Original Sin (43 page)

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uses the little archives room is Gabriel Dauntsey and he never lights the gas. He takes in his own electric fire if he needs it. This isn't one small problem out of the way. It's one, more bloody complication.'

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BOOKFOUR

Evidence in Writing

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On the evening of Thursday 2x October Mandy left the office an hour later than usual. She was to meet her housemate, Maureen, at the White Horse on the Wanstead Road for a pub meal followed by a gig. The outing was a double celebration; it was Maureen's nineteenth birthday and the drummer in the band, the Devils on Horseback, was her current boyfriend. The gig was due to begin at eight but the party would meet at the pub an hour earlier for a preliminary meal. Mandy had brought a change of clothes to the office in her bike pannier and planned to go straight to the White Horse. The prospect of the evening, and in particular of meeting again the band leader, Roy, whom she had decided that she rather fancied, or was prepared to fancy if the evening went well, had cast a glow of happy antidpation over the day which not even Miss Blackett's silent and almost manic concentration on work could dim. Miss Blackett was now working for Miss Claudia, who had moved into her dead brother's office. Three days after his death Mandy had overheard Mr de Witt encouraging her.

'It's what he would have wanted. You're chairman and managing director now, or will be when we've got round to passing the necessary resolution. We can't just leave the room empty. Gerard wouldn't have wanted it kept as a shrine.'

A few of the staff had left immediately, but those who remained, either by choice or necessity, found themselves bound by an unacknowledged comradeship and shared experience. Together they waited and wondered and, when the partners weren't present, speculated and gossiped. Mandy's bright eyes and keen ears missed nothing. It seemed to her now that Innocent House held her in some mysterious thrall. She came to work each morning energized with a mixture of excitement and anticipation spiced with fear. That small bare room in which, on her first day, she had stood looking down at the body of Sonia Clements possessed her imagination so powerfully that the whole top floor, still securely locked by the police, had assumed some of the terrifying potency of a child's fairy-tale,

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Bluebeard's lair, the forbidden territory of horror. She hadn't seen Gerard Etienne's body but in imagination it shone with the vivid imagery of a dream. Sometimes before sleep she would picture the two bodies there together, Miss Clements lying in her sad decrepi-tude; the half-naked male body sprawled on the floor beside her, would watch terrified while the dull and lifeless eyes blinked and brightened and the snake pulsated into slimy life, red tongue darting to find the dead mouth, the muscles tightening to squeeze out breath. But these imaginings, she knew, were still controllable. Secure in the knowledge of her own innocence, never feeling herself seriously at risk, she could enjoy the half-guilty exhilaration of simulated terror. But she knew that Innocent House was contaminated with a fear which went beyond her self-indulgent imaginings. She would begin to smell the fear like a river fog as she dismounted from her bike in the mornings, and it strengthened and engulfed her as she stepped over the portal. She saw fear in George's anxious gaze as he greeted her, in Miss Blackett's taut face and restless eyes, in Mr Dauntsey's steps as, suddenly an old man, all vigour drained, he drew himself painfully up the stairs. She heard fear in the voices of all the partners.

On the Wednesday morning, just before ten o'clock, Miss Claudia had summoned the staff to a meeting in the boardroom. They had all been there, even George, his switchboard left on the answerphone, and Fred Bowling from the launch. Chairs had been brought in to form a half-circle and the other three partners had sat at the table, Miss Claudia with Miss Peverell on her right and Mr de Witt and Mr Dauntsey on her left. When the call to the meeting came, Miss Blackett had put down the telephone and said, 'You, too, Mandy. You're one of us now', and Mandy, despite herself, had felt a small surge of gratification. They had seated themselves a little self-consciously filling the second row first, and Mandy had been aware of the collected weight of excitement, anticipation and anxiety.

When the last arrival scurried red-faced to her chair in the front row and the door was closed, Miss Claudia said: 'Where is Mrs Demery?'

It was Miss Blackett who answered. 'Perhaps she thought she wasn't included.'

'Everyone is included. Find her will you please, Blackie.'

Miss Blackett hurried out and, within a couple of minutes during which the meeting waited in total silence, reappeared with Mrs

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Demery, still wearing her apron. She opened her mouth as if to rake some derogatory comment, then, obviously thinking better of it, closed it and took the only remaining chair in the middle of the front row-. Miss Claudia spoke: 'First of all I would like to thank you All for your loyalty. My brother's death and the method of it has be,en a horrible shock for us all. This is a difficult time for Peverell Press, but I hope and believe that we shall come through it together. We ha, ye a responsibility to our authors and to the books which they expect us to publish to the same high standard that has characterized the Peverell Press for over two hundred years. I have now been informed olf the result of the inquest. My brother died of carbon monoxide poisopting, obviously from the gas fire in the little archives room. Precisely ow that death occurred the police aren't yet able to say. I know that Commander Dalgliesh or one of his officers has already spoken t:o all of you. There will probably be continued interviews and I know that all of you will do what you can to help the police in their inquiries, as shall we the partners. 'A word about the future. You have probably heard rumours about plans to sell Innocent House and move down-river. All those llans are now in abeyance. Things will continue as they are, at least tntil the end of the financial year next April. Much will depend or the success of our auttmm list and on how well we do over Chrishtnas. The list is particularly strong this year and we are all optimistic. But I have to tell you that there is no prospect of anyone getting-a rise in pay during the rest of this year and all the partners have agreed to take a so per cent cut. There will be no more changes in the present staff, at least until next April, but inevitably there will have to be some reorganization: I shall be taking over as chairman and managing director, at first in an acting capacity. This means that I shall be responsible for production, accounts and the warehouse as wa my brother. Miss Peverell will take over my present responsibilities as sales and publicity director, and Mr de Witt with Mr Dauntsey will add contracts and rights to their editorial responsibilities. We [nave recruited Virginia Scott-Headley from Herne & Illingworth to assist Maggie in publicity. She is highly competent and experienced and she will also help with the spate of press and outside inquiries about: my brother's death. George has been fielding most of it magnificently- but when Miss Scott-Headley arrives all those calls will be directel to publicity. I don't think there is anything else I need to say except that

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Peverell Press is the oldest independent publisher in the country and all we partners are determined that it shall survive and flourish. That is all. Thank you for coming. Are there any questions?'

There was an embarrassed silence in which people seemed to be steeling themselves to speak. Miss Claudia had taken advantage of it to get up from the table and had quickly led the way from the room.

Afterwards in the kitchen, making Miss Blackett's coffee, Mrs Demery had been more forthcoming.

'They haven't a clue what to do, any of them. That was plain enough. Mr Gerard could be a proper bastard but at least he knew what he wanted and how to get it. They won't be selling Innocent House, Miss Peverell saw to that, I suppose, and Mr de Witt supported her. But if they don't sell the house, how are they going to keep it up? You tell me that. If people here have any sense they'll start putting out feelers for new jobs.'

And now, alone in the office, tidying her desk, Mandy thought what a difference these extra sixty minutes made. Innocent House seemed suddenly to have emptied. As she mounted the staircase to the first-floor women's cloakroom, where she would change, her feet echoed eerily on the marble as if someone unseen was walking a little behind her. Pausing on the landing to look down over the balustrade she saw the two globes of light at the foot of the stairs glowing like floating moons over a hall grown cavernous and mysterious. She hurried over her change, stuffing her office clothes into the tote bag, pulling over her head the short, multi-layered skirt in patchwork cotton with its matching top, pulling on her high glittering boots. Perhaps it was a pity to bike in them but they were tough enough and it was easier than carrying them in the pannier.

How quiet it was! Even the flush of the lavatory roared like an avalanche. It was comforting to see George, wearing his coat and old tweed hat, still behind the reception desk and locking away the three parcels awaiting collection in his security cupboard. The malicious prankster hadn't struck since the murder but the precautions were still in force.

Mandy said: 'Isn't it funny how quiet the place is when people have left? Am I the last?'

'Just me and Miss Claudia. I'm on my way now. Miss Claudia will set the alarms.' They left together, George pulling the door firmly shut behind

them. It had been a day of heavy and incessant rain, dancing on the marble forecourt, streaming against the windows, almost obscuring the grey swell of the river. But now the rain had stopped and in the gleam of George's rear-lights the cobbles of Innocent Passage shone like rows of newly peeled conkers. The air held the first raw bite of winter. Mandy's nose began to run and she rummaged in her bag for a scarf and her handkerchief. She waited to mount her bike until, with maddening slowness, George began reversing his old Metro down the passage. After a second's thought she ran to signal that Innocent Walk was clear. It always was clear, but George invariably reversed out as if the manoeuvre was his daily dice with death. After he had given a valedictory grateful wave and accelerated away she told herself that at least his job was safe now, and was glad. Mrs Demery had told her that there were rumours that Mr Gerard had planned to get rid of him. Mandy wove in and out of the late commuter traffic with her usual expertise and a cheerful disregard for the occasional toots of affronted motorists, and it was little more than thirty minutes later when she saw before her the mock-Tudor facade of the White Horse festooned with coloured lights. It stood back from the road on a hundred-yard stretch where the lines of suburban houses gave way to a fringe of shrubs and bushes on the edge of Epping Forest. The forecourt was already closely packed with cars, including, she saw, the band's van and Maureen's Fiesta. She rode slowly to the smaller parking space at the rear of the pub and, pulling her tote bag from the pannier, pushed her way down the passage to the women's cloakroom and joined the noisy chaos of girls hanging up coats and changing their shoes under a notice reminding them that these were left at their own risk, queuing for one of the four lavatories and spreadin their makeup clobber on to the narrow shelf under the long mirror. It was when she had fought for her place and was rummaging for the plastic toilet bag which held her make-up that Mandy made the heart-lurching discovery. Her purse was missing; the black leather purse which was also a wallet, and held her money, her one credit card and bank card, prized symbols of financial status, and the Yale key to her front door. Her noisy exclamations of dismay alerted Maureen from her careful application of eyeliner. 'Tip everything out. I always do,' she advised, and returned unworried to the task of outlining her eyelids with black.

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'Fat lot she cares,' murmured Mandy, sweeping Maureen's make-up to one side and emptying the tote-bag's contents. But the purse wasn't there. And then she remembered. She must have caught it up with her scarf and handkerchief on leaving Innocent House. It was probably lying there still on the cobbles. She would have to go back. The consolation was that there was little chance that a passer-by could have found it. Innocent Walk, and Innocent Lane in particular, were always deserted after dark. It would mean missing the meal, but with luck, not more than half an hour of the gig.

And then a thought struck her. She could telephone Mr Dauntsey or Miss Peverell. At least that way she would know whether the purse was there. They might think she had a cheek to ask, but she was confident that neither of them would really mind. She had done very little work for Mr Dauntsey or Miss Peverell, but when she had, both had seemed grateful and been decent to her. It would only take them a minute to look, a few yards to walk. And it wasn't as if it was still raining. It was a nuisance about the key. If the purse was there it would be too late to call for it after the gig. She would have to go home with Maureen or, if Maureen had other plans for the night, wake up Shirl or Pete. But they could hardly complain; she'd been woken up to let them in often enough.

There was a delay while she coaxed the necessary coins for a call box from Maureen, more delay while she waited for one of the two telephone booths to be free, and another minute wasted when she discovered that the directory she needed was in the other booth. She rang Miss Peverell first, but got only the answerphone with its usual message, spoken in Miss Peverell's quiet, almost apologetic voice. There was very little space to manage the directory and it thudded to the floor. Outside a couple of impatient men gesticulated impatiently. Well, they would have to wait. If Mr Dauntsey was in she wouldn't hang up until he'd been to look. She found the number and stabbed the digits. There was no reply. She let the ringing continue long after she had any real hope before replacing the receiver. And now she had no choice. She couldn't bear to spend the evening and night in suspense. She must go back to Innocent House.