The Room on the Second Floor (21 page)

‘I’m no expert at parties, but I get the feeling this one is going well.’ He had his mouth to her ear. She gripped his forearm a little tighter as she replied.

‘They are like a big family. Look at Duggie and Tina.’ He nodded as she continued. ‘And what about Mr Vinnicombe?’ He followed her gaze and spotted the unmistakable bulk of their zealous cleaner, arm-in-arm with an immensely tall, stringy fellow. Her head barely reached his chest, while the rest of her body completely blotted out his, apart from his neck and head. The overall impression was of an ostrich. The lower section all body, with a disproportionately thin top third.

‘No prizes for guessing who is wearing the cleanest shirt tonight.’ He had no doubt that she was dead right.

‘The girls from the Salon are enjoying themselves.’ Her observation was mainly directed towards Natascha and Svetlana. They had found the vodka and appeared to be doing their best to empty the bottle between them. Not surprisingly, they were accompanied by a crowd. Most of the unattached men at the party had been drawn towards them as if by magic. Neither girl was wearing anything outrageous – rather the opposite, in fact – but there was no hiding the fact that they were lovely young girls. The boys had picked them out from the start. Over to one side of the dance floor, a space had opened up around the prancing form of Rocky. He was dancing flamboyantly with Sindy and Mindy and they seemed to be enjoying it as much as the onlookers.

Linda smiled and waved as she caught sight of Ingrid, her blond head sticking up higher than most of those around her. The other Salon girls were a little less visible, although the Salon manager, Rachel Turner, was anything but. She was wearing a full-length evening dress, complete with pearls and long black gloves. She was deep in conversation with Stan the gardener. In her case, conversation all too often meant monologue. His facial expression was gloomier than usual. It clearly indicated that he would be glad of a means of escape. Linda looked up at Roger and decided to help out.

‘All right if I go and dance with Stan?’

He understood immediately and relinquished his hold on her, watching her make her way through the crowd towards Stan. A moment later, the two of them were dancing. However, to Roger’s dismay, Rachel Turner spun round and walked resolutely in his direction. Before he had time to rush off to the loo, she had buttonholed him.

‘Good evening, Professor Dalby. Thought it was about time we had an interface. Can’t beat a bit of proactive networking, eh?’

He nodded vaguely and took the outstretched hand gingerly, but still received the usual crushing. When she released him, he very nearly dipped his fingers in the so far untouched glass of champagne he was holding. Since the debacle at Linda’s flat in November, he had reduced his already minimal alcohol intake, so as to avoid any further embarrassment. Rachel Turner, on the other hand, drained her glass and picked another from a passing tray with all the skill of an old hand.

‘The important thing for us is to be focused on creating opportunities for the people who contribute to corporate excellence. Our goal must be to concurrently link growth of the business base, with ongoing productivity initiatives, so that we satisfy all the stakeholders.’ He nodded blankly. Thankfully she then added: ‘Good party.’ It was an observation, rather than a question but, nevertheless, he felt obliged to reply.

‘I was just thinking that it is a bit like a big family.’ He smiled at her, but the response was predictably acerbic.

‘How does it go? You can pick your friends, but you are stuck with your family. Something like that.’ She took a long pull at her glass. ‘A fairly dysfunctional family, I am afraid. Just look at those Salon girls. Hussies!’ The last word was delivered with such venom that Roger found his face covered with a fine mist of champagne. For a moment, he was virtually blinded. Luckily, she chose that moment to sweep off into the crowd.

Roger felt a soft, feminine hand on his neck. He turned to feel Tina’s lips on his cheek. He liked her a lot, and she was woman enough to realise it.

‘How’s my favourite professor?’ She left her hand on his collar and gave him time to admire her. The black dress, discreetly provocative, had proved a great hit with all the men in the room. Roger was no exception. She felt great, smelt sexy and looked gorgeous. He felt it incumbent upon him to register the fact.

‘You look absolutely gorgeous, Tina.’ She almost blushed. Duggie gave him a brilliant smile.

‘The love of a good man, Roger.’ She saw his eyes flick over towards Duggie, so she felt she had to clarify. ‘But there wasn’t one around, so I got this very bad one!’ Duggie smiled benevolently and Roger was delighted for both of them. Tina squeaked and jumped as Duggie’s hand reappeared from behind her.

‘Santa knew what I wanted for Christmas, all right. The ultimate stocking filler! And this one fills two stockings.’ Duggie was looking much more relaxed than Roger had seen him for weeks. Whatever Tina was doing for him, it was working. Then Roger remembered Linda’s instructions.

‘Oh yes, Duggie, many thanks from Linda for laying on the full beauty treatment for her the other day. She was very impressed with the Salon.’ Duggie breathed out gratefully. Mo’s pay rise would come early, he had already decided. As for the future of Ms Turner, well that remained to be seen.

‘Is that her secret?’ Tina had been watching her. She had never seen her happier or prettier. ‘Maybe I should give the Salon a try myself.’ As she said it, she cast an oblique glance at Duggie, enjoying seeing him squirm. ‘Maybe mention it to a few girlfriends.’

‘Linda doesn’t need a beauty salon. Ever since you two came back from Japan, she has been looking stunning.’ Duggie meant it.

The three of them watched the guests in silence for a few moments. The DJ had just put on Queen’s ‘We are the Champions’, and half the people in the room were waving their arms in the air, Linda and Stan included. Roger spotted Paddy perched on a table by the door, the glass of wine held uncomfortably in a hand more used to pints of Guinness. He was walking better now, but the accident he claimed to have had on Mrs Vinicombe’s over-polished floor was evidently giving him gyp. Beside him, the pseudo-twins, Sindy and Mindy, fresh from the dance floor, had included him in their conversation. This was a rare event. They were well-known for being only interested in themselves. Maybe as a result, the Irishman seemed unusually animated.

Off to their right, on the edge of the dance floor, Mo was swaying to the music alongside Henri the Butler. Both of them were dressed in sober black. Mo looked smaller and younger without her stilettos and Henri was smiling at her happily. Duggie saw her and felt a warm glow of satisfaction. She really was doing a great job. Maybe this crazy idea of his would actually turn out to be for the good after all.

‘Well, are we dancing?’ Tina had her hands on Roger’s arm. Noticing his reticence, she added. ‘Come on, Roger. You’ve got to do it for me. When I tell all the girls back at uni next term that I actually got to hold the sexy professor Dalby in my unworthy arms, the envy and unrequited lust will be exquisite!’

She gave him a broad smile as she dragged him, protesting, onto the dance floor. Just at that moment, the music changed, providentially, to the Beachboys’ ‘California Girls’. Roger was no dancer, but there were a few he remembered, that still got him moving. Luckily this was one of them. They were swept into the crowd, all humming ‘Dumba, dumba, dumba, dumba…’ in time to the music.

Duggie watched them happily. The last months had been the busiest of his life. Now, with opening day for the club itself only a week away, he felt a considerable sense of achievement. This was accompanied by no small helping of relief that everything had fallen into place in time. His mad idea to create the Salon seemed at last to be working out. He had got over his traumatic, if not altogether unexpected, discovery that prostitution was a very murky world. Since his confrontation with Rachel Turner, she had kept a blessedly low profile. There was no question, she had definitely taken a lot of work off his shoulders. Above all, her appointment had allowed him to take a step back from the often sad reality behind the glamour.

As for Rachel Turner herself, he had heard Stan the Gardener referring to her as the Great Dictator. Paddy called her the Fuhrer, but not to her face. There was no denying that she had definitely inherited a power gene from somebody. Paddy’s voiced opinion as to her parentage was unlikely to stand up to closer investigation. All the inhabitants of the Berlin Bunker would have been dead, burnt and buried years before her conception, but it did not stop him spreading the rumour. She had managed to make herself very unpopular in a remarkably short space of time. Duggie knew that, sooner or later, it would fall to him to have it out with her. He was not looking forward to it one bit. He knew it could turn ugly. Alas, he had no doubt that it would. Very ugly indeed.

Mo, on the other hand, was proving to be a great asset. He now felt sure that she would be able to replace Ms Turner, as and when the manager could be persuaded to leave. That, of course, was the conundrum. How could he get rid of somebody who had enough information about the Salon to bring the whole edifice crashing down around his ears? He decided to bide his time. By the spring, the mad rush to get everything open would be over. He should have more time on his hands, and Mo herself would be that much more clued up. If only he could get rid of the manager without the sort of recriminations she had threatened, and that he feared.

His musings were interrupted. He smelt a whiff of perfume and felt a hand gently pinch his bottom. He turned to see the lovely Tessa from the reception desk at his side. Her hair was swept up high and her neckline plunged so low it seemed to go down forever.

‘Evening, boss.’ She gave him a look which, only a couple of months previously, would have reached deep into his trousers, if not his heart. Now, deeply satisfied by his maturing relationship with Tina, he was able to give her a cheery smile and talk shop. If there was a tinge of disappointment in her eyes, it would not last long, of that he was sure.

‘Hi, Tessa. I have been wanting to see you to congratulate you on the poster. Magnificent.’ She curtsied elegantly. She had followed his words to the letter, and had produced a terrific poster announcing the opening of the club. It was already up on the website. It would be printed and distributed as soon as Christmas was over, in time for the grand opening. It was in full colour, set on a background of the manor, complete with cedars. It consisted of judiciously edited highlights from many of the letters, faxes and emails they had managed to get from world-famous sportsmen and celebrities. The fact that all declined the invitation to visit had been suppressed in favour of the positive bits. Pride of place was given to Tiger Woods, via his secretary, who:
sends you and all your team his very best wishes
. Lee Westwood also appeared with the words:
I wish you well and hope Toplingham goes from strength to strength
. Ah yes, he thought happily to himself, the power of the written word. He bestowed an avuncular kiss on Tessa’s cheek, and set off in search of his other half.

As she watched him go, Tessa gave a little puff of resignation. She turned back in the direction of Ben, the fitness instructor from the gym. He had been following her conversation with the boss from a discreet distance. Catching his eye as she walked up to him, she held out a hand. ‘Thank you for asking. I’d love to.’ She headed back towards the dance floor, dragging her far from unwilling dancing partner behind her.

Roger and Linda were, by this time, dancing happily together, a few feet away from Duggie and Tina. In spite of his hesitation, Roger found that he was enjoying himself more than he had expected. All in all, it was turning out to be a splendid evening.

‘I don’t think I’ve ever been happier.’ He leant forward and kissed Linda on the cheek.

She gave him a bright smile in return. ‘We’re lucky people!’

Just then, Tessa and Ben squeezed into the crowd beside them. Linda waved cheerily and Roger gave them a little bow of greeting. As his eyes dropped towards the floor, there was a blood-curdling scream. Time stood still, as the whole evening disintegrated around them. His warm feeling of happiness melted away. In its place was cold dread. He raised his eyes to a scene of carnage.

Tessa was desperately clawing at the side of her head, blood gushing out through her fingers. She opened her mouth in anguish. Blood poured out, over her chin and down the front of her dress. The room stood still. Everybody turned towards them in slow motion. As the disco music carried on thumping, she slumped towards the floor. Ben only just managed to catch her head as she fell.

She lay writhing in agony on the floor, knees curled up to her chest, her hands clenched tightly across her face. Bright-red blood pulsed through her fingers, spreading into a puddle around her on the floor. Mercifully, the music stopped. In the sudden silence, the only noise was Tessa whimpering.

Duggie had his mobile out in seconds, but it was a quarter of an hour before the ambulance arrived. By then, in spite of their best efforts, she had lost a lot of blood. The paramedics bandaged her up and rushed her back to hospital. As they left, the driver spoke to Duggie in serious tones.

‘I’m afraid we have had to inform the police of this. It looks very much like the young lady has been shot.’

‘Shot?’ Linda and Roger echoed the word as the driver disappeared at a run. Within seconds, the ambulance sped off, blue light flashing. They heard the siren start as it reached the end of the drive. ‘Who on earth would wish to shoot Tessa?’ As the ambulance disappeared, so another blue light appeared in its place and hared up the drive. The police were here already. The party dissolved in shocked silence. Some people left, others collected into little huddled groups, all trying to understand what had just happened.

‘And you are sure, Mr Scott, that she had no enemies here or elsewhere, to the best of your knowledge?’ The taller police officer had been laboriously working his way through the paperwork. It was all handwritten and would all need to be transcribed onto the computer back at the station. He knew from experience that Christmas Eve was never a quiet evening, but a shooting in Toplingham was definitely unusual. Sixpence lodged in the throat from the pudding or maybe a bit of turkey bone, but real bullets?