Nicola Upson - Two for Sorrow

‘Oh, you know—a collection of pretty young women in uniform. It’s easy to get distracted.’ The comment was perfectly in character but, from what Josephine had seen a moment ago, casual flirting could not have been further from Geraldine’s mind. ‘And talking of idle distractions,’ she added, ‘if you’re ordering fine wines to take off the premises, you must have tracked down your mystery admirer. Am I right?’

‘I’m not sure, but there’s only one way to find out,’ Josephine said, smiling. ‘I’ll let you know tomorrow.’

It was a beautifully clear night, but cold, and Josephine pulled her fur closer round her as she walked briskly down Oxford Street and into Charing Cross Road. Archie’s new flat was in Maiden Lane, and she had been amused to hear that his cousins, Ronnie and Lettice, had heard about his lucky find and had immediately snapped up the remaining three apartments in the same building for themselves and their housekeeper, Mrs Snipe. It would hardly be the peaceful bachelor pad Archie had had in mind, but it was unlikely ever to be dull. At the junction of Cranbourn Street and Long Acre, she paused briefly to look down St Martin’s Lane towards the New Theatre, where three of her plays had been staged in the last eighteen months, and realised how relieved she felt to be in London with no responsibilities and no obligations to attend a first night or promote her work in any way. Shakespeare was welcome to the limelight for a bit, she thought, noticing the posters for Romeo and Juliet which covered the front of the theatre; she was happy now to sit quietly in the audience and enjoy the fruits of other people’s labours. Across the street from the New, the lights were still on in the Motley workrooms. Josephine knew from past experience that Lettice and Ronnie were likely to be there long into the night, somehow fitting the Cowdray Club gala in around whatever theatre productions they were currently working on. She resisted the temptation to stop by and say hello—there was no such thing as a quick chat with the Motley sisters—and quickened her step, making short work of Garrick Street.

Maiden Lane was a narrow road which ran parallel with the Strand and was used, it seemed, as a shortcut between Bedford Street and Covent Garden. Josephine walked along the cobbles, past a series of restaurants which were quiet at the moment but bracing themselves for the post-theatre crowd, and found the number she was looking for next to the stage door of the Vaudeville Theatre. It was a tall, narrow building, and she was pleased to see a light on in the top flat; the rest of the house was in darkness. None of the doorbells outside was labelled, so she rang them all and waited. A couple of minutes later, she heard footsteps thundering down the stairs and Archie pulled the door open, looking furious.

‘Josephine!’ His impatience turned to delight as soon as he saw her. ‘I didn’t think you were in town until the weekend. What a lovely surprise!’

‘I won’t stay long if this is a bad time,’ she said, kissing him. ‘You didn’t look like a man who needed visitors when you answered the door.’

‘Don’t be silly—I thought you were Ronnie. She’s locked herself out five times in the last two days, and I swear she’s started to do it deliberately just to keep me fit.’ He smiled, and stood aside to let her in. ‘It’s wonderful to see you. Why the change of plan?’

‘Oh, there’s some research I need to do for a new book idea,’ she explained casually, hoping he wouldn’t ask exactly how long she’d been in London. ‘I thought I might as well build it in around the gala night next week. And now I’m here, I’m dying to see your new pad.’

‘As long as you’re not expecting too much—nothing looks very impressive at the moment. I haven’t even unpacked yet and none of the furniture’s arrived—but the most comfortable box is all yours.’ He took the bottle she offered him and looked approvingly at the label. ‘You might have to be patient while I look for some proper glasses, though. We’re not drinking this out of a mug.’

She followed him up three flights of stairs to the top of the house. ‘Are Ronnie and Lettice working late? I saw the lights on in the studio as I came past.’

‘Oh, someone’s bound to be there,’ Archie said. ‘They’re snowed under at the moment, and there’s been much muttering about extra staff and overtime rates, as you can imagine. But they’re actually having some time off tonight—it’s the Snipe’s birthday, and they’ve taken her to see Romeo and Juliet .’

‘Lucky her. I can’t wait to see it.’

‘Mm. I’m not sure how much of a treat the Snipe regards it as. When she left this evening, she was still muttering that if she wanted to see two families at each other’s throats, she could have stayed at home and saved them the expense of an extra ticket. At least they’re taking her for supper afterwards.’

Josephine laughed. ‘I think even the Snipe will be won over. Peggy’s supposed to be magnificent as Juliet, although I shall have to tell Lydia that she’s awful if I’m put on the spot. She still hasn’t forgiven Johnny for not casting her—and with nothing else in her life at the moment, a snub like that is bound to hurt.’

‘It’s not like Lydia to be without a girl on her arm for so long, is it?’

Archie’s comment was light-hearted, but it was true enough: the actress’s reputation for attracting and tiring of a succession of lovers was legendary; only once had Josephine ever seen her truly settled, but the relationship had ended in difficult circumstances the year before, with Josephine caught in the middle of it. ‘I think she’s hoping to make a new start with Marta eventually,’ she explained as he showed her into his flat. ‘She’s never been as happy with anyone else.’

‘Has she heard from Marta, then?’

‘Not as far as I know.’ She left Archie rummaging around in a tiny kitchen to find a glass to match the quality of the wine, and walked through to the living room. It was even more chaotic than he had suggested, but the piles of boxes—some half-unpacked, apparently at random—could not hide what a beautiful space it was. Archie had obviously been working before she interrupted him. A makeshift desk and chair had been fashioned from a couple of large book trunks, and a cigarette burned slowly down in an ashtray next to an untouched mug of coffee and a pile of folders and paperwork. Idly, Josephine glanced down at a series of black-and-white photographs; by the time she realised what she was staring at, it was too late to walk away. A dark-haired woman of around forty was lying back on a bed with what looked like a silk stocking tied around her neck. Her left leg was bare. A tassel attached to the jumper she was wearing seemed to be caught in the ligature, and there were bruises on her neck and around her throat. On the pillow, a few inches from the woman’s head, there was a thin dental plate, presumably dislodged from her mouth as she struggled.

‘Oh shit,’ Archie said from the door, ‘I’d forgotten they were out.’ He put the glasses down and hurriedly gathered up the files. ‘Sorry—you shouldn’t have seen those.’

‘My fault for looking,’ Josephine said, still a little shocked. ‘Poor devil—what happened?’

‘I’m not sure yet. The maid found her strangled in her flat in Piccadilly. She was in debt to the tune of forty guineas for some furs, and there was talk of suicide but Spilsbury’s convinced it was murder. One of the neighbours heard her arguing with a man about money the night before.’

‘And you don’t know who he was?’

‘No, but there’s no shortage of candidates—she’d been up in court on seventy-four counts of prostitution before she died.’