The Affair of the Thirty-Nine Cufflinks (2 page)

Chapter Four

'Then there's Gregory,' said Florrie. 'He's certain to come when he learns he's in the will. Don't suppose his wife will bother, though. She's never been here.'

'That's Alexandra, isn't it?'

'Yes. Don't think it's much of a marriage. She's very politically ambitious, and I imagine the fact Gregory's not exactly had a dazzling career has been a disappointment to her.'

'But he's very respected as an MP, isn't he?'

'I believe so. I can't trust him, though. Maybe just because he's a politician. I don't believe a word one of them says. Frankly, I'd never be surprised to learn . . .'

She tailed off.

'To learn what, dear?'

'Oh, nothing,' said Florrie.

* * *

'Greggy, darling, I saw an absolutely too divine dress in Bond Street today.'

Gregory Carstairs, MP, who was pouring himself a gin and tonic at the time, gave a grunt. His companion, a sinuous dark-haired girl with pouting, scarlet lips, who was lounging artistically back on the sofa, displaying very long and shapely legs, clad in black stockings of the purest silk, went on: 'It's chiffon, the palest shade of blue, with these delicious little pleats . . .' She prattled away, but Gregory wasn't listening. He gazed out of the window over the roofs of St. John's Wood to the famous Father Time weather vane of Lord's Cricket Ground, just a few hundred yards away. Useful, at least in the summer. If anybody should happen to see him in the neighbourhood, it provided the perfect excuse. Watching cricket was something nobody objected to a Member of Parliament doing; it was almost expected.

He was a heavily built man of about fifty with closely cropped grizzled hair, a florid complexion, the beginnings of a double chin and a neatly trimmed moustache, which he fondly believed gave him a military appearance. He always refused to talk about his war experiences, leading many people to assume he must have had a good record. In fact, he had been rejected because of flat feet, and had spent the whole of 1914 to 1918 in a Whitehall office.

He turned round and surveyed the chicly furnished, ultramodern sitting-room of the flat, with its sharp angles and chromium fittings. 'Strewth, but this place was costing him a fortune. How long would he be able to keep it up? Or Poppy, for that matter? He was going to have to do something about it. But what? Poppy was such a clinger. And she wouldn't forgive easily if he just dumped her. He had to keep her sweet. It wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't for that damned letter he'd written her. What a fool he'd been! Tipsy at the time, of course, and in those days he'd been really smitten by her, but that was no excuse. He had to get out of this entanglement soon. But how?

'. . . and it was only ten pounds - well, guineas, actually. It would really suit me.'

Gregory dragged himself back. 'I'm sure you'd look absolutely breathtaking in it, my sweet. We must certainly think about getting it for you, er, sometime.'

'Sometime?' There was a suspicious edge to her voice.

'Yes, Christmas perhaps.'

'
Christmas
?' This time the voice was an octave higher. 'But that's months and months away. And this is a summer dress!'

'But you've got dozens of summer dresses. And look so perfectly ravishing in all of them.'

Poppy gazed at him, a disconcertingly acute and appraising expression in her large violet eyes. 'Greggy, you're not getting hard up, are you?'

'Good lord, no! Whatever gave you that idea?'

'You haven't bought me anything nice for weeks and weeks.'

'Well, I am a bit short of the ready just now. But it's just a temporary thing. Hold up in funds, lots of expenses, have to take the old woman to Monte later this month, as I explained.'

'You've never taken
me
to Monte Carlo.'

'I know, my sweet, and I'd like nothing better, believe me. But we did have that weekend in Brighton a month ago.'

'That was no fun, not with you peering over your shoulder all the time, in a blue funk in case someone recognised you.'

'Well, I do have to be careful, sweetheart. I mean if we were seen together, it would cause the most awful scandal in my constituency. I've explained what a provincial backwater it is, and how narrow-minded they are there. Any hint of what they'd call impropriety could cost me my seat. Do you know what my majority was last time?'

'Five hundred and sixty-eight,' Poppy said in a bored voice.

'Oh. Then you can see how easily I could be kicked out.'

'Would it really matter if you were? You seem totally fed up with it half the time, and there's all these late-night sittings and asking questions you know the answers to already and having to write letters to all those silly little constituents. And you're never going to get into the Government, are you? You're always going to be a back-bencher.'

'I say, that's a bit below the belt. Besides, it's not true. One of the Whips was only saying to me a month ago that the Prime Minister's always got me very much in mind.' He straightened his shoulders and unconsciously straightened his tie. 'Anyway, it's a matter of duty. Family's got a long history of public service. Men from my background have a responsibility to serve this country.' He took hold of the lapel of his jacket with one hand and gazed out over the rooftops. His voice took on a more resonant tone. 'I often think, when I gaze at a view such as this, and look down at the people going peaceably, freely and unafraid about their business, how greatly blessed we are to live in a land like ours.'

He turned round and addressed her earnestly. 'Across a mere twenty-six miles of water, storm clouds are gathering and tyranny is raising its vile head. Yet how often we in Britain tend to take our blessings for granted. It has been wisely said that the price of liberty is eternal vigilance. Such vigilance is the duty of us all, but particularly of those happy few of us called to serve in the front line of liberty's defence, in the Mother of Parliaments. We—'

Poppy raised her hand to her mouth and ostentatiously stifled a yawn. Gregory gave a blink and came back to earth. 'Well, you do see, don't you?'

'But do you really enjoy it, Greggy - all this defending liberty? Wouldn't you rather be spending your time with me?' The tone was wheedling.

'Well, of course I would, precious. You know that.'

'Then why don't you chuck it in? After all, you've done nearly twenty years of public service. You could get your divorce and never have to worry about who saw us. And it's not as though the salary is up to much. You told me once it only made up a teeny bit of what you earned.'

'Yes, but you don't understand. I'm on the Board of six companies, five of whom only want me because it looks good to have an MP on their letter heads. I'm an adviser to two business associations, simply because the idiots believe I can influence Government policy, or at least know what it's going to be. Then there's the odd bit of journalism. I'd lose all that if I gave up my seat. Besides, what would I do outside politics?'

Poppy gave a pout. 'So I suppose that means you'll be going off to your dreary old constituency more and more, does it?'

' 'Fraid so: make a few speeches, shake a few hands, kiss a few babies. And don't worry - I mean the sort that guzzle milk, not the kind that quaff champers.' Gregory gave a forced chuckle.

'Will
she
be going with you?'

'Alex? Yes. She's dam' good at that sort of thing, I will say that. Worth a good few hundred votes.'

'I could do all that sort of thing.'

Gregory tried unsuccessfully to imagine Poppy earnestly discussing child welfare or old age pensions with the wife of his constituency party Chairman. But he wasn't forced to make a response, because she changed the subject.

'So, when you going next?'

'Tomorrow, actually.'

'How long for?'

'Rest of the week.'

'Oh, Greggy!'

'Frightfully sorry. But it can't be helped.'

Poppy gave a sigh. 'What about next week?'

'Not sure. Monday and Tuesday I've got speaking engagements. I'll phone you sometime Tuesday. Perhaps we can arrange something for Wednesday or later in the week.'

'I won't budge an inch from the phone, darling,' said Poppy.

Chapter Five

'Timothy will come, I'm sure,' Florrie said. 'I think he'd want to, but he'd come even if he didn't. Always does the right thing, does Timothy.'

'Such a distinguished-looking man, I always think. And a very clever barrister, I believe.'

'Oh, Timothy's all right. Terrible stick, though. How he came to have such a flibbertigibbet daughter as Penny I'll never know. She's a pretty little baggage, with no thought in her head apart from finding a husband.'

'So sad her mother dying as young as she did.'

'Yes. Can't have been easy for Timothy, bringing up a girl on his own. Still, he always seems completely in control of every situation.'

'Thank you, Mr Jackson,' said Timothy Saunders. 'I have no further questions. I'm sure his lordship and the jury will now know just how much weight to attach to your evidence.'

He sat down, as Jackson, looking decidedly shaken, hurriedly left the witness box. A cross-examination by one of the sharpest forensic minds of the English bar left few people unscathed.

Timothy's face showed no expression. It hardly ever did. He felt no pleasure at having demolished one of the opposition's most important witnesses: just the quiet satisfaction of a professional at a job well done. He gathered his papers together as the judge announced the end of the day's proceedings. His junior counsel gave him a sideways glance. It had been a ruthless performance, one that made him feel slightly uncomfortable. But undeniably effective. 'Nearly over, do you think?' he asked quietly.

Timothy nodded shortly. 'We can expect an offer in the morning.'

He was a slim man of no more than average height, with small, regular features, a neatly trimmed toothbrush moustache, a pale complexion and thinning light brown hair, concealed now under his barrister's wig. A man who would never be noticed in a crowd, whom most people would have difficulty in describing, even after spending half an hour in his company. He recognised that it was probably the constant experience of being unnoticed and ignored when young that had driven him relentlessly on in his determination to make an impact of some kind on the world.

He strode rapidly back to his chambers. It was only four thirty. Time for a full three hours' work on the opinion he was preparing for Hargraves & Hargraves. Not that there was any urgency. He could go home now. But the house would be empty, apart from the servants, tucked away in their quarters. Penelope would certainly be out. What would he do? Read a law book? He sometimes envied those men who had some all-consuming interest or hobby - gardening or golf or, like his distant relative, Lord Burford, gun-collecting. But he had never left time for things like that. And now he was surely not far away from achieving his life-long ambition: elevation to the Bench, leading, in all probability one day, to the position of Lord Chief Justice, and the opportunity not merely to practise law but actually to influence it, to change it. He knew that that was what his fellow lawyers expected. Even if none of them liked him very much, they all held him in the highest respect. And what was more important than respect?

Arriving back at his chambers, he sent his clerk home, poured himself a small glass of very dry sherry and sat down at his desk. He took out the case containing his pince-nez, thoroughly polished them with a clean linen handkerchief and put them on. He refolded the handkerchief and replaced it in his pocket, then opened his brief case, took out the papers - and saw It. His stomach gave a lurch. For a while he had managed to forget about It - this thing that clouded all his horizons, that threatened to shatter all his hopes for the future.

The Photograph.

Against his better judgement, he had to obey the impulse to look at it again. It was like the urge constantly to exert pressure on a painful tooth, just to see if it still hurt. His eyes gave the slightest flicker and his lips tightened momentarily - the closest he would ever come to wincing - and he hurriedly put it back in his case. He could not leave it in the office safe, as his clerk knew the combination, while Penelope knew that of the one at home. So he had been carrying it round with him. He ought really to deposit it at his bank. But then he would not be able to indulge the lacerating, but to him very necessary, urge constantly to stare at it, searching for some minute indication as to where or who . . . He knew when, but there was no clue, obviously, as to why. Was it a prelude to blackmail? If so, why was the demand delayed? Or was some enemy, someone he had destroyed in court, just playing with him, waiting to release it to the gutter press the moment his advancement was announced? The first he could put up with. And he would pay, unquestionably - provided he could think of some method to be sure he got the negative and all prints back; easier said than done, but it ought not to be beyond his wit. He just wished the demand would come tomorrow, so he knew where he was. But it was entirely out of his hands. And thinking about it at this time would serve absolutely no purpose.

With the strength of will and concentration that made him such a formidable lawyer, he thrust all thought of it from his mind, got out the Hargraves papers and commenced writing in a quick, neat hand. Every few seconds his eyelid twitched irritatingly, but Timothy ignored it.

Chapter Six

'Now the one who I thinks really going to miss me is Stella,' Florrie said.

'Oh, I'm sure she will. I do like Stella. And she's so smart and sophisticated.'

'I suppose working as a fashion journalist in New York for ten years does that for you.'

'I do enjoy her stories.'

'Yes, she's a wonderfully entertaining girl. I love her sense of humour. I'm sorry her magazine went broke, of course, but I am glad it brought her home.'

'But she seems to be doing just as well with this London magazine.'

'Don't suppose she earns as much, though. She's a very ambitious girl, and I wouldn't be surprised if she moved on fairly soon. Ah well, we'll see. Or at least you will.'

'She's the granddaughter of Margaret, your husband's younger sister, is that right?'

'I sometimes think you know my family better than I do. Yes. Margaret was pretty cool at first, but she came round in the end. We became quite good friends. And it's nice that her grandson keeps in touch, as well as her granddaughter.'

'Stella and Tommy are first cousins, aren't they?'

'Yes. I'm fond of Tommy - even though he's not the brainiest lad you could hope to find.'

'He's so charming, though. And funny. He really makes me smile with all those tales of his pranks.'

'Bit too funny and charming sometimes, perhaps, but his heart's in the right place.'

'He's such a good listener, too. He always seems really eager to hear the little stories I am able to tell him about communications with the Other Side.'

Florrie strongly suspected that Jean's little stories were secretly a source of great amusement to Tommy. But she said nothing.

* * *

The richly carpeted and gracefully appointed car showroom had the hush of a great cathedral. Here and there among the multicoloured and glistening graven images, elegant and expensively attired young men, the priests of this secular religion, conversed in low and earnest tones with equally well-dressed but clearly timid acolytes. Occasionally a single word or phrase wafted, like a mantra, above the low hum: 'torque,' 'compression,' 'power-to-weight ratio.'

Tommy Lambert, an exceedingly tall and slim young man of twenty-three, with a pink complexion and a mop of unruly sandy-coloured hair, stood gazing out through the plate glass window at the sunlit bustle of London's Park Lane, his normally amiable expression replaced at this moment by one of profound gloom. No eager enquirers after truth had approached him that morning, perhaps sensing that he was as much a noviciate as they themselves. And no enquirers, to be promptly converted into cash-paying customers, meant no commission this week. And no commission meant no - what? Champagne cocktails? Tickets to the new Rodgers and Hart musical for himself and Ginny or Susie or Joanie? No afternoon at Epsom on Saturday? He could put up with that, though, if it wasn't for the other business. The day suddenly darkened as he thought of it again. What the deuce was he going to do? For the moment Benny seemed reasonably content with ten shillings a week. But that was just interest. It could only be a matter of weeks at the most before he demanded payment in full. And when he didn't get it he'd probably turn very nasty. Confound the fellow who'd given him that 'sure-fire' tip. Nothing seemed to have gone right since.

'Hello, Tommy,' said a soft and slightly breathless voice behind him.

Tommy spun round and his face lightened. 'Penny, old bean, what a surprise!'

The girl standing there was a few years younger than himself. She had bobbed, platinum blond hair, done in lots of tight curls, and enormous pale blue eyes, set wide apart. She was wearing a cream cotton suit with peak lapels and patch pockets, and perched slightly to the side of her head was a light green Tyrolean hat, decorated with a pheasant tail. She looked extremely fashionable and very pretty. She was smiling rather tentatively at him.

'How are you, Tommy?'

'Oh, spiffing, really, you know.'

'I saw you through the window. You were looking a bit in the dumps'

'Was I? Well, suppose I am, really.'

'Oh?' She stared at him sympathetically. 'Something wrong?'

'Nothing more than usual. It's just that I think that Lagonda might be exactly the car you're looking for, madam. Let me show it to you.' He ushered her towards a scarlet two-seater Tourer.

Penelope Saunders looked somewhat bewildered. 'I'm sorry, Tommy, I didn't really come in to buy a car.'

'I know, but the Lord High Sales Manager was approaching. Got to pretend you're a customer.' He stopped by the Lagonda. 'Look at the car, not me.'

'Oh, right. I thought I'd just pop in and see how you were getting on at the new job. Sort of cousinly interest.'

'Jolly decent of you. That is the trouble, really. I'm not much good at it. I've only sold three cars in four weeks.'

'Is that bad?'

'Well, they don't expect you to be a super salesman in a month, but I am starting to get some rather old-fashioned looks.'

'Oh, I am sorry. I was hoping this time you might have found something that really suited you. I mean, you've always been keen on cars, haven't you?'

'Keen on driving them, not selling them.'

Penny was staring intently at the sleek lines of the Lagonda. 'It is awfully pretty, isn't it? I wish I
could
buy it.'

'It's not all that expensive,' Tommy said hopefully.

'It is for me. Daddy keeps me most horribly hard up. My allowance is positively laughable. Only I don't laugh. You'd think he'd want me to have a good time. But no. And it's always 'don't do this, don't do that.' He doesn't like me smoking in public. He won't even let me paint my toenails. And he thinks night clubs are dens of iniquity. He's like one of those Victorian fathers you read about.'

'Well, I suppose he is, really, isn't he? Victorian, I mean. How old is he?'

'Forty-six.'

'Well, there you are. He was born in the nineteenth century, so he
is
Victorian.'

'But he doesn't have to behave like it. It's the 1930s now.'

Tommy said: 'Get in the car - look as though you're really interested.'

He opened the driver's door and Penny got in. Tommy went round to the far side, gathering up a couple of brochures from a nearby stand on the way, and sat in the passenger seat. 'I'll pretend to be going through all this technical stuff with you.'

'It's really comfy,' Penny said, leaning back in the seat. 'You'd think he'd let me have a car, wouldn't you? I mean, just because I gave his Daimler the teeny-weeniest dent the only time he let me drive it, he uses that as an excuse - says he's frightened I'd have an accident. It's the money, really, I'm sure.'

'He must have oodles, too.'

'He's absolutely rolling. And it's not as though he's got anyone - or anything - else to spend it on.'

'So, what's he do with it?'

'Just invests it. I think he gives a lot to good causes, as well.'

'Well, I'm a good cause. Wouldn't slip a few quid to me, would he? I've got all sorts of ripping ideas that just need a bit of capital.'

'There's not a chance of that, darling.'

'He doesn't like me, does he?'

Penny wriggled awkwardly. 'It's not that he doesn't like you. But he doesn't really approve of you. Thinks you should have trained for some proper profession.'

'It's all very well for brainy geezers like him. Can you see me as a lawyer or doctor or architect or something?'

Penny tried for a moment and failed.

'I think I'll turn to crime,' Tommy said gloomily.

'Don't be silly.'

'I'm not being silly. I've seriously thought about it. Oh, not anything that would hurt anybody, but where would be the harm in pinching something from somebody who'd never miss it? Just to put me on my feet.'

'You mustn't say things like that. I know you're joking, but other people wouldn't - people who don't know how you're always kidding and playing pranks and practical jokes. That's something else which puts Daddy off you.'

'That's just fun! They never harm anyone.'

'I know that. I think some of them are screamingly funny. But Daddy's got no sense of humour at all.'

'I say, I brought off an absolutely terrific wheeze a couple of weeks ago. This old chum of mine was working for a company owned by an absolute bounder. Name of Hodge. Frightfully rich, and he and his wife are the most appalling snobs. Anyway, he had an application for a job from the son of some marquis or other, old Etonian, and all that, but totally useless. Old Hodgepodge, though, couldn't resist having a gen-you-ine aristocrat on his staff, so to make room for him, he sacked my pal. No excuse, no apology, just a month's salary and out on his ear.'

'How rotten.'

'As you can imagine, he was pretty browned off and wanted to get his own back. He asked me if I had any ideas. So I put the jolly old brain-box to work and made a few enquiries. These people have got a big place in Sussex, swimming pool, acres of grounds. And it's on a main road to the coast. I found out they were planning a big garden party for the next Saturday - lavish open-air buffet, marquee, and so on. Asking all the toffs of the county. So I went to a sign writer and got a lot of big placards done. The Saturday was a super day and my pal and I drove down. We got there just before the party started and we stuck these placards up about every fifty yards at the side of the road for the quarter of a mile leading to the house. They had things on them like 'Open Day,' 'No Charge,' 'Everybody Welcome,' 'Free Refreshments,' 'Beautiful Gardens,' 'Swimming Pool,' 'Bring the Kiddies.' And the ones nearest the house had big arrows, pointing through the gates. Then we beat it, pronto.'

'What happened?' Penny asked, wide-eyed.

'I found out all about it later, from a johnnie who was at the party. As you can imagine, on a beautiful Saturday, the roads were jam-packed with people on their way for an afternoon at the seaside, and within minutes cars started to roll in. The Hodges didn't realise what was happening at first, thought they were invited guests. The climax was when a charabanc, with about forty people on board, arrived. They twigged then, but it was too late. There were already about twenty cars parked on the drive, people were helping themselves to grub and drinks from the buffet, kids were trampling all over the flower beds, changing into their bathing costumes in their cars and jumping in the swimming pool. Some people actually went in the house and started poking round all over the place, using the bathrooms, what have you. The butler was trying to get rid of them, which led to a lot of nasty arguments. And the most topping thing of all was that one of the real guests was an eccentric old baronet, who always dresses in the most disreputable togs and hardly ever shaves or has his hair cut. The butler thought he was one of the gate-crashers and forcibly ejected him. By which time, most of the toffs were pretty fed up, and started to leave,
en masse
. Hodge was running round in circles, trying to get
them
to stay and the intruders to leave, all at the same time. Mrs Hodge was having hysterics in her boudoir. I'm delighted to say that their great day was totally ruined. And serve them bally well right.'

Penny gave a sigh. 'Oh, Tommy, you're so clever! To think of that!'

Tommy endeavoured unsuccessfully to look modest. 'I do seem to have a flair for that sort of thing.' Then he became gloomy again. 'Good to have a flair for something, I suppose. Certainly haven't got one for selling cars.'

'What would you like to do?'

'Dunno, really. Used to think I'd like to be a reporter. Must be terrific fun, going round interviewing film stars and racing drivers. I'm not much of a writer, but that doesn't really matter; you just put down what they say. It was Stella getting her first job in that line that put the idea into my head. Incidentally, I hear she's back.'

'Stella who? Back from where?'

'Stella Simmons. Cousin Stella. Home from the US of A. A pal of mine ran into her. Seems she's working for some fashion mag, but I don't know which one and her number's not in the phone book, so I haven't been able to get in touch with her. I thought she might have given me a call, actually. I used to have quite a crush on her, when I was about thirteen.'

Penny gave an almost inaudible sniff. 'Really?'

And she was jolly nice to me.'

'Really?' said Penny again. The temperature in the Lagonda had dropped a degree or two.

'Girls of that age haven't usually got much time for young lads.'

Penny frowned. 'What do you mean: 'that age'?'

'Well, she must have been twenty-three or more then.'

'Oh.' Penny's face cleared. 'Then she's quite old?'

'Mm, that was ten or eleven years ago.'

'I see.' The atmosphere was suddenly warmer again. 'She sounds very nice,' Penny said condescendingly.

'You never met her, then?'

'I've never even heard of her. And I don't understand. If she's your cousin and I'm your cousin, she must be my cousin, too, mustn't she?'

'You're not my cousin.'

'Don't be silly, Tommy, of course I am.'

'Not my full cousin - first cousin, nor even second. We're different generations.'

Penny looked quite blank. 'How do you mean?'

'Well, let me see. Your grandfather and my father were first cousins. So I'm second cousin to your father. I think that makes you my second cousin once removed.'

'Removed where?'

'That's just what they call it. Means a generation younger.'

'I'm nothing like a generation younger than you, only three or four years.'

'That's got nothing to do with it. But if we were looking at the family tree, you'd be one level lower down.'

Penny was looking totally bewildered. 'I don't know anything about the family, really. Daddy never talks about them. So where does this Stella girl come in?'

'Ah, well, my father and her mother were brother and sister. So she
is
my first cousin. And you're her second cousin once removed, too, as well as mine. Aren't you a lucky girl?'

'Mummy had some first cousins. I used to call them Auntie or Uncle.'