Mixing With Murder (10 page)

She vanished in her disconcerting way.

The American girl looked across at me and said seriously, ‘The full English breakfast is really good, you know? You can make it last all day and it comes with the room, no extra cost. Imagine that?’

The waitress was back with a rack of toast. ‘Tea or coffee?’

This level of service was disconcerting me. I asked for coffee. By the time I’d eaten my way through all this food I felt like taking a rest, even though I’d just got up. The Americans had already left, armed with maps and back-packs. They gave me brief smiles as they passed my table, allowing me to observe their perfect teeth. I think they’d decided on Blenheim in the end. I wished I had their energy, but they were setting off for a day of fun. I was about to set off on an unwished task. No wonder I lacked enthusiasm. I pushed back my chair and was about to leave my table when the breakfast-room door opened and the remaining guest came in.

He was a tall, thin, balding man in a lightweight business suit. His whole appearance was nondescript to the extent that had the room not been empty now but for the two of us, I don’t think I would have noticed him. The only thing remarkable about him was a rather snazzy brightly patterned tie. He turned a pale, oval face towards me, scrutinised me briefly from behind rimless spectacles, and nodded before taking a seat facing the door. He shook out his napkin and tucked it in his collar, presumably to protect the tie. The waitress bounced in and greeted him.

‘Good morning, Mr Filigrew.’

‘Good morning, Vera,’ the pale man said. ‘Scrambled eggs with my bacon, please.’

‘Right-o!’ said Vera, who had obviously committed to memory some outdated list of English idioms.

I was prepared to exchange greetings with my fellow-guest as I passed his table but he kept his head well down and made like he didn’t know I was there. That was his privilege. I climbed the stairs heading for my room and encountered Beryl on the upstairs landing.

‘Good morning, dear. Sleep all right?’

‘Fine,’ I said. ‘The breakfast was great.’

She beamed at me. ‘Glad you ate a proper breakfast. I’m all for that. You can’t last all day on a piece of toast or a croissant.’

‘I see you’ve got an assistant,’ I said.

‘That’s Vera. She’s a good little worker. She’s here to learn English, just for a year. I was happy to give her the attic bedroom and pay her a bit. Good arrangement for us both, really.’

Her words explained who had walked about above my head during the early hours and listened to television. Perhaps, like me, Vera was a fan of old movies.

‘Where are you off to today, then?’ Beryl went on but before I could reply she held up her scarlet-tipped hand. ‘You don’t have to answer that. I don’t want to know Mickey’s business. I asked it automatically. Nearly everyone who stays here is a tourist.’

‘One of the guests looks more like a businessman,’ I said. ‘That will be the travelling rep, I suppose?’

She appeared momentarily confused. ‘Oh, that’s Mr Filigrew. He’s a regular. Yes, he’s in business. Stationery supplies, I think it is.’ She patted my hand. ‘I hope you get on all right.’

I hesitated. I didn’t particularly want to take Beryl into my confidence but, on the other hand, she knew why I was here in general terms and I ought to warn her about the guy who’d followed me the previous evening.

‘Someone might turn up at the door while I’m out,’ I said. ‘He’s about twenty-two or -three, a sportsman of some sort, perhaps—’ Inspiration struck me. ‘Perhaps he rows; you know boats, oars and things. He’s got good muscles on the upper arms, fairish hair, and a short straight nose. He may ask questions. I don’t want him to know what I’m doing. He may even mention Mickey Allerton but you needn’t worry Mickey about him, he’s not a serious problem. I ought to tell you, just in case he shows up.’

She was nodding. ‘I’ll keep an eye open. But don’t worry. I’m just the landlady. If he comes asking questions, I don’t know a thing.’

I passed the open breakfast-room door on my way out. Mr Filigrew had finished his scrambled eggs and was buttering his last piece of toast with fastidious white fingers. He glanced up, aware of my presence in the hall, and looked down again without any sign of recognition.

I set out briskly towards the centre of the city and, when I reached the spot on Magdalen Bridge where I’d paused the previous evening, I stopped again and inspected the punts from above while I decided what to do. The water lapped against the moored craft and they made dull clunking noises as the current caused them to drift together and bump. A couple of ducks swam past. It looked very peaceful down there. Beyond the mooring, the river banks were lined with trees and beyond them appeared to be a really big stretch of open ground, which was odd for such a central position in a city. Perhaps it was a park or land belonging to one of the colleges, I didn’t know, and this wasn’t the time to puzzle over it.

I had a straight choice. I could go to the Stallard home, ring the bell and ask for Lisa. Or I could call her on Ganesh’s mobile first and ask her to meet me in town. By now, if she’d returned home last night, the chap who’d followed me would have contacted her and warned her I was here. I didn’t want to run into him again if it could be avoided and I didn’t want to involve Paul and Jennifer Stallard unnecessarily. All of this would make for complications. I decided to phone.

A woman answered the telephone and I asked for Lisa. There was a pause and I held my breath. Had my unwished companion of yesterday evening warned the entire family? But the woman, whom I assumed to be Jennifer Stallard, was calling Lisa’s name.

‘Lisa! There’s someone on the phone for you.’

The receiver clattered as it was put down on a shelf or other hard surface. More silence then the sound of someone running down a staircase. Voices murmured in the background. I couldn’t make out much but I heard Jennifer’s voice say, ‘No, it’s a woman.’ The receiver rattled again and a younger, suspicious female voice demanded, ‘Yes, who is this?’

‘Lisa?’ I asked.

‘Yes, it’s me. Who are you?’ The voice rose with a nervous shake in it.

I tried to sound reassuring. I hadn’t come here to put the frighteners on anyone. ‘My name is Fran Varady and I’d like to meet you to discuss—’

Clunk! The receiver was slammed down so hard it was a wonder it hadn’t broken. My eardrum gave a sharp pain of protest. This was the reaction Mickey had anticipated if he’d tried to call her. I rang again, establishing that the phone at the other end was still in working order. The handset was lifted at once for a split second and then hung up. She’d guessed I’d try once more and I visualised her standing by the phone, hand outstretched, waiting to cut me off. Communication by phone was out. I would have to go back to the house and hope this time to find her at home.

Well, I reflected as the bus rolled towards Summertown taking me with it, plan one had only been a gamble. Plan two, direct confrontation, was always going to have been the more likely one to pay off. It’s too easy to put the phone down, more difficult to slam a door in someone’s face. Not impossible, but more awkward. Someone passing by might see you do it. They remember and wonder about it. They discuss it with other neighbours. I was pretty certain Lisa wouldn’t want that.

A snag was that now, thanks to my phone call, she would guess I was on my way and be waiting for me. Or not. She might have decided to go out for the day and avoid me. But that would leave me free to chat to her parents and I’d already decided she wouldn’t want me doing that. No, Lisa would be at home now, pacing up and down, getting up a good head of steam and ready to blast me away when I showed my nose.

Knowing that I would probably have to call at the house I’d made an effort to dress respectably. I’d unpacked the blazer and hung it up in the bathroom that morning while I had my bath to encourage the creases to steam out. The day would probably turn out too warm for it but as yet it was still fairly early in the morning and the woollen cloth bearable although I had to push up the sleeves to three-quarter length.

I wondered, as I walked down the road towards the house, whether I’d run into the Stallards’ self-appointed guardian again. But there was no sign of him. I took a good look at the upstairs window next door but no curtain moved. I heaved a sigh of relief. He could, of course, be inside the house with Lisa. She might have called up reinforcements in the shape of last night’s tail. It remained to be seen. If he was there, I’d have to get rid of him. There was no way I could talk to Lisa with constant interruption from him and I didn’t see why I should include him, anyway. I’d come on Mickey’s business and Mickey’s business didn’t include Lisa’s white knight. I rang the bell.

The door flew open almost at once and she stood there, breathing fury. I knew it was Lisa because it would hardly have been anyone else glaring at me like that. She must have been keeping a watch and seen me approach. She hadn’t called up any help. She didn’t need any. She could handle me all by herself, she reckoned.

Even though I’d been expecting to see her, it still came as a shock. She was nothing like her photograph. She had been a name until now, and a problem, but not a flesh-and-blood person. Without the rhinestones, the mauve eyeshadow, the cute little cowboy hat and curly hair, this appeared a different girl. She wore jeans and a loosely knitted white sweater with purple flowers embroidered on it. The sleeves of the sweater were too long and covered her hands to her knuckles, which made her look like a child who’d borrowed something of her mother’s to dress up in. She was quite tall, taller than me. I’m on the short side, as I think I mentioned. Her fair hair was long and only a little wavy. Mine’s reddish brown and very short. Her skin was good; late nights and stage make-up hadn’t yet ruined it. She had regular features, a rounded chin and widely spaced grey eyes. All of this I had to take in within a few seconds of her opening the door and only that short space of time was available to adjust my thinking and approach. She looked the perfect English Rose, a Nice Girl. A nice girl who was about to bop me on the nose.

‘Hi,’ I began a little nervously, ‘I’m—’

‘I know who you bloody are!’ she snapped. ‘You rang earlier.’

‘Yes,’ I agreed. ‘And I’d really appreciate it if you’d let me explain before you slam the door or yell for someone else to come and chuck me out. I’m not here because I want to be, right? That doesn’t mean I can be sent packing. If you don’t speak to me now, I’ll try again. So help us both out and just listen, will you?’

‘Mickey sent you!’ She jutted her chin at me. ‘How did he know I was here? You can tell him from me to—’

‘You don’t have to spell it out. I feel the same way about him.’ It was my turn to interrupt.

She hesitated. ‘So why are you here? I know you’ve been hanging about.’

‘Your friend told you, I suppose,’ I said. ‘The well-built fair-haired bloke who tracked me last night?’

She shrugged. ‘You mean Ned. He told me about his conversation with you. I already knew about you because I was with Ned, in his flat next door, the upstairs flat, yesterday evening when you came here. You hung around on the other side of the road pretending to speak into a mobile.’

‘Oh, right,’ I said, feeling foolish. My little charade hadn’t fooled her. ‘I should have thought about that when he came after me. It didn’t occur to me you might have been together.’

‘We were only talking!’ she snapped as if I’d suggested anything else. ‘Ned’s a very old friend and I told him all about—’

She broke off and glanced furtively over her shoulder. ‘I told him how I came to leave London and that I didn’t want to go back.’ She had lowered her voice now. ‘It’s been difficult. I haven’t had anyone to talk to. I needed just to be able to tell someone.’

I thought of Ganesh and the number of times I’d poured my problems into his sympathetic ear. ‘It’s all right, I understand,’ I assured her.

She heaved a deep breath. ‘It scared me, seeing you out there, I don’t mind telling you. I just felt in my bones you must be from Mickey and I said as much to Ned. I really didn’t know Mickey knew where to find me. I remembered that perhaps I’d let slip once to him that I came from Oxford. But actually to have someone there, first across the road and then at the door, that’s something else. It gave me the creeps, like Mickey’s been watching me, ever since I left London. Ned told me to calm down, although he was pretty wild himself. He followed you when you left to see if you met anyone. We were afraid one of Mickey’s heavyweights might be hanging about at the end of the road. I didn’t know Ned meant to track you right across town, even getting on the bus with you. That was silly of him. You were bound to notice. But Ned wouldn’t think about that,’ she concluded fretfully.

‘Ned’s a complication I think neither of us need,’ I said bluntly. ‘Can we leave Ned out of things in future? I’m here alone. I haven’t brought any muscle from the club with me.’