Pimlico to open a tin of Spam for lunch. Rose promised herself that if she handled this evening smartly she wouldn’t be living in her slum of a place much longer. She made a sandwich and some tea and ate standing up, taking drags at a cigarette between bites. Then she applied herself to getting the house into a state fit for a romantic encounter. She whisked round with a duster, throwing things into drawers. Upstairs she changed the sheets and pillowcases and laid the fires. Finally she threw some bath salts in the bath and ran the water. She allowed herself twenty minutes.

When she left at half past three she was wearing the dreary green tweed overcoat that she meant to replace at the first opportunity, but under it the snazzy black and white dress she’d made for the Oldfield Gardens party on VE Day. And her new silk undies.

There was a worrying suggestion of fog in the afternoon air. She considered what to do if a real pea-souper came down. Hector might see it as a God-given excuse for her to stay the night in Park Crescent. If so, he was in for a disappointment. She’d feel like death in that great mausoleum of a bedroom surrounded by Antonia’s things. And she wouldn’t be any happier in a hotel room if he suggested it. That would be ghastly. She couldn’t face it anywhere else but home.

She hailed a taxi in Vauxhall Bridge Road. The driver reckoned that in a couple of hours London would be at a standstill. Rose said she’d known fog to lift in a matter of minutes. He laughed.

‘Lady, I won’t argue with you, but don’t ask me to come and fetch you. You’re my last fare today.’

She didn’t answer. She was thinking ahead. She would persuade Hector to drive her back to Pimlico, whatever the conditions.

She was sure it was no thicker by the time they pulled up outside Antonia’s house. She paid the fare and took the key from her purse. She walked calmly up the steps and let herself in, resolved not to give way to the jitters. She was going to apply herself to the cooking.

She switched on the hall light.

‘There you are, my flower!’

The voice hit her like a snapped violin string. Antonia was standing halfway up the stairs leaning languidly on the banisters as if she had been home all day. She was in a black sweater and slacks, manifestly relishing this moment.

Rose stared, speechless, her brain whirling.

‘I see you left some shopping on the kitchen table, darling. Was that for Hector? I must settle up. I say, you look absolutely shattered. Is anything the matter?’

The words penetrated faintly to Rose’s brain, as if she were buried under rubble. She wasn’t listening anyway. She was thinking about her white nightie from Liberty’s draped across the bed at home. And the champagne waiting in the sideboard.

She made an effort to say something intelligible. ‘When did you get back?’

‘Half an hour ago, no more. A little bird told me it was safe to come back, so I did.’

‘Safe?’

‘Hector.’

‘What about Hector?’

‘Darling, you did brilliantly.’

Her heart thumped. ‘Did what, Antonia?’

‘Rosie, dear, you don’t have to put on an act for me. You know he’s lying dead in the bathroom.’

She felt the blood drain from her face. She would faint any minute. She fought against it, letting her handbag drop and propping herself against the wall. ‘He can’t be. I don’t believe you.’

Antonia was cruelly casual. ‘I suppose something didn’t agree with him. Could it have been your curry by any chance?’

‘He didn’t have any.’

‘What?’

‘I threw it away. We went to Reggiori’s.’

Antonia stared at her for perhaps five seconds. ‘For a quiet one, you’re a fast worker.’

‘Hector insisted on taking me.’ Rose heard her voice thicken with anger. ‘He ate none of that stuff you left in the fridge.’

The green eyes flashed. ‘Why not, for God’s sake? You really thought you had a chance, didn’t you? Who the hell do you think you are, sneaking off to a restaurant with my husband? I gave you instructions. I went to the trouble of writing them down.’

‘I don’t believe he’s dead.’

Antonia made a sound that was something between laughter and scorn. ‘Come up and see, then. We’ve got to move him to the bedroom.’

‘Then you killed him yourself.’

The voice took on a harder note, reinforced by a wagging finger. ‘Watch what you say, darling. We’re in this together. Sisters in crime. Remember? You’d better.’

‘I’ve done nothing wrong.’

‘Try telling that to the police.’

‘You’ve called the police?’

‘Idiot. They’ll be onto us if we don’t do something about the body. It’s got to be carried up to the bedroom to look more natural when the undertaker comes. In case you’ve forgotten, I happen to possess a blank death certificate.’

Rose wetted her lips and tried to summon some inner strength. She didn’t see how it was possible for Hector to be lying dead up there, but she had to find out. She stretched out her hand to the banister rail and started up the stairs. It felt like climbing out of a tar-pit.