The Collared Collection (20 page)

Flippant thoughts helped to block from her mind the real reason they were perched on a hard leather sofa within Brenda’s domain – they were there because Ginny was dead, murdered by mistake when someone thought she was Callie. She and Elizabeth were choosing a box in which her body would be burned. Even now, she couldn’t fully accept the finality of that and quite expected to see her friend again.

When they had made their selection and opted for a lining of padded cream silk, Brenda led them backstage so that they could view their choice in all its glory. She handed them over to Herbie Flanagan, who looked about twelve, had a face full of Vesuvius spots, and didn’t fill out his cheap charcoal suit in any of the right places. Callie’s mother would have said he was ‘a bit of a spiv’.

Herbie greeted them sombrely, in hushed funereal tone, wringing his hands like Uriah Heep. ‘Good morning, ladies. May I most humbly congratulate you on an excellent choice of casket for our dear departed Mzzz Montague?’

‘Thank you,’ she mumbled, feeling awkward at being praised for her choice of coffin and bristling at the phrase ‘our dear departed’, while Elizabeth merely glared at him, as she might something nasty stuck to her shoe.

He waved his hand to indicate a highly polished oak casket, measuring approximately six feet long by two and a half feet wide, which balanced upon a stainless steel trestle affair in the middle of the chilly room. ‘Ladies, I present to you our very fine Ascot model.’ He pronounced it ‘Arsct mowdel’. ‘Brass fittings are of course an additional extra to the broshoooore price.’

‘Of course,’ she said, ‘we’ll have them.’ Suddenly, she felt the need to get out of this place of death and was anxious to hurry things along. ‘You do understand, Mr Flanagan, that we are here to make as many arrangements as possible for Ms Montague, but we cannot set a date until her body is released?’

‘I do, Mrs Ashdown, I do. That will not be a problemo. Now tell me, when our dear departed does come to lie in our Chapel of Rest, will it be an open casket?’

She gasped. ‘Good God, no! She died in a car accident.’ The thought horrified her and she felt bilious, a slide show of gory death scenes flashing before her eyes.

‘My apologies, I wasn’t aware of that.’ He shook his head slowly from side to side. ‘Tragic, truly tragic.’

Elizabeth sliced in, ‘Young man, I was led to understand we would be dealing with Mr Flanagan senior – why are you here in his stead?’

Herbie shuffled his feet, looking uncomfortable, ‘My dear father is, I regret to say, indisposed and sends his most humble apologies. While I am not worthy to fill his shoes, I will do my best.’

She went for the jugular, demonstrating why she was one of the more feared litigates in courts nationwide. ‘Cut the crap, Herbie – and if you say “humble” once more, I’m going to ram that very long screwdriver over there down your throat sideways. Do I make myself clearly understood?’

Herbie’s face blanched, his eyes widened, and he looked what he was – a worried little boy, out of his depth while trying to blag an imitation of his father. ‘Sorry.’

‘That’s better – we have lost a very dear friend and colleague in the most distressing way imaginable, and we can very much do without you pretending to be a grown-up and trying to pull a fast one on us. You’ll have to con your gobstopper money out of some other poor sap – brass fixtures come as part of the casket choice, as it clearly states in your price list, and so you will not feloniously inflate your invoice. Once Mrs Ashton signed the order, you entered into a contract with her on those terms – am I once more understood?’

‘Yes … sorry,’ he whispered. Callie feared he might burst into tears any moment – or worse, wet his pants.

Elizabeth hadn’t finished with him yet. ‘For obvious reasons, the casket will be closed. On its lid, you will place your most beautiful floral tribute – please include at
least
a dozen yellow rose buds, as those were our friend’s favourite flower.’ She looked to Callie for confirmation. With her jaw heading south fast, she nodded in agreement. ‘You are to invoice
me
directly for those – send your bill to E. Lyon-Smith, care of Montague and Brewer.’ She poked her card into his top pocket – judging by the terrified look on his face and the way his body lurched backward, the poor chap thought she was going to physically attack him. ‘Now, young man, we have opted for the least religious order of service, but would like to include these two pieces of music.’ She waved a piece of paper in her hand and he reached out gingerly to take it from her. His hand shook as he held it by one corner, as though it might ravage him, or worse.

When he tried to pull his lips into a smile, he failed miserably. ‘I’ll see to that for you, modom.’

‘Is there anything else we should discuss at this juncture?’ She impaled him with an icy stare from eyes narrowed to slits.

‘Err … no, I don’t think so. May I humbly … err … um … that is, Flanagan’s is honoured to be of service in your time of sorrow.’

‘Bollocks, you obsequious little prick – I strongly advise your father to cease being indisposed forthwith, before you send his business to the knackers’ yard.’ With that, she marched from the room, past Brenda, heading toward the parlour’s heavy glass front door.

‘She’s upset,’ Callie told Brenda. ‘Thank you for your help – we’ll … um, be in touch.’ She took large strides to join Elizabeth, who waited for her outside on the pavement.

‘Right,’ boomed Elizabeth, ‘time for alcohol, I think.’

Callie hesitated. ‘I really shouldn’t – I promised David I’d go straight to the funeral home and back, not taking any chances. He wasn’t keen on me going at all, because he couldn’t be here.’

‘Bollocks, Callie – I’ll see you come to no harm. Follow me.’

Well, she wasn’t going to disagree with Elizabeth, having no desire to incite a tongue-lashing as suffered by the hapless Herbie – and so she meekly followed her down the road.

At the bar, Elizabeth ordered an unfeminine pint of bitter, while Callie went for a dry white wine, largest size. They took their drinks outside, into the small beer garden at the rear of the pub.

‘Cheers,’ said Elizabeth. ‘Good to have you on board.’

Callie wasn’t sure whether she meant as joint arranger of funerals, or at Montague’s. ‘Thanks.’

‘Tell me,’ she asked. ‘That handsome young man of yours, David – is it a serious relationship?’

She swallowed hard, surprised by the directness of the question, ‘I think so, yes, though it’s early days.’ She felt her face redden and it had nothing to do with the sun.

‘Nonsense, make the most of every second – I wish I had …’ She looked wistful.

‘With your newspaper man?’ Callie prompted.

‘Yes, his name is Keith. Now it will be at least three years before we can be together.’

‘I’m so sorry. That must be very difficult for you.’

She spluttered, ‘It’s far worse for him – prisons are very dangerous places when one doesn’t know the ropes. Naivety isn’t a recommended quality behind bars.’

‘But surely he’ll be transferred very quickly to an open prison? His was a white collar crime, after all.’

‘I’m working on that.’ She took a deep breath, ‘I can’t help worrying that I should have handed the case to someone with relevant expertise and not defended him myself … not my field, strictly speaking. But let’s forget my problems – you have quite enough of your own, at the moment.’

She laughed. ‘Thanks for reminding me!’

‘Some of us in the office read the piece about your death in the paper – we assumed one of their deadbeat reporters traced your name as registered vehicle keeper via the DVLA, put two and two together to make five. Do you think that’s the case?’

‘I wish it were, but I don’t think so, Elizabeth. Anyway, sticks and stones … everyone who matters knows it was a mistake.’

‘That’s really quite a hate campaign someone is waging against you – if there’s anything I can do …’

‘Thanks.’ She noticed her companion’s glass was already empty. ‘Can I get you another?’

Elizabeth looked at her watch. ‘Why not? I’m not due in court this afternoon – only if you’ll have one with me, though.’

‘Sure, I’m game – I could sit out here in the sun all day.’ She grabbed her purse and went through to the bar.

They chatted around all sorts of subjects and Callie discovered Elizabeth had an excellent, if well-concealed, sense of humour. She told her of a childhood in rural Sussex, where she and her many siblings had enjoyed a very privileged, if increasingly impoverished upbringing. She hadn’t realised before that her octogenarian father was one of the hereditary peers expelled by Tony Blair’s government from the House of Lords, to make way for simpering cronies and cash cows. Elizabeth practically spat the former premier’s name, although she herself had long ago eschewed the title Honourable. ‘I was afraid it meant I couldn’t be dishonourable, if I so desired,’ she joked.

When the lunchtime crowd began to arrive, they left and started back to the office. It was boiling hot again and most people they passed along the pavement were in shirtsleeves or light tops. She and Elizabeth bucked the trend, Callie being simply too lazy to carry her jacket. When a biker cut in front of them on foot, in full leathers and crash helmet, she remembered thinking how hot he must be in that lot, just before he stopped abruptly and they almost crashed into him. She heard Elizabeth utter an obscenity and the rest became a bit of a blur.

However, she did recall that he spun around, unzipped his jacket, and removed a weapon, which he aimed straight in her face.

Chapter Thirty-three

Before Callie could react, Elizabeth had thrown herself in front of her and took the full force of the industrial bleach the biker sprayed at her, while she stood gawping helplessly, frozen to the spot. He then ran off at speed in the direction he had come and Elizabeth started to scream in pain and fear. As she held the left side of her face, the liquid dripped through her fingers – Callie knew she had to act quickly, but wasn’t sure what to do for the best. She had a few drops on her cheek and neck, which burned like mad, so Elizabeth must have been in unimaginable agony. Passers-by stood and stared.

‘Call an ambulance – now!’ she yelled at a City slicker type, who obediently pulled out his phone. Behind them was a café. She grabbed Elizabeth’s hand and pulled her toward the door, but because she couldn’t see where she was going, she resisted.

‘Come on, Elizabeth,’ she said, hoping to coax her with calm and confidence, ‘we have to dilute this stuff as soon as we can.’

Callie burst through the café entrance – greeted by gob-smacked stares from patrons and staff alike – as she pulled a large, reluctant body along behind her.

She screeched, ‘Sink?’ at a waitress, who pointed behind the sandwich making counter. Health and Safety would have had a fit had they known she dragged her to the butler’s sink, past open containers of all manner of foodstuffs, threw out cutlery and general catering detritus, and turned the cold tap on full, before forcing Elizabeth’s head under the running water.

‘Try to blink your eyes in the water to irrigate them, especially the left one.’ In truth, she had no idea whether she was doing the right thing – the First Aid she’d learned years ago didn’t cover bleach burns, as far as she could remember – it just seemed sensible to dilute it. Elizabeth’s facial skin was turning red and blistery before her eyes, the left eye was swollen shut and there were large spatters of discoloured fabric all over her navy blue jacket. It occurred to Callie that if they hadn’t been wearing those outer layers, a lot more bare skin would have been exposed to damage.

It seemed like they had been there for hours before the ambulance arrived and a paramedic took charge. As the walking wounded, Callie was led outside by his colleague, to sit on the stretcher in the back of the ambulance, while her face and neck were bathed with something soothing. There were some minor burns on her hands and her peripheral vision picked out tufts of frazzled hair framing her face.

‘There, that’s not too bad,’ the young woman said. Compared to what, Callie wondered – the affected areas still stung a lot. ‘Looks like you got off quite lightly.’

‘It doesn’t feel like it. How is my friend?’

She poked her head out of the back of the vehicle, peering over the heads of a group of rubber-neckers. ‘They’re just coming now – my oppo will take good care of her. He’s applied a special water gel mask to ease her discomfort, so try not to worry. What was it? Spurned lover?’

‘Not even close.’

‘The police will have to be informed – they’ll do that from the hospital.’

‘Oh, I didn’t think of that,’ she said, feeling rather dumb. Her brain connected the dots from ‘police’ to David and she started to dread the telling off she knew he would dish her way. ‘I was just trying to help Elizabeth as quickly as possible.’

‘No worries,’ she smiled, ‘You know, your swift action will have helped a lot.’ Callie realised for the first time that her attending was Australian – and she had to smile when she looked at her name badge and saw she was called Kylie.

As if by telepathy, Kylie asked her name.

‘Callie Ashton,’ she replied. ‘And my friend is Elizabeth Lyon-Smith.’ She wrote the details down, just as her partner helped Elizabeth up into the ambulance. Callie moved to give her room to lie down and Kylie climbed into the driver’s seat.

‘We’ll have you in A&E in no time,’ she called over her shoulder, as she keyed the engine into life and engaged the gear stick with a scrunch.

Elizabeth grabbed her hand and whispered, ‘I told you I’d look after you. Thank you for what you did.’ Through a gap in the dressing, she saw her good eye flutter closed and squeezed her hand even tighter, willing her to be alright.

As the ambulance – sirens blaring – weaved through heavy traffic, Callie started to feel a crushing sense of guilt … how many other lives would be endangered or lost because of her, before Balaclava Man was apprehended? Of course, she was taking an educated guess they’d just encountered him in a change of outfit – the biker was tall and slim, just like BM. Elizabeth would probably be scarred for life, all because she’d tried to protect Callie – and she was especially worried about the sight in that left eye.