An Expert in Murder (34 page)

‘That’s my cue to get going,’ he said. ‘The Fox woman’s on the prowl.’

‘You don’t have to rush off,’ Josephine said. ‘She really isn’t as fierce as all that.’

He grinned. ‘No, but it sounds like she needs a heart-to-heart without interruptions. Anyway, I’ve left Bill chasing phone numbers and post-mortem reports, so I ought to see how he’s getting on. And I want to have a look for those obituaries. Tracing Vintner’s son is vital – he’s the obvious candidate if we’re looking for someone desperate to protect Vintner’s reputation.’

Before he could go any further, though, the front door was flung open with almost indecent vigour. ‘Only us,’ called Ronnie from 238

the hallway. ‘Has anyone else died while we’ve been at lunch?’ She sauntered into the room and collapsed onto the chaise longue, apparently oblivious to the pile of sketches that she was sitting on.

‘Shouldn’t you be out catching criminals, cousin dearest?’

Archie flashed what Josephine had come to recognise as his Ronnie smile. ‘I’m on my way to do just that,’ he said. ‘I’d hate to think that your exquisite neck was in peril.’

‘Oh do stay and have some tea, Archie,’ Lettice said on her way through to the kitchen. ‘I’m gasping for a hot drink. Guermani’s was so crowded today that we ended up on the table next to the Daintrey-Smythes and you know how Angelica gets on my tits. I couldn’t possibly stay for coffee – as it was, dessert took endurance beyond all measure. All those loud-but-oh-so-self-effacing references to her double-page spread in
The Sketch
when we know full well what she had to spread to get it. It’s enough to make a witch spit.’

Archie had to laugh at this uncharacteristic outburst from his cousin, who normally left vulgar asides to her more experienced sister, but he stuck to his guns about going. His goodbyes were drowned by a squeal from the next room. ‘Oh lovely!’ Lettice exclaimed, and emerged carrying a vase with a single flower that looked a little the worse for wear. ‘You brought something to cheer Josephine up, Archie. How thoughtful. And what an extraordinary colour.’

‘Good tactic, dear – move in when she’s vulnerable,’ piped up Ronnie. ‘You may get somewhere at last. A little tip, though –

bring one that’s alive next time.’

‘Stop teasing him,’ said Lettice, but Archie just stared at the flower, oblivious to them all.

‘Archie didn’t bring it,’ Josephine said quickly, in case he was feeling awkward. ‘I found it tucked in Marta’s manuscript. She must have forgotten it was there. She thinks Lydia left it at stage door for her but I know she didn’t, so, for harmony’s sake, I thought I’d better find a home for it. Another admirer on the scene isn’t what their relationship needs right now.’

‘Is there trouble, then?’ Ronnie asked wickedly, settling in for a 239

good story, but Archie interrupted before Josephine could feel obliged to satisfy her curiosity.

‘You say that belongs to Marta?’ he asked, looking thoughtful.

‘Yes. Why?’

‘And Lydia definitely didn’t give it to her?’

‘No, she just looked bewildered when Marta thanked her for it.

Is it important? Why do you look so worried all of a sudden?’

‘Because I’ve already seen one flower like that today, and I don’t think it’s a coincidence. The first was at Grace Aubrey’s – she had a vase of them. Bernard planted them for her, apparently. Its common name is widow iris.’

‘All this horticultural chat is fascinating, but I’d rather shoot myself than take up gardening so would you mind telling us what your point is,’ Ronnie said, but Josephine understood immediately what Archie meant.

‘You think Bernard’s killer left it for Marta as some sort of message, don’t you?’ she said, and Lettice slammed the vase down on the cocktail cabinet and moved hurriedly away from it. ‘And if that’s the case, the obvious implication is that Lydia’s next.’

As Ronnie and Lettice looked at him in disbelief, Archie said,

‘I certainly think she could be in danger, and whoever’s doing this is capable of anything. It’s funny – Lydia’s been on the periphery of everything this weekend; she was at the station with you when Elspeth was killed and she found Bernard’s body. It’s all too close for comfort, but at least she’s safely at the Yard now

– I think that’s the first stroke of luck we’ve had since this started. I’d better get back straight away and make sure she’s still there. Just before I go, though – is there any chance that Lydia could be in some way connected to Aubrey other than through the theatre? This is confidential,’ he added, looking pointedly at Ronnie, whose expression implied she had much to teach the Virgin Mary on the subject of innocence, ‘but Aubrey left her a considerable lump sum in his will. I just wondered if she could possibly have had any part to play in what happened with Arthur?’

‘I really don’t think so,’ Josephine said. ‘I haven’t known her 240

that long, of course, but we have talked a lot about our lives and she’s never mentioned anything that could possibly fit in. She had a brother who was shot in the trenches, but I’m sure she didn’t meet Bernard until long after the war was over.’

‘I’m not surprised he wanted to look after her financially,’

Lettice added. ‘They really were good friends, you know, and he valued her opinion on everything. I think she was closer to him than anyone, and of course he always admired her professionally.

He wasn’t one to let sentiment interfere with his business, but their personal friendship would have been strong enough to last through any decisions that the actress in Lydia didn’t like.’

Josephine agreed. ‘Lydia has a talent for friendship, if not for relationships,’ she said. ‘She was always fiercely loyal to Bernard and I think he prized loyalty above most things. It’s not a terribly common currency in theatre.’

‘But if the killer suspects they were close enough for Bernard to have confided in her about Arthur, that would be enough to make her a target,’ Archie said. ‘I’ll go and speak to her, and I’ll telephone to let you know she’s all right. Would you explain the situation to Marta when she gets here? I’m afraid it’ll mean coming clean about the flower, but try not to alarm her too much. I could be over-reacting and Lydia could be perfectly safe – let’s hope so –

but I don’t want another death on my hands, so I’ve got to consider every possibility. I’m happy to look stupid – even in front of Marta Fox – but not negligent.’

‘Is Marta coming over?’ asked Lettice, casting another suspicious glance at the flower which had so recently enchanted her.

‘Yes, in fact she should be here by now.’ Josephine looked at the clock, still distracted by what Archie had said. ‘I wonder what’s keeping her?’

‘Perhaps she’s sparing a thought for nervous policemen.’ Archie smiled and kissed her goodbye. ‘Try not to worry about Lydia,’ he said reassuringly. ‘I won’t let anything happen to her, even if I have to keep her under lock and key for her own protection.’

‘Thanks, Archie,’ Josephine said, walking him to the door. ‘And not just for that.’ When she returned to the middle studio, she was 241

surprised to see that Ronnie and Lettice had put their coats on.

‘Are you going out again already?’

‘Apparently so,’ said Ronnie peevishly. ‘It seems we’ve got to walk the streets to give you time to reassure Marta in peace.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ Lettice said. ‘We can go to George’s for an hour or two. It would be better for you if you were on your own with her, wouldn’t it?’ she asked Josephine. ‘You’ll be all right?’

‘Of course I will. I don’t want to drive you out again, but it would make things easier and I’ll bring you up to date when you get back. There’s an awful lot you don’t know yet.’

‘Yes, like who the fuck Arthur is for a start,’ Ronnie called over her shoulder as they clattered down the stairs. Josephine waited a minute or two, then picked up the telephone. It was more than an hour now since she had spoken to Marta, and Lydia’s flat was only a ten-minute walk away. Where on earth could she have got to? Anxiously, she waited for a reply but none came. Perhaps Marta had simply got carried away with something else, but was now on her way? She was about to replace the receiver when the call was answered and she heard Marta’s voice, sharp and slightly agitated.

‘Hello?’

‘It’s Josephine. Are you all right?’

‘Of course. Why shouldn’t I be?’ she snapped, then softened.

‘I’m sorry, Josephine, I should have telephoned. I can’t come over after all – not at the moment, anyway. Perhaps later – but I’ll ring first. I need some time on my own. All right?’

It could be her imagination, but it seemed to Josephine that she was being despatched as quickly as possible. Why was that, she wondered? ‘That’s fine. I hope you and Lydia work it out, but you know where I am if I can help.’

‘It was very sweet of you to offer, but I think it’s something we need to sort through ourselves.’

As Josephine recalled, it was Marta who had asked rather than she who had offered, but there was no point in splitting hairs.

‘Have you heard from Lydia?’ she asked.

‘No. I told you – she’s at the police station. I don’t expect her 242

back for a while yet. Now, I really must go. Perhaps I’ll see you tomorrow.’

There was no further explanation, and Josephine heard the line go dead long before she had a chance to raise the subject of Lydia’s safety. God, Marta was volatile. How could her attitude have changed so much in such a short time? It was like speaking to two different people. She was about to hurry down to the street to stop the girls making themselves scarce unnecessarily, but paused as she passed the ominous flower, incongruously dumped between bottles of Cointreau and crème de menthe. The widow iris. Of course, in her anxiety for Lydia she hadn’t thought to tell Archie that Marta was already a widow. Could that be significant? She tried to remember what Marta had actually told her: there was very little to go on – just that the marriage had been unhappy and that her husband had died; at the time, Josephine had assumed she meant during the war but, looking back, she realised that Marta hadn’t actually said that. When had the relationship turned sour, she wondered? She reflected on the letters she had received from Lydia, hoping that some of them might have contained information about Marta’s background, but the facts were remarkable only in their scarcity. Certainly, though, someone who was unhappily married didn’t bother to write stories for her husband and send them to the front; that was an act of love. So what had gone wrong? Unless, of course, those stories had been sent to her husband’s regiment but not actually to her husband.

Josephine sat down, still looking at the widow iris. She was used to working back from an unlikely starting point to see if she could build a plausible chain of events, but no scenario she had considered in her fiction could compete with the story now playing in her mind. Could it be that Marta’s interest in Elliott Vintner was more personal than that of one writer in another? Surely there were too many objections to the idea that Marta had been Vintner’s wife and Arthur’s lover? For a start, she didn’t seem the type to stand by and do nothing about the crime that had been committed: wouldn’t she have created hell about Arthur’s death – if she suspected it wasn’t an accident, that is? But perhaps that was a little naive: 243

Josephine was well aware that the independence she had always enjoyed was still the exception rather than the norm, and things would have been very different for a young married woman twenty years ago; she shouldn’t underestimate how difficult it would have been for someone shackled to a man like Vintner to stand up for herself, let alone for anyone else. If he showed the sort of violence towards his wife that he was clearly capable of, who could say what abuse she had suffered or what sort of fear she lived in; and because she had been unfaithful, society would have been against her, too. Pregnant with another man’s child, she would have been utterly at his mercy and completely alone in the world.

After he died, though, she would no doubt have moved heaven and earth to find her daughter; was that why she was here? Even for Josephine, it was far too much of a coincidence that Marta should happen to turn up in a circle of people who were so connected to the other part of her life – if that’s what it was. Had she moved in on Lydia merely as a way to get to Aubrey, and so to Elspeth? Was it Lydia who was being used after all? She remembered the look of pain in Marta’s eyes the night before when she had believed herself to be unimportant in her lover’s life; that had been genuine, Josephine was sure, but perhaps Marta was dealing with feelings she had not expected to have, feelings which would have complicated things if she had simply been waiting for the right moment to let Aubrey know who she was and to be reintroduced into her daughter’s life. With a start, Josephine realised that Marta and Elspeth had come within a whisker of meeting at the station: was that why Marta had disappeared to find a taxi? If she had recognised Elspeth, she wouldn’t want to be forced into an introduction on a railway platform.

Josephine was so absorbed by the narrative she was creating that it took her a few moments to spot the obvious flaw. She was being ridiculous, of course; if Marta were Elspeth’s mother, she’d be behaving very differently now. She’d seen enough of Marta since Friday night to know if she were grieving for a lost daughter: that wasn’t the sort of thing that could be kept hidden. No, she could just about believe that Marta was capable of keeping her 244

composure while Lydia discussed Arthur’s murder in front of her, but the tragedy of a daughter’s death was not something that could be borne in private. In any case, with Elspeth gone there would be no more need for secrecy.

Nevertheless, there was still something that bothered Josephine about Marta. She might have woven an intricate fantasy around the woman’s past, but she had not imagined the echoes of Vintner’s first novel in her manuscript, nor her strange behaviour just now on the telephone. Things needed to be clarified and there was only one way to do it. She picked up her gloves from the table in the hall and took her coat from its hook, then – without really knowing why – she went back to fetch the flower. As she walked across the cobbled courtyard and out into St Martin’s Lane, she could not quite rid herself of a niggling suspicion that it wasn’t Lydia who was in danger after all.