The Lily-White Boys (20 page)

When Hannah arrived back at Beechcroft Mansions an hour or so later, she took the lift beyond her own floor and knocked on Webb's front door. He opened it in shirt-sleeves.

‘Ah, the reveller's return! How did it go?'

‘Interesting. Can you spare a few minutes?'

‘Do you have to ask?'

She walked through to his living-room. A lamp was lit in one corner, but most of the room was in shadow. Mozart was playing softly on the stereo and Webb's old leather chair had been pulled over to the wide-open window.

‘I was trying to get some air. Drink?'

‘I'd love a gin and tonic. I've been on wine all evening.'

He pulled a chair over for her and she sat down, relaxing into its sagging embrace.

‘Well,' she began, accepting the glass he handed her, ‘I kept my ears and eyes open as instructed.'

‘And?'

‘And there was something rather puzzling.' She repeated what both Dilys and Monica had told her about the apparently out-of-bounds area upstairs. ‘The strange thing was that both couples involved were French.'

Webb smiled, thinking of Jackson's comment about sinister foreigners. Perhaps he'd been nearer the mark than either of them realized.

‘You think the first couple was mistaken for the second?'

‘It rather looks like that.'

Webb tipped his glass, letting the ice clink against the sides. ‘Any idea what they could have been up to?'

‘Not the remotest.'

‘Or if anyone else went up?'

‘No.'

He said reflectively, ‘I know the manager, I've chatted to him once or twice. Not Marlow, though. Have you met him?'

‘No, but Monica sometimes speaks of him.' She paused. ‘Are you wondering what the Whites saw through those upstairs windows?'

‘I certainly wouldn't mind a look up there. Well done, love, you've opened another line of inquiry, and at this stage of the game it's more than welcome.'

At three minutes to twelve that night, Ethel Latimer finally released her hold on life and slipped peacefully away.

Monica heard the news the next morning; George phoned as she was preparing to leave for work.

‘Oh my dear, I'm so sorry!' she exclaimed. ‘Were you with her?'

‘Yes; it was very peaceful. I think they knew by the time I arrived that she wasn't going to pull through.'

‘I should have been there,' Monica said remorsefully. ‘Is there anything I can do?'

‘No, thank you. Everything's very straightforward.' It would be; George was nothing if not methodical.

‘May I come round this evening?'

There was a slight pause. Then he said, ‘If you'd like to, I'd be glad to see you.'

The time arranged, Monica replaced the phone thoughtfully. The news had come as a surprise; although illogically in the circumstances, she hadn't expected Mrs Latimer to die. Now, for the first time, she would meet George without the ever-present shadow of his mother. Unless, that is, her influence persisted.

At the Marlow home breakfast had been subdued, though Abbie, hugging her secret to herself, did not appear to notice. ‘I'll be home about two-thirty,' she said with studied carelessness as she left for school.

Claudia looked up dully. ‘I was expecting you for lunch.'

‘Not today. See you later.' And she was gone. As the front door slammed behind her, Claudia, without previous thought, heard herself say, ‘How long has Eloise been your mistress?'

She saw the shock on Harry's face but it brought no satisfaction.

‘Claudia! Is that what you think?'

‘It's what I know.'

‘But that's ludicrous! Whatever –'

‘You met on Monday evening – you can't deny it.'

Staring at her, he made no attempt to. She slammed her hand on the table. ‘If I hadn't been such a fool, I'd have realized years ago. I suppose it's been going on all our married life?'

He was still staring helplessly at her, his face white, and she burst out, ‘Haven't you
ever
loved me?'

That galvanized him and he reached across the table, seizing both her hands. ‘Darling, I've
always
loved you! I still do.'

‘You've an odd way of showing it,' she said, pulling her hands free. ‘Does Justin know?'

‘Know what?' he blustered, but his eyes fell under her accusing gaze.

‘Let's stop playing games, Harry. I should have realized Eloise would still consider you her property. But she's always been so
friendly.
How could she
do
it?' She put her head in her hands.

After a long, pulsing silence, Harry said, ‘She's fond of you. We never intended to hurt either you or Justin.'

‘It's simply that we don't fulfil your needs? Oh well, fair enough.' The bitterness in her voice cut into him.

‘Darling, please don't talk like that. What we've done is wrong – God, I know that – but if it had ever occurred to me you'd find out, I'd never have gone on with it, I swear it.'

‘It was all right as long as I didn't know?'

He said miserably, ‘That's not what I meant. I can't expect you to understand, but Eloise got into my blood a long time ago. I was never really sure of her, though. I think she only agreed to marry me because it was romantic to be engaged while she was still at school.'

‘And then she met Justin,' Claudia said flatly.

‘Yes.'

Twisting the knife, she added, ‘Well, go on. When did it start up again?'

His eyes fell. ‘When I met you. She was jealous, and I, fool that I was, was flattered. I thought I'd lost her, and it suddenly seemed that I hadn't.'

‘I'm surprised you bothered to marry me, then.'

‘Claudia, I fell in love with you, and I've never stopped loving you. You must believe that.'

‘And no doubt she's equally devoted to Justin.' It seemed incredible they were having this conversation, and suddenly she'd had enough of it. ‘You'd better go,' she said, ‘it's time to open the Gallery.'

‘But I can't just leave you. I want you to –'

‘Please go, Harry. You've said enough.'

He stood up reluctantly, looking down at her bent head.

‘What are you going to do?'

‘I haven't decided.'

‘Abbie –'

‘Yes, Abbie!' she broke in furiously. ‘You never considered her in all this, but no doubt you'll expect me to.'

He lifted his hand and let it fall. Then he turned and left the room. Claudia went on sitting there for several minutes. Then, drawing a deep breath, she stood up and started to clear the table.

It was not Harry's day; he arrived at the Gallery to find Webb and Jackson already waiting for him. He'd seen the taller man here before, talking to Tony quite knowledgeably about the paintings, and did not at first realize they were detectives.

‘Yes, gentlemen; can I help you?'

The warrant card was produced and he felt in his stomach the cold sensation that even innocent people experience in such circumstances.

‘I hope so, Mr Marlow,' Webb said pleasantly. He glanced at the long screens dividing the length of the Gallery, and the paintings hung on both sides of them. ‘An exhibition on, I see.'

‘That's right; why don't you take a look round?'

‘I believe you held a Private View last night?'

‘Yes, an excellent turn-out. As you can see, a lot of the paintings are already sold.'

Webb fingered one of the catalogues lying on the counter. ‘What was on display upstairs?' he asked casually, and looked up in time to catch the younger man's involuntary movement.

There was the briefest of pauses, then Marlow said, ‘There was nothing on display upstairs. It's storage space, not open to the public.'

‘But I believe several people were shown up there?'

‘Ah, you mean the framers. They'd some business to discuss and as we couldn't make ourselves heard downstairs, we went up for a few minutes.'

‘French framers? Webb said impassively, ‘All right if we have a look?'

‘Well, it's probably in a mess, packing cases and so on.'

‘Actually it's quite tidy, Mr Marlow.' Tony Reid had come forward. ‘I sorted it out a bit when I got in.'

Marlow shrugged. ‘Very well.' He led the way into the passage and up the steep staircase, Webb and Jackson at his heels. At the top of the stairs a small window faced them, presumably looking out over the back courtyard. On their right was a door marked ‘WC' and on their left another led to the large storage area above the Gallery.

Webb looked about him with interest. The far end of it was, as Marlow had said, filled with sheets of cardboard, packing cases and stacks of paintings in frames, no doubt temporarily removed from below to house the exhibition. Several items of furniture were shrouded under dust sheets and a pair of steps leant against the wall.

At the near end, however, a fairly large space had been kept clear. There was a Victorian chaise-longue under the window, a couple of button-back chairs and a few occasional tables. Almost like a private sitting-room, in fact.

‘Have your lunch up here, do you?' Webb asked facetiously. He looked at the window, screened by a Venetian blind. Had the White boys seen anything through it? It was hard to imagine what it could have been.

‘How many people were here last night, Mr Marlow?'

‘About two hundred. Too many, actually, in this weather.'

‘I presume you have a guest list?'

‘I have, yes. Look, Chief Inspector, do you mind telling me what this is all about?'

‘Just a line of inquiry we're pursuing, sir. May we borrow the list?'

‘Would it make any difference if I said no?'

‘It's your privilege, sir,' Webb replied blandly.

‘Mr Reid has it.' Marlow's voice was short. Apparently his patience with them had evaporated. Jackson, catching Webb's eye, pulled his mouth down as Marlow went ahead of them down the stairs. The list was duly produced and handed over.

‘Had your windows cleaned lately?' Webb asked, as he flicked through it.

‘You have an agile mind, Chief Inspector,' Marlow said drily. ‘I confess I can't keep up with you. Why should you be interested in my windows?'

‘I wondered if you'd managed to replace your previous cleaners.'

‘And why should I do that?'

‘For the very good reason that they're dead.'

Marlow stared at him with a complete lack of comprehension.

‘Didn't you realize, sir? Those two lads who were murdered last week; they had a window-cleaning round in the town centre. You were one of their customers.'

‘Good God!' Marlow said softly. ‘So that's why you're here.'

‘That's right. All the premises they serviced are being examined.'

‘But – why, for God's sake?'

‘It's possible they might have seen something during the course of their work which led to their deaths.'

‘I see. Any idea what?'

‘Not as yet, sir, no. We're working on it.'

‘Well, good luck to you, but I'm afraid I can't help.'

The glass door beside them opened tentatively, and a girl put her head round. ‘Excuse me, is the Gallery open?'

‘Of course, madam, please come in. These gentlemen are just leaving.'

Which, Jackson reflected out on the pavement, was as smooth an ejection as they'd had for some time.

‘What do you make of him, Guv?'

‘I don't know. He wasn't keen for us to go upstairs, but it could have been for the reason he gave. Certainly he let us look our fill once we got there, so if anything untowards
had
been around last night, it must have been safely disposed of.'

‘That bloke saying he'd tidied up might have reassured him.'

‘Yes, I thought of that.' He looked across the road at the wine bar opposite. It was called The Vine Leaf, and its sign depicted a coy-looking Eve modestly shielding herself.

‘Let's go and have a cool drink, Ken, and while we're there we can make inquiries about the couple over the road. No doubt they patronize the place.'

The man behind the bar, gratified to have such early customers, took their light ales out to the garden, where the policemen had seated themselves in the shade.

‘I hear there was a big do last night across the road,' Webb began.

‘That's right.'

‘Involve you at all?'

He shook his head. ‘They often borrow a couple of our girls to serve drinks, but this time they'd professional caterers.'

‘You know the owner, then?'

‘Mr Marlow? Yes, he usually comes over for lunch.'

So he didn't eat in his upstairs salon; perhaps he used it as a love-nest.

‘Nice bloke?'

‘One of the best.'

‘And the other one?'

The barman grinned. ‘Pleasant enough, but I keep my distance.'

Webb took a long drink. ‘Mr Marlow's wife ever join him for lunch?' he asked, since the man still lingered by their table.

‘Sometimes, and sometimes it's the other lady.' He stopped and coloured. ‘Whoops! I probably shouldn't have said that!'

‘What other lady would that be?' Webb asked innocently. Perhaps his flippant thought about love-nests had been on the button.

‘Don't know who she is, but he calls her Louise or something. Smart piece, always well turned out.'

Webb gave him a conspiratorial wink. ‘Reckon they're having it off?'

But the barman wouldn't be drawn. ‘None of my business if they are.' Nor yours, mate, was the implication.

A woman and two young children had settled at another table, and the barman went across to take their orders. ‘Any Louises on that list, Ken?'

‘Not that I can see.'

‘I think we'll have another word with Miss Tovey, she was there last night. Come to that, she might be able to fill us in on these French people.'