Coral Glynn (8 page)

“But I’m not getting married,” said Coral. “I was—perhaps I was—but I’m not. It’s all a muddle, an awful, stupid muddle, and I don’t know what to do.”

“Why aren’t you getting married?”

“Do you think I should marry him?” Coral asked.

The florist laughed. “How could I know? I couldn’t possibly know. You’re engaged to him, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” said Coral. “Do you know him?”

“Major Hart? No. He’s quite a bit older than you, isn’t he?”

“Yes,” said Coral. “I suppose he is.”

“And he’s a rather solitary chap, by all accounts.”

Coral agreed.

“But I suppose you’ve fallen in love with him, and there’s no telling about that.”

“What do you mean?” asked Coral.

“Well, it often seems quite odd to me: who loves who. Or doesn’t. One sees the most unlikely couples.”

“Do you think we make an unlikely couple—the Major and I?” asked Coral.

“I couldn’t say, really. And wouldn’t if I could. And what does it matter? It only matters what you think.”

“But he’s a good man, as far as you know? He seems very kind to me.”

“I have never heard a bad word about him. He seems to be a perfect gentleman, so why have you changed your mind? Has he done something wrong?”

“Oh, no,” said Coral. “It’s nothing like that. It’s so silly, so stupid, as I told you. It’s all on account of the dress.”

“I’m afraid I don’t follow you. What dress?”

“I bought a dress to be married in, and I was stupid, and tore it, and brought it back to the shop and said I didn’t need it because I wasn’t to be married after all. I do things like that all the time, I don’t think things through, I’m like that with everything, and everything becomes a muddle.”

“Well, this seems rather a silly muddle, and one that is easily fixed.”

“How?” she asked. “I can’t possibly go back to the shop. I’d die of shame. You’ve no idea of the scene I made.”

“Was this at Dalrymple’s? Mrs Henderson?”

“Yes,” said Coral.

“She is really very nice and I am sure you are not the first woman to have hysterics in her shop. I’m sure she will make everything right with the dress. You must go back at once.”

“Are you sure? She seemed very cross with me.”

“Yes, I am sure. Shopkeepers are never cross for long. She will greet you with open arms.”

“You’ve been so kind to me. I am Coral Glynn,” she said, and held out her hand.

The young man shook it. “I am John,” he said. “John Shields. I am very happy to meet you, Coral.”

The door to the shop opened and a man in a business suit entered. He wanted a dozen yellow roses for his wife’s birthday. They had no yellow roses. Only red and cream. He took cream.

Coral watched the entire transaction. She liked John and did not want to go away.

“My brother’s name was John,” she told him, although this was not true. But she associated her brother with him, and her brother’s name had been James, which seemed close enough.

“Was?” asked John.

“He died in the war,” said Coral. “In ’42. I miss him still.”

“I lost one of my brothers, too, but I can’t say I miss him. He was rather a brute.”

“I’m sorry,” she said.

This talk of dead brothers had changed the tone of their conversation, and neither of them seemed to know what to say.

Finally, John said, “Go see Mrs Henderson and set things right with your dress. And you must come to me for your bouquet. You will have flowers, won’t you?”

“I don’t know,” said Coral. “I hadn’t thought of it.”

“Well, you will. I shall see to it. Unless, of course, you do change your mind.”

*   *   *

The sky was still gently lit and the sidewalks were crowded with people hastening home for the evening when Coral left the flower shop. She paused at the window of the jeweller’s next door, and leant her forehead against the glass and peered in at the glittering golden wealth.

She had not meant to steal the sapphire ring.

The woman—the mother of the children with scarlet fever, the wife of the man with the rubber Johnny—had taken the ring off and left it on the rim of the bathtub in the nursery when she bathed the children one evening. Coral had found it and meant to return it the next morning, but the woman had not missed it, and so she thought she would keep it until its disappearance was noted and a search was announced and then she could triumphantly find it, and the woman would be beholden to her, for she wanted this older woman’s approval and love. But instead the woman searched Coral’s things and found the ring wrapped in gauze in her syringe kit.

Curiously—or perhaps not—it was the man who saved her. He told his wife it wasn’t worth ruining anyone’s life over a sapphire ring, that all’s well that ends well. But she shouldn’t be working in people’s homes, said the wife, if she’s a common thief. She must be stopped. The man agreed and said that he would alert the agency.

Later that night, the last night Coral spent in that house, the husband came to her bedroom and gave her the sapphire ring and told her to keep it. At first she would not, but he insisted that she must take it with her: his wife no longer wanted it and she could always sell it one day if she needed money. And he told her he would not contact her agency. She hated that he was being kind to her after what he had done, for it interfered with her loathing of him.

She had hidden the ring behind the mirror that hung on the wall in her little bedroom in the attic of Hart House. She would have to remember to retrieve it once she returned to the house. Perhaps she would send it back to the woman—anonymously, of course, for she felt sure the husband had lied when he said his wife no longer wanted the ring. Why would she not want it?

She turned away from the jeweller’s window and saw the headline, spikily chalked onto the slate propped up against the newsagent’s across the street:

GIRL FOUND HANGED IN SAP GREEN FOREST

MURDERER AT LARGE

*   *   *

Because of a recent motoring accident involving a badger, Major Hart no longer drove at night, and so it was by taxi that Coral and he arrived at Eustacia Villa, which was the name given to the house where Robert and Dorothy Lofting resided. Eustacia Villa was a large rectangular house of only two stories, its façade composed of unadorned brick painted a chalky white with turquoise trim. Its walled forecourt was square; gravel surrounded a circular low mound of barren earth that was ringed by a miniature chain fence. One assumed flowers adorned it at some other season. A stone plinth marked the centre of this mound; on either side of the door, which was painted to match the turquoise trim, stood two large concrete urns, which, like the garden, were empty.

The Loftings stood in the lighted open doorway and watched their guests get out of the taxi. Major Hart, because of his stick, needed help from the driver. Coral stood awkwardly beside the car trying to look as if she were involved somehow with the Major’s extraction. It wasn’t until he was standing beside her that anyone spoke, as if it were a scene in a play that could not begin until they had all assumed their designated marks.

“Hallo’s!” and “Good evening’s!” were suddenly flung across the gravel, and the Loftings left their mark in the doorway and strode forwards to greet their guests.

“Robin! Dolly!”

“Clement!”

“You’re looking splendid!”

“And you must be Coral. So lovely to meet you!”

“Please, call me Dolly.”

“And Robin.”

“Come in, come in, it’s chilly out, isn’t it?”

Dolly took the Major by his arm and led him towards the house.

“I saw you admiring my obelisk.” Robin touched Coral’s shoulder and turned her towards the aborted garden. Coral watched the taxi pass through the open gates and disappear. She felt stranded. She was not sure what she was supposed to have been admiring, but she managed to murmur, “It’s lovely.”

“I had it brought back from Egypt. It’s fifth century
B.C.
, used for ritual human sacrifices. Poor blokes were lashed to it and buggered to death.”

“Really?” was all she could find to say.

“Course not,” said Robin, laughing. “For decorative purposes only, I assure you.”

“Of course,” Coral said, oddly relieved.

*   *   *

The interior of Eustacia Villa was an odd warren of many little rooms, all of them crowded with furniture, objets d’art, ferns in cauldrons, and assorted bric-a-brac. Many of the rooms had mirrors on several walls, which lent them a dizzying fun-house effect. And they all seemed to be on slightly different levels as well. Dolly and a trio of Pekingese, who had been introduced in the entry hall as Yin, Yang, and Mabel, led them through several of these rooms, all of which appeared to be some variation of sitting room, although what differentiated one from the next, except for steps and arched doorways, was a mystery. Dolly stopped abruptly in one room that claustrophobically contained two sofas and a grand piano. The sofas faced one another, and into the little space between, a low gold-painted rattan table was jammed, and on this table was a tray of canapés that looked as though they might have been waiting there for a very long time. A drinks cart was pushed up against the piano. The room was apparently deep within the interior of the house, for it had no windows, only a door at either of two ends and mirrors above both sofas.

Dolly and the dogs claimed one of the sofas. The Major indicated the facing sofa to Coral and then sat down beside her. Robin stood beside the drinks cart and rubbed his hands together.

“What would you like, Coral?” Dolly said. “Robin can mix you a cocktail if you fancy one. He’s quite good at it.”

“Oh,” said Coral. “Nothing for me, thank you.”

“A Nothing? That must be a new one,” said Robin. “Never heard of it before.” He turned to his wife. “What was that one we all liked so much with the crème de menthe, darling?”

“A Grasshopper!”

“That’s right. You’re sure to like it, Coral. You’ll have one, darling, won’t you?”

“Course I will,” said Dolly. “I’ll have two!”

“And you, old man? Nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

“Just a whiskey, please,” said the Major.

“Oh, don’t be such a chappy chap, Clement! Make us all Grasshoppers, darling!” said Dolly.

Robin busied himself at the little drinks cart. Dolly fed each of the dogs one of the canapés and then held the tray out towards her guests. “I’m practically positive it’s anchovy paste,” she said, “but the label’s come off the tube.” Coral and the Major both took a canapé. The Major chucked his into his mouth and appeared to swallow it whole. Coral held hers delicately between her thumb and forefinger. She tried to find a place to set it down, but the table beside her was crowded with an odd community of porcelain figurines ranging from Nubian princes to Tyrolean goatherds, so she placed it on the opened palm of her other hand and held it on her lap. Perhaps she could feed it to one of the dogs when no one was looking.

Robin handed the drinks around and lifted his in the air. “To the happy couple,” he said, “Coral and Clement.”

“Coral and Clement!” echoed Dolly. “Oh, it’s scrumptious, darling—like melted ice cream!”

Robin pushed the dogs off the sofa and sat beside his wife. He helped himself to a canapé and offered the tray across the table. The Major took one and disposed of it as abruptly as he had his first. Coral indicated the canapé in her palm by way of refusal.

Dolly took another sip of her drink and snuggled back into the sofa. She wore a little pale-green moustache. “Now you must tell us all about yourself, Coral. You must tell us everything.”

But Coral could not think of a single thing to say. “It’s very kind of you to ask us to dinner,” she finally managed.

“Well, I am sure we will be the dearest of friends,” said Dolly, “so you must tell us all about yourself.”

“I can’t think of what to say,” said Coral. “There isn’t much to tell.” She turned to the Major, as if he might know the story of her life better than she, but he was staring with fixated horror at his Grasshopper.

“Nonsense!” said Dolly. “I’m sure there’s oodles and oodles! How long have you been nursing? And what’s your middle name and what’s your favourite colour and where are you from?”

“Two years,” said Coral, electing to answer only the first question.

“And where you’re from?”

“Coral is from the South,” said the Major, as if it were important to keep her place of origin obscure.

“Oh,” said Robin, “whereabouts?”

“Huddlesford,” said Coral.

“Huddlesford! That’s hardly the South!” shouted Dolly.

“It’s south of here,” the Major declared.

But Dorothy was nonplussed. “And your family? Are they all in Huddlesford?”

“My parents were born in Huddlesford,” said Coral. “But they are dead.”

“Both of them!” exclaimed Dolly. “I’m so sorry. I’ve still got my mother. And sister, too, for that matter.”

“Coral had a brother as well,” explained the Major. “But he was killed in the war.”

“So you’ve no family at all?” Dolly appeared to find this possibility thrilling.

“An aunt,” said Coral. “But I haven’t seen her in years.”

“Well, we shall be your family now.” Dolly leant across the low table and reached with both her hands to grasp Coral’s, but as Coral had not yet succeeded in feeding the canapé to one of the dogs, and still held it covertly in her left hand, she could only half return the affectionate gesture.

*   *   *

At the same time that Coral and Clement were visiting the Loftings, Mrs Prence was entertaining a visitor of her own. The bell at Hart House had rung not long after the taxi had collected Major Hart for his dinner engagement. Visitors at Hart House were rare, and so it was with both trepidation and curiosity that Mrs Prence climbed the stairs and answered the door. A man in a mackintosh and a Bavarian hat stood on the terrace, looking up at the jackdaws having their final panicked flight across the darkening sky. He turned towards the door after a second and said, “Ah—I am Inspector Hoke. I believe you must be Mary Prence. Or are you perhaps Miss Coral Glynn?”

“I am Mrs Prence,” said Mrs Prence, who had long ago abandoned her Christian name.