Thirteen Steps Down (29 page)

sparkling water with ice and a slice of lemon. Before the phone rang they

had been discussing what Hazel was to wear to dinner at Darel Jones's

that evening, and Nerissa was offering to lend her the only garment she

possessed

that

her

mother

could

get

into,

a

heavy

silk

embroideredcaftan.

"Fetch Gwendolen Chawcer from the hospital?" Nerissah eard her

mother say. "I couldn't before late this afternoon.

My husband's got the car."

"Tell her I'll drive her," said Nerissa.

So they went to Paddington together, the caftan fetched from Campden

Hill Square and hanging in a garment bag across the backseat. Even

Gwendolen could melt when confrontedby true kindness and when she

realized what was being done to save her from staying longer than she

need in hospital, she was very gracious to Nerissa. For once, in the

company of a young woman, she refrained from remarking on the

tightnessof her jeans, the color and length of her fingernails, the

decolletageo f her shirt, and the height of her heels, but smiled and said

how very thoughtful Nerissa was in giving up her Saturday morning to

"transport an ancient creature like me."

They reached St. Blaise House at exactly noon. Queenie Winthrop, who

hadn't been invited to accompany them but had done so just the same,

gave Gwendolen a very acerbic account, lasting for the entire journey, of

how she had tried to get into the house to make final preparations for its

owner's return."

I had a key of course. Extraordinary as it seems, 1found thefront door

bolted against me. Yes, bolted. You wouldn't believeit, would you?

Perhaps that Mr. Cellini is nervous of being in the place alone. I'm sure I

don't know but it was bolted top and bottom. I rang and rang and banged

on the door and the letterbox. When it was all to no avail I looked up and

caught aglimpse of him diving down out of sight: And which window do

you think he wa at, Gwendolen? The one that faces the street in the

middle on the first floor. Your bedroom window. I'm almost positive.

What do you think of that?"

"I might think something if you were absolutely positive. But you're not,

are you?"

Queenie didn't answer. Gwendolen was a bit much sometimes.Looking

cool and offended, she helped her out of the car, but she wasn't

surprised when Gwendolen shook off her arm as they approached the

front door and inserted her key in the lock. In spite of treating Queenie's

account of Mix Cellini's behavior with derision, she had quite expected to

find her ownfront door bolted against her and, as the key turned, she

was thinking of the vituperative invective she would direct against him,

culminating in notice to quit. But the door slid openeasily.

They all went in and took off their jackets. As they walked across the

hallway toward the drawing room door, Mix cameout from the direction

of the kitchen. He was very disconcerted to see them so early, and both

overjoyed and alarmed to see Nerissa, though he had completed his task

half an hour before and had been back only to check that he had left no

incriminating evidence behind. It was the sight of Nerissa that brought

him to a standstill in front of Gwendolen. But for her, he would have

made some perfunctory greeting, passed themand struggled upstairs,

hand pressed to aching back. He was about to ignore the rest of them

and find themost gracious words he could think of for Nerissa

whenGwendolen spoke.

"What have you been doing in my kitchen?"

Mix had been using lies and subterfuge to get him out of trouble almost

since he was a baby and he always had some defensive excuse ready. "I

knew you'd be coming home today. Ithought I'd make you a cup of tea so

I went to check on thekettle and the teacups."

"Very thoughtful," said Gwendolen who didn't believe him.

"One of my friends will do that."

This was dismissal and Mix recognized it as such. He had to speak to

Nerissa before he went back upstairs. She was looking at him, smiling a

half-smile. "That was a great shot of you in last night's Standard, Miss

Nash," he said. "You wouldn't have a copy you could sign and let me

have, would you?""It was a press photo," she said and her voice

soundedsmaller than it had before. "They just took it. They don't give you

copies."

"Pity." Mix was determined to say his piece before partingfrom her. He

had rehearsed it for just such an occasion. "Miss Nash, you're the most

beautiful woman I've ever seen. You're just as beautiful in close-up as

from far away." He brought hisface near hers. "More beautiful," he said

and he staggered upstairs,desperate not to show the pain he was in.

Unwilling to listen to all this, Gwendolen went into the drawing room,

attended but no longer physically supported by Queenie "Winthrop.

Hazel Akwaa was furiously angry. She wanted to run after Mix and

berate him but Nerissa held her arm and said, "No, Mum, don't. Leave

it."

"How dare he say things like that to you?" Hazel spoke loudly enough

for Mix, by now on the first floor, to hear.

"I'm not the Queen, Mum. He doesn't have to get permission. I must be

really stupid, as I didn't realize he actually lived here. I mean, I know we

met him outside that time, but it never registered that he lived in this

house."

"I'm sorry you had to endure all that under my roof," said, Gwendolen

as Nerissa and Hazel went into the drawing room. Her tone was no longer

kindly toward Nerissa, whom she blamed as much as Mix for his

outburst.

Now she was home she wanted all these people to go. In an impatient

way, she acknowledged Nerissa’s kindness in fetching her from the

hospital, but there was nothing to stay for. She had her prescribed

medicaents and vitamins, she wasn't hungry, and her paramount desire

was to lie on the sofa andopen the post that Queenie had brought in from

the hallway. There was bound to be a letter from Stephen Reeves. She

wasvery tired and she wanted to read it before sleep overtook her.It was

Nerissa who recognized how weary she was and took her mother and

Queenie away, Queenie calling over her shoulder that Gwendolen must

waste no time in seeing what she thoughtof the spring-cleaning she and

Olive had done in the kitchen.

Before opening her book, Gwendolen reflected that today was the

anniversary of the first time Stephen Reeves came to the house to attend

her mother. He had come downstairs and said, "It's a sad sight to see the

old folks come to this."

She had offered him tea and, because he looked hungry, that day's

batch of homemade cakes.

The compliments Mix had offered to Nerissa and the proximity of his face

to hers had upset her more than she had showed at the time. She had

made a great effort at self-control in order not to cause trouble the

moment poor Miss Chawcer had come home after her stay in hospital,

but once she had taken her mother and Mrs. Winthrop home and was in

her own house ,she began to cry. All the telling herself that the man had

only said she was beautiful and come rather too close to her, that he was

a harmless fool, had no effect and she gave way to a storm of tears.

Crying was a release, more salutary than attempting to pull herself

together, and she was too young to be afraid of lastingmarks to her face.

She phoned the beauty salon she used andbooked to have her hair done,

a face massage, and a manicure.About to leave the house, she thought of

him again and shelooked out of a front window to see if the blue car was

parkeddown the hill. She knew the number by heart, had never had

towrite it down, but there was no sign of him. Still, she went nervously to

her car and remained jumpy and alert until she was in the salon and her

hair was being washed. Speculation about him went around and around

the inside of her head as warm water splashed on its outside. What did

he want of her? That she should go out with him?

She told herself not to be elitist, nearly sure she'd got the difficult word

right. Perhaps not to be a snob. God knows, she had no right to be

snobbish about anyone, her family wasn't anything much, even though

Grandma claimed to be the daughter of a chief. This guy--she realized

she didn't know hisname--was probably better educated than she was

and had a real job. He hadn't done her any harm, so why was she so

afraid of him? A man had once told her she had a true woman's intuitive

powers and perhaps she had, for she sensed something ugly about him,

something almost evil. This had been particularly apparent when he

brought his face close to hers. His eyes had seemed dead and his

expression utterly blank, even while he was saying those things about

her being beautiful. If onlys he could think of a way to get rid of him,

make sure he never came near her again.

Nico was approaching her with his drier and his brush. Shet urned her

head and gave him her glorious heart-melting smile.

Mix sat in his flat reading Killer Extraordinary. He quickly came upon an

illustration, a full-face photograph, and that reminded him of the ghost.

He laid the book down. Before he started reading he had heard the

departure of Nerissa--how nice she had been, how gentle and sweet--with

Ma Winthrop and that old bitch of a mother. How did a woman like that

come tohave such a wonderful daughter? It was unimaginable. The way

she'd spoken about him when he went upstairs! Once he and Nerissa

were going out together, better than that, once they were married, he'd

have his revenge. He' d make his wife forbid her from the house. And

their marriage would happen. He was sure of it now. He'd brought his

face up to hers near enough to kiss her and she hadn't moved away. She

liked being told she was beautiful, of course she did. Tomorrow he'd go

upt here on foot and stand outside and wait for her. If only he could sing

he'd serenade her.

Mix recognized how much his self-confidence had improved since he

had so successfully disposed of that girl's body. It was as if, having done

that in the face of such difficulty, he could do anything. Of course he

hadn't committed deliberate murder, it wasn't murder or even

manslaughter at all but "unlawfulkilling." They called it that when they

realized you couldn't help it. But if he had to he'd kill again. It wasn't

that much of a big deal. He knew he'd have a really good night's sleep

tonight. His worries were over and now, looking back, he wondered why

they had seemed so overwhelming. He had surmountedt hem, he had

dealt with them and they had dissolved like smoke.

His back was better. Two more ibuprofen and putting his feet up helped

enormously. As for the ghost, it never came inhere. If he was careful

never to look down those passages or going to that room the chances

were he wouldn't see it again. Of course he must move. It was a pity after

what he had spent on the flat, he would simply be making a present of a

nice little earner to old Chawcer, but there was no help for it. She might

not find it so profitable when the next tenant saw things up here he or

she didn't expect.

The water diviners, filing down a side street in Kilburn toward a mews

under which they were told an ancient stream still flowed, chatted

pleasantly to each other on such familiar subjects as astrology,

cartomancy, exorcism, numerology, theTarot, ailurophilia, hypnotism,

the cult of Ashtaroth, and leprechauns. It was too early to get out their

divining rods. Shoshana usually secured for herself a female companion

on these walks, a witch or a fortune-teller, but today she walked alone,

thinking of the Mix Cellini dilemma. After about ten minutes of this she

decided she needed advice and she lingered until the end of the crocodile

where the witch caught up with her.

The witch was an old crony and Shoshana, while naming no names,

had no hesitation in presenting the problem to her.

"What do you think I should do, Hecate?"

The witch wasn't really called Hecate. The name in which her Catholic

parents had had her baptized was Helena. But Hecate had a more

magical and sinister sound, and it always impressed her better-educated

clients who understood its derivations.

"I could make you up a spell," she said, "at a discount, of course. I've

got a new one that gives the object psoriasis."

"That sounds nice but since I've got these two leads sort of ready-made I

don't like to waste them. I mean, I don't like to waste both of them."

"I see what you mean," said Hecate. "Look, we'll be over the

underground stream in a minute. Why don't you leave it with me and I'll

give you my answer by Monday."

"Well, don't be any longer than you can help. I don't want the trail going

cold."

"I'll e-mail it by Monday morning without fail," said Hecate.

The flat was bigger than Nerissa had expected and very tidy. Her own

house could sometimes look like those interiors picturedi n the

magazines she read at the dentist's, but only after Lynette had been