Paul Magrs - Mystery Lady

I open the compartment door and slip in, but neither occupant pays me the slightest attention.

We were perhaps halfway on our journey to London and Timothy was slumped against the window, fast asleep, which meant that I could speak openly with my assistant.

‘Oh, look how sweet he looks,’ Cassie sighed. ‘All rumpled in his blue velvet, like a little lord. And he’s still got glitter in his hair from last night, too…’

‘Never mind him,’ I heard myself turn rather snappish. ‘What was going on, that was so sinister Cassie?’

Cassandra focused her wits and described the man of gaunt, almost cadaverous aspect in the pin stripe suit. He had been staring rather alarmingly at the large, tweedy women as she worked on her manuscript. The lady seemed to be vaguely aware of his presence, but was determinedly paying him no heed. She was being staunch and brave, Cassie thought, because she couldn’t have been unaware of the waves of sheer evilness that the man was giving off.

‘Did he say anything to her?’

‘Not a word, while I was there. He just made one horrible, long hissing noise at her, like a coiled snake. And his hand lashed out like a claw to touch the manuscript on her lap. Well, then she suddenly came to life, and snatched that pile of papers away from him, clutching it to her huge bosom. She stared at the man and he hissed again.’

‘All a bit peculiar,’ I mused.

‘He was definitely up to no good,’ Cassandra said decisively. She might be dithery sometimes, but I’ve come to trust her instincts.

‘And then you’ll never guess what happened next, Dodie.’

‘Go on.’

‘The rather large lady set her parcel of papers aside and suddenly reached out with both hands, taking the skinny man by surprise. He had time to squawk once before she seized him. And proceeded to throttle him, and pummel him, and squash him face-first into her massive bosom.’

‘What?!’

‘She was up on her feet and stamping on him. She yanked his arms and legs around like she was going to pull them off. By the end of it he was sobbing and begging for mercy…’

I stared at her, aghast. She continued.

‘Whatever that manuscript was, she was prepared to defend it with her life. The man wriggled and fought to escape, but then suddenly he stopped struggling. He turned his head and he looked me right in the eye. He licked those liverish lips with a bright red tongue. His eyes boggled at me horribly. And suddenly I was really scared. I had to get out of there. And so I dashed out and I hurried straight back here. I don’t know whether he escaped or she killed him and chucked him out of the moving window.’

She was tired now from having re-enacted the scene. ‘Oh, he deserved everything he got I’m sure. He’d been carrying on in such a sinister manner towards her. I’m glad the old dear fettled him, but still… it did make me feel a bit peculiar… Dodie, do you think we should tell the conductor or something?’’

‘I’m sure if it’s anything important, we’ll read about it in the papers tomorrow,’ I mused. Sometimes Cassie had a habit of exaggerating things. She’d probably witnessed a far less melodramatic scene than the one she described…

Now she was back to staring at Timmy as he dozed, his hairdo flattened against the window.

‘Did he tell you any more about the show he’s appearing in tomorrow night?’

I flicked through the Listener Magazine. ‘Oh, a little. It sounds very silly. A panel game show or something. He’s replacing a famous puppeteer, I believe and has to perform a magic trick of some kind.’

‘He’s getting really famous,’ Cassie simpered. ‘This is at BBC Television Centre, is it?’

‘We can go along and be in the audience, if we like.’

She shivered. ‘Ooh, I’d love to. I loved being on ‘Smashing Tunes’, didn’t you? The only thing wrong with it was that it went out live. We never had time run home and watch ourselves on the box.’

‘I didn’t really want to watch myself dancing,’ I laughed.

‘But you looked fabulous!’ she assured me.

‘Oh, probably,’ I tell her. ‘But I bet I looked a right ‘nana, bopping away like that. Now, let me have half an hour’s peace while I write in my journal. I’ve not had a chance to scribble anything down today, and if I don’t, I shall have an awful headache later…’

It was only a couple of hours later we were in a taxi zooming our way towards Chelsea and the fancy little mews flat Timothy had recently bought himself. Two bedrooms and rooms painted in chocolate, salmon and midnight blue. Antiques bought by the quarter tonne, tastefully arranged by a designer person he’d hired. Instant taste and splendor. I was impressed.

He hurriedly changed into a cable knit polo neck in tangerine wool with mustard yellow slacks and popped open a bottle of Veuve Clicquot.

‘I’m not drinking tonight,’ Cassandra shrugged. ‘I’m working, really.’

Oh, the bubbles were silvery and wonderful. ‘Are you sure I’m not cramping your style, staying in your spare room?’ I asked him. ‘I could easily get a hotel?’

‘Are you kidding?’ he laughed. ‘I couldn’t bear it if you were in the capital and you didn’t come to stay with me. I get so lonely when you’re not near to tease and humiliate me, Dodie Golightly.’

‘I don’t do anything of the sort!’ I gasped. ‘I just keep you on the straight and narrow, and prevent your head from getting too big.’

‘Cheers!’ He made us both drink to that.

Cassandra drifted about the flat mulishly, looking a bit put out.

‘I have dinner plans for this evening,’ Timothy announced. ‘For both of us. My treat.’

My tummy rumbled at the very thought. All we’d had on the train was a corned beef sandwich.

He rushed to the phone in the hallway to book us a table. Cassie sloped over and whispered at me: ‘Good job I hardly eat anything at all, isn’t it?’

‘Oh, Cassie. You can come with us. Timmy won’t… er… mind.’

She shook her head. ‘I don’t think I’d be very welcome. Also, I’ve just been having a poke around in his bedroom…’

‘What? You shouldn’t!’

‘And guess what I found on his bedside table?’

‘I shudder to think. Cassandra, you must really control this rampant inquisitiveness of yours…’

‘It was a small velveteen padded box. The kind that rings are kept in.’

I put down my glass and stared at her very hard. ‘No!’

‘I had a peek inside. Very fancy. Lots of carats. Lots of sparkle.’

‘Oh, God, no!’ I gave a tiny, silent scream.

‘I don’t know what you’re complaining about.’

‘Yes, you do,’ I snapped. ‘You know he’s not the one for me. Oh crikey. Do you think he’s going to bring the ring to dinner tonight?’

‘Well,’ said Cassie heavily. ‘I don’t think he’s taking it to Mordor, put it that way.’

‘Cassie, what should I do?’

‘Let him down gently. And then push him in my direction. Let him see that I even exist.’ She sighed hopelessly. ‘But mostly – try not to break the poor lad’s heart. He’s not as tough and brash as he likes to seem.’

Oh, Timothy, I think, as he returned from making our reservation, looking all keen and eager in his tangerine sweater. I’ve known you so long and we’ve been good friends nearly all of our lives. Why start messing about now with something as dull and conventional as the idea of getting hitched?

Of course Cassandra came with us to the restaurant.

Knightsbridge. French. A tiny bistro twinkling with lights and ersatz Left Bank charm. There was even an old gent playing the accordion. Onions and bushels of herbs hanging from the ceilings. Cassandra wasn’t impressed. For some reason she had an aversion to haute cuisine. She couldn’t remember why, but I could. I wasn’t about to enlighten her.