A Death in Two Parts (2 page)

“Yes, that's quite true.” For once she found herself sympathising with him, as she remembered the vehement, raddled old lady who had so alarmed her at eleven.

“Well, either she got so bored she drove them out of the house, or she shocked them so that they left on their own account, poor things. The last one's just gone … Young Josephine was in my office yesterday telling me all about it; they're in despair it seems, with Christmas coming on and a lot of arrangements of their own. The old lady's a glutton for company these days, and I can see Josephine's afraid she'll wreck the party. Anyway, I hope you don't mind, but I did just mention your name to her. I thought it might be something to tide you over – and after all, it isn't as if it was strangers.”

“No,” said Patience, “it certainly isn't.” Then, recognising the ingratitude of her tone, she went on. “It was good of you to think of me. What did Josephine – Mrs Brigance say?”

“She was all for it. She asked me to tell you she'd consider it a personal favour if you'd come, and she'll do everything to make it easy for you. But why don't you go over and talk to her yourself? She's got to go back tonight, but she'll be at the hotel this afternoon and is hoping you'll phone her.” He looked at his watch. “As a matter of fact I half promised I'd get you to call her from here; she may be staying in for it.”

“Oh,” said Patience, “then I'd better. Will you excuse me?”

“Of course.” He rose and pulled back her chair before the hovering waiter could reach it. “The telephone's on the landing.”

Desperate to get me off his hands, Patience thought. But one could hardly blame him. Very inconvenient to have one's clients left bankrupt on one … and the last straw when that client was a cousin. She had pressed Button B and heard her two pence drop into oblivion before she considered what she should say. The idea of Christmas at Featherstone Hall filled her with unmitigated gloom, but as Paul said, it would tide her over. And it would save her from having to borrow more money from him. A major consideration. “Mrs Brigance, please,” she said to the hotel's chilly voice and was put through before she had time for further doubts.

“Patience” – Mrs Brigance's voice was richer than ever – “what a godsend to hear from you. Has Paul explained? You will come, won't you? It'll save our lives; I can't tell you how grateful we'll be. Mother'll be a different woman when she hears; she was always devoted to you, you know. It hurt her terribly when you vanished like that – but we won't say anything about that; the main thing is that you'll come. Can you come down with me tonight? That'd be too, too marvellous and we could get you settled in before Christmas – we've got swarms of people coming; you'll enjoy it. I'm taking the six o'clock. Be a lamb and angel and meet me on it – first class, of course – and we'll settle everything then.”

She was silent at last, and Patience began to voice her own doubts with a hesitant, “But, Mrs Brigance, I'm not sure—” It was her longest contribution to their talk.

Mrs Brigance overwhelmed her with, “‘Josephine', my dear ridiculous child, and don't say a word to me about not being sure. Of course at a time like this – I was so sorry to hear about it all from Paul – so thoughtless of your poor father – but of course you ought to be with your family, and
if your family can make it worth your while to you, why, so much the better. Naturally if you hate us all, there's nothing to stop your leaving. Come on, there's a good child, give us a trial; we won't let Mother eat you, I promise. I expect Paul's been telling you how she bullied the poor old dodos we've been having for her. The wretch, I made him promise not to, but of course with you it'll all be quite, quite different, and I'll have Mark take special care of you. He was asking about you only the other day. D'you remember how you and he used to fight? You'll find him something else again these days – just down from Cambridge and Paul tells me you've been up at Oxford, bright young thing that you are.” She paused for breath, but went on before Patience could gather her scattered wits. “Well, thank goodness that's settled, and I'll meet you on the six o'clock. D'you remember what I look like? It's ten years, isn't it, just think of that! Tall and dark and Mark says I don't look a day over thirty, but you mustn't believe everything he tells you … Oh, and a fur coat – Persian lamb this year, and oh my dear that reminds me, would you be a saint and angel and do something for me this afternoon? I've got a million phone calls to make – of course all the Christmas planning falls on me – and I've just remembered I was supposed to pick up my mink from Gogarty's – they've taken months to repair it, the brutes, but it's ready now, and if you could just drop in and collect it for me I'd love you for ever – and wear it for me, would you, there's a dear; I hate to have it packed up. I'll call them up and tell them you're coming for it, so there'll be no trouble.”

“Your three minutes are up,” said the exchange and Patience remembered, with a sinking of the heart, that
she had no more coppers. And anyway, what was the use …

“That's wonderful,” Josephine Brigance was saying. “I'll look for you, mink and all, on the six o'clock. Simply lovely to see you, my pet. Bye bye.”

Patience emerged from the booth dazed as a deep sea diver surfacing and saw Paul waiting for her at the foot of the stairs. “All fixed?” he asked. “Splendid. I hope you don't mind; I've got to be getting along – client turning up at three and a lot of homework to get through first. Never a dull minute in our profession, I can tell you.” He stood aside to let her pass first through the heavy revolving doors. “And now how about that little advance we were going to make you? D'you want to come along and pick it up? I'm afraid I'll have to be formal and make you sign for it, but it's only five minutes' walk.”

“No, thanks very much.” What a comfort to be able to say it. “It's very nice of you, but I'm going down to Featherstone Hall with Mrs Brigance tonight and I expect I can get an advance from her if it comes to it – but I hope it won't.”

“You're sure you're all right for this afternoon? No Christmas shopping to do?”

“Nothing serious. There are some advantages about having no family, you see. No, I thought I'd go to a news theatre as a matter of fact – there is one round Oxford Circus somewhere isn't there? I promised Mrs Brigance I'd pick up her fur coat at Gogarty's and I'd like to leave that till the last thing – it seems a bit unsuitable to go swaggering about in mink all afternoon. Thank you so much for the lunch and all you've done.” She was suddenly tired of keeping up appearances for Paul's benefit. After all, why bother? She
held out her hand. “Let me know just how much I owe you, will you? I'm afraid it'll have to be on the instalment plan.” On this practical note she left him and headed straight for her news theatre, where she sat for an hour staring not at the screen but at penury.

When she came out, she felt better. After all, she had a job, even if it could hardly be called an attractive one. And perhaps even that would not be so bad; perhaps all those cousins had mellowed with age. How she had hated them, Mark Brigance most of all. Turning into the side street that led to Gogarty's she almost ground her teeth as she remembered the misery he and his twin sister Mary had made of her life when she had stayed with them as a child. Mrs Brigance had not mentioned Mary, it occurred to her, but then Mark had always been her favourite. It was bad luck on Mary that Mr Brigance had not lived to take her part.

In her private crisis she had forgotten about Christmas, but there was no mistaking the good-humoured chaos inside Gogarty's. She hovered for a minute by a counter piled high with brilliant artificial flowers. Should she take down a present for old Mrs Ffeathers? She still had three pounds in her purse – quite enough for the fare down and a bunch of violets for an old lady's coat. But no – she pushed on through the crowd – a present for Mrs Ffeathers meant presents for everyone, and that was impossible, even if she had wanted to give presents to Mark and Mary and the others. She must establish herself at once and firmly on an employee basis, then the problem would never arise. She cast a longing eye on the glove department – she had meant to buy herself some, but they would have to wait – hurried through a crowd of anxious husbands at the costume
jewellery counters and made her way into the comparative tranquillity of the fur department. A bored and elegant young woman was showing off inexpensive fur scarves for the benefit of yet another harassed male. Her companion, wearier still, drooped over to Patience. “Mrs Brigance's coat?” She became faintly animated at the name. “Oh, yes, we have it out for her. You'll wear it?” She picked a glossy three-quarter-length cape from a nearby rack and draped it over Patience's shoulders. “There, it suits you.”

Patience laughed. “It needn't. I'm not going to be buying mink for a while.”

“Me neither.” The girl became almost human. “If you'll just sign here, please. I'm glad you came for it; don't tell Mrs Brigance, but it nearly got sold this afternoon. I'd been off the floor, see, and when I came back there was a customer trying it on, as pleased as punch. Said she thought of having herself one made like it when I told her it wasn't for sale. Nice work, if you can afford it.”

“Yes, very,” said Patience, turning away. As she did so, she became aware of a figure hovering in the background, apparently acting as audience to the exhibition of fur ties that was still going listlessly on. Surely there was something familiar … Of course. He had turned and was approaching her. She held out her hand. “How nice to see you, Mr Crankshaw.”

Geoffrey Crankshaw shook her hand vigorously. “Nice to see you, Patience.” He used the Christian name with obvious intent. “I hope you don't mind; I've been following you. I saw you in Gloves and wasn't sure it was you – but I wasn't taking any chances. I'm delighted to have run you to earth among the minks.”

She laughed. “Not my mink, I'm afraid. How are you?”

“Thank goodness for that – Oh, very well, and you?”

“Thriving.” How odd, she thought to herself, pausing in the exchange of banalities; that last time they had met they had been earnestly discussing the murder he had just solved with her help. “What are you doing these days?”

“Pounding a metropolitan typewriter mostly. I'm supposed to be cutting my teeth on routine at the Yard – and very dull most of it is, too. It's pure luck, thank God for it, that I'm here this afternoon – I'll bless Gogarty's shoplifter till my dying day. But, damn it, it means I can't even ask you to come out for a cup of tea – I'm very much on duty. When can I see you?”

“I'm afraid I'm going down to Sussex tonight – I'd love to have heard about Scotland Yard. Is it really so dull? I can't believe it – not after last summer.” As they talked they had been making their way back towards the main entrance and now she paused to look at her watch. “Good lord, I must hurry; I'd no idea it was so late.”

His face was as engagingly young as ever under fair hair, but there was a new firmness about his manner. “I know it's asking a lot,” he said, “but couldn't you possibly think of an errand or two to keep you here till six? Then we could go out and have a drink somewhere.”

“I'm awfully sorry” – she really was – “but I've got to catch a six o'clock train.” She held out her hand. “It has been nice to see you again.”

“Well, promise you'll call me up next time you're in town. Whitehall one-two-one-two, extension five-three-six.”

“I ought to be able to remember that.” She smiled at him. “I'll certainly ring you, but goodness knows when I'll be
in town again. Goodbye.” She turned and pushed her way through the heavy doors, furious with Josephine Brigance and her six o'clock train. As she emerged she felt a touch on her arm.

“Excuse me, miss,” said the shabby little man who had stopped her. “Might I just have a word with you?”

“With me? Why?” Inconspicuous though he was, she was certain she had never seen him before.

“You're sure this is the one?” He turned to a girl who stood beside him.

“It's her all right. She pointed her out ever so careful, and anyway you couldn't miss that coat.” Coatless herself, she shivered as she spoke, and Patience, looking at her neat black dress and white collar, realised that she must be one of the shop assistants.

The man spoke again: “I'm afraid I'll have to ask you to step into the manager's office for a minute, miss. If you'll just come along quietly there needn't be any unpleasantness about it.” He began to shepherd her back towards the doors.

“But what on earth's it all about?” It seemed simpler to go with them, and Patience asked the question as she made her way back through the big doors. “Let go of my arm, please.” Something in her voice made him give her a quick, unhappy glance and drop the hand with which he had grasped her elbow.

“All right, so long as you'll come quiet,” he said. “We don't want any fuss in the shop.”

The manager was a worried-looking man in too beautiful a grey suit. “Yes?” He looked from Patience to her companions.

“Got her for you.” The shabby little man seemed to swell as he spoke. “I reckon you won't have to bother with the Yard. Red-handed, thanks to this young lady.” The girl in black blushed and stammered something, but Patience interrupted her. “What on earth is all this about?” she asked. “I came here, because it seemed simpler than making a scene in the shop, but now I'd like to know what it means.”

“Listen to her,” said the little man admiringly. “Caught red-handed and lays it on like that. No wonder she's got away with it so long.”