The School of English Murder (11 page)

‘OK. Is everybody ready?’

‘Yes.’

‘Let’s hear it more loudly. Are you ready?’

‘Yes,’ they shouted.

‘Then I’ll begin.’ She pulled Amiss’s arm around her waist; he made a valiant effort to look as if he were having a wonderful time. It was not that there was anything wrong with the girl; indeed she was very pretty. It was just that his idea of fun was not feeling up near-naked women in public while clad in a lightweight woollen suit of Ellis Pooley’s.

‘Hi there, Bob,

You ain’t no slob.

You’re pretty cute,

For a new recruit.

Come on teacher,

Don’t be a preacher.

Get off your ass

And lift that glass.’

Glasses were thrust into their hands and the girl raised hers and cried, ‘Happy Birthday!’

‘Happy Birthday!’ shouted the onlookers. Unclear about what he was expected to do next, Amiss kissed her with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. Led by Gavs, the audience broke into a ragged version of ‘Happy Birthday to You’, Amiss bowed his thanks and the show was over. People began to chat amongst themselves.

Amiss politely helped the girl on with her tunic and faded away as Ahmed came oiling up to her. He imagined she could look after herself. He joined Cath at the window. ‘You did well,’ she said, ‘it must have been hell.’

‘It was.’

‘I’m grateful no one’s tried anything like that on me. I’ve no idea what they do for women, but I’m sure I wouldn’t like it.’

‘I’m sure you wouldn’t. I believe they have Tarzanagrams.’

‘But it could have been much worse. We had one here once in leather and a whip who required the birthday boy to take off his trousers so she could pin his poem to his underpants.’

‘Oh, God. What’s the acme of these things. A Screwagram?’

‘I shouldn’t wonder.’

‘Anyway, look, Cath. This isn’t my birthday. That was weeks ago.’

She looked puzzled. ‘I don’t understand.’

‘Me neither. I’ll find out,’ and he called Fabrice over to join them.

‘Is this a present from the group?’

‘Yes. The idea it come from Ahmed. He very very much wish to see one of these girls.’

‘But what made him think it was my birthday?’

‘No, no. That is joke. At lunch yesterday you have said you are Gemini. Now we are in Gemini. Ahmed says that is enough cause. It is as the Queen and her birthday. This is your official birthday.’

‘I see. Well, it’s very kind of you all; I very much appreciate it.’ Amiss gritted his teeth and set off to thank his group individually.

He was given another present at lunchtime. This too had been Ahmed’s brainwave, and had been bought by him the day before, after he had left them in the gallery. It was a cigarette-pack holder made of blue leather with ‘Bob’ stamped on it in gold; in a slot at the back was a matching lighter. As Rachel pointed out later, he was lucky to have escaped the matching handbag.

‘Phone call for Bob!’ Jenn’s shout carried through the building. It was four forty-five.

‘Shall we stop now? Take the last fifteen minutes off as a holiday in honour of my birthday.’

Much laughter.

‘I’ll see you all on Monday. Have a nice weekend.’

‘You also.’

‘And thanks again for the presents.’

More laughter.

Amiss ran down to the office phone. ‘Ellis?’

‘His blood alcohol level was a hundred and twenty, a level at which you’re supposed to be five times more likely to have an accident.’

‘Shit!’

‘So if you’re right about his never drinking, someone must have spiked his fruit juice at the party.’

‘Fuck!’

‘Of course, we don’t know officially that he didn’t drink. That will have to emerge from routine inquiries next week. So it’s not a murder case yet.’

‘Bugger!’

‘Obviously we can’t talk now.’

‘Well, there’s tomorrow evening.’

‘I’m awfully sorry, Robert, but I’m going to have to cry off. There’s a massive peace demo so it’s all hands on deck. I’ve been press-ganged into work for the whole weekend. I’ve no idea if I’ll have any time off except for sleep.’

‘Oh, curses.’ Amiss kicked the table in frustration.

‘Thanks very much, Bob.’

Amiss slammed down the phone.

‘Poor Bob.’ Galina was standing by the door. ‘You are stood down for tomorrow evening? No?’

‘Stood up, yes.’

‘Why then you must come out with us. With Fabrice and me. And some of the others — maybe Simone, Ahmed. We will have a good time, no? Dancing, and maybe Gunther take us to play baccarat…’

‘Dreadfully sorry, Galina. I would have loved to, but I simply can’t.’

She looked displeased. ‘Say me why not. You have an empty evening.’

‘I won’t be free. Three of us were meeting. Only one can’t come.’

He had noticed before Galina’s propensity to get the bit between her teeth. ‘Well then you will bring the other one. Is it man or woman?’

The effrontery of the rich still had the power to surprise Amiss; he felt like throttling the importunate bitch. ‘It’s a woman. But we’re meeting in Paris. Now, if you’ll forgive me, I have a plane to catch. Bye-bye. Have a dance for me.’

He disappeared at high speed and Galina returned pouting to the lounge, where Rich found her a couple of minutes later. ‘What is the matter, Galina my lovely? You look distressed. How can I cheer you up?’

‘Bob goes to Paris. It is for that reason he will not come with us tomorrow night.’

‘Well, I’m sure you’ll have a marvellous time even without him. I wish I could join you, but I have to visit my mother — in Birmingham.’

Galina was lost in thought for a moment; then she looked up at Rich, her face transfigured. ‘Allora. I have a wonderful idea. You will give us a picnic. On Sunday.’

It took all Rich’s considerable professionalism not to let his horror show. ‘I wish I could, Galina, but I have so much to do. For one thing, I have to organise my partner’s funeral.’

‘Ees not possible on a Sunday,’ she said cheerfully. ‘Please, please, Reech. My friend Giovanni Balducci, he told me about a picnic you have. I wish one.’

Their eyes locked. Galina, blithely unconscious of Rich’s pain, summoned up her most implacable expression. ‘Reech, I do not like to be disappointed.’

Rich’s shoulders sagged in defeat. For a moment he looked very old.

‘Oh, very well. How many do you want to come? We’d better keep it small.’

Galina frowned, muttered under her breath and counted on her fingers. ‘Fabrice, Ahmed, Davina, Alessandro, Karl, you, me — we will be in seven.’ She thought again. ‘No, eight Reech. You must make Gavs come. Ahmed likes him.’

‘You will tell the other students?’

‘Oh, yes.’

‘I will see you all here at lunchtime on Sunday.’ And Rich escaped to go home and continue mourning his friend.

‘Rachel, I’m at Heathrow. On stand-by. Should get to you at bedtime.’

‘You haven’t forgotten I’m working tomorrow?’

‘No. But we can have Saturday night and most of Sunday, can’t we?’

‘Certainly. What a smashing surprise. Have you robbed a bank?’

‘No. You’ll have to lend me the money.’

‘Well, of course it’s a gentleman’s privilege to change his mind. What brought this about?’

‘I’ve had one of those birthdays.’

15

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Amiss felt at peace. He had had a most therapeutic day wandering aimlessly around Paris and had been thrilled to find again, purely by accident, the crêperie near the Sorbonne which he had frequented during the summer after he’d left Oxford. He enjoyed his inexpensive lunch there more than any of the extravagant meals he had had during the previous four days. ‘It would have been nicer had you been with me,’ he told Rachel when she joined him, much later, at their favourite restaurant. ‘But I had a lovely time anyway.’

‘You needed it,’ she said. ‘You badly needed a treat.’ She gave him a hug. ‘I’m so glad you came.’

‘Oh, so am I. I was an idiot not to come before. I don’t know why I was so obstinate about not borrowing money from you.’

‘Probably hidden anti-semitism. Fear that I’ll reveal myself at bottom as a usurer.’

‘Idiot. Will you have a drink to start?’

‘I certainly will. And can we order straight away? I’m starving. I had no time for lunch between meetings.’

When they had ordered, and a plate of crudités had alleviated the worst pangs of Rachel’s hunger, she leaned back gratefully and emitted a long and happy sigh. ‘Oh, this is nice. Now divert me. I want to hear all about your BPs. All you managed to tell me last night was that you hated them all.’

‘I do, I do. And I feel so guilty about it.’

‘Robert, you’ve got a capacity for guilt that is positively Jewish. Where did you get it?’

‘Well I didn’t catch it from you, that’s for sure. How did you escape without it?’

The waiter arrived and delivered Amiss’s garlic mushrooms and Rachel’s shellfish. ‘That’s another anomaly,’ she said, sounding slightly muffled through her first mouthful of moules marinière. ‘You’re the one with the Jewish stomach.’

‘I expect we were switched at birth.’

They ate with concentration for a couple of minutes. ‘That’s better,’ she said. ‘Now go on. Tell me why you’ve become a xenophobe.’

Amiss ran his fingers through his hair. ‘I really really loathe them and it frightens me. You know how I abhor racial stereotyping, and all that sort of stuff— especially the negative kind.’

‘Well…’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, Rachel. I’m being serious. I’m not talking about our yid/goy banter.’

‘Sorry, yes of course. You’re a fully paid-up nice liberal who keeps an open mind, avoids labelling people and scores very low indeed on racial prejudice.’ She finished the last of the moules, mopped some of the broth with the remains of her roll, chewed it enthusiastically, washed it down with a gulp of the house white, smacked her lips and looked enquiringly at Amiss. ‘What are you waiting for?’

He looked at her suspiciously.

‘I mean it! You’re a nice person: it’s official.’

‘That’s good to know. In fact that’s what I thought I was. And it was certainly in that spirit that I approached this job.’

‘And?’

‘They’re all living up to the worst of the goddamn stereotypes, and I find myself thinking, “Just like a kraut/frog/wop or whatever.” ’

‘Kike?’

‘We don’t get any of them — too hardworking for us.’

‘I have to say that if you’d spent the whole day arguing with French bureaucrats you’d believe in national stereotypes. When they weren’t shrugging and making moues, they were trying to change the rules without telling us.’

‘Oh, well, bureaucrats.’

‘Balls! It’s the French. Nothing like living abroad to make one robust about disliking other nations. Anyway, what makes it all right to disparage bureaucrats? Because you were one? Same way you’ve a licence to mock the English?’

The waiter reappeared, served up their
pot au feu
and poured them some of the house red. Rachel raised her glass. ‘Happy Birthday, Robert. Now, as a favour to me, will you forget your liberal conscience and tell me why you hate them so much. And linger over it. I’m in the mood for unrelieved character assassination. Tell me about them one by one, in all their ghastliness.’

‘Starting with the least or most offensive?’

‘Oh, please save the worst till last. I always like a treat to finish.’

‘OK. I’ll save Ahmed until coffee. I think he’s the most awful, though of course I concede that it’s early days yet. Right. I think on the whole that Gunther is the least offensive, but he’s very hard to take nevertheless. Quick, quick. Bad thing about stereotype German? And don’t stop to think.’

‘Fat, ponderous, humourless.’

‘Perfect. Well, Gunther must weigh fifteen stone and tucks into the starchy foods at every opportunity. He carries a large pocket dictionary around with him and oblivious to his waiting audience, he halts mid-sentence to thumb through it for the
mot juste;
it is, he explains often, important to get things right. I said to him once that something wasn’t important, and he responded with, “Everything is of importance.”

‘He has to have every joke explained to him; in fact I truly believe he’s only just learning to grasp what jokes are. He can spot them now — they’re what has just happened when people laugh.’

‘He sounds boring, but not actually objectionable.’

‘You don’t allow that boring can be objectionable? Well, how about his preoccupation with status? Can you believe that Gunther wanted a conversation about the rank of the stripping WPC? I had to spell out every rank in the Met. In fact,’ and in his excitement Amiss dropped his fork on to his plate and spilled gravy on the tablecloth, ‘the only time I’ve ever seen him animated was when we talked about who called whom what in Britain. He was thunderstruck to learn that secretaries often called their bosses by their first names. Produced the response, “But how could this be? The boss he has no honorific? This is incredulous.” ’

‘What does he do for a living?’

‘Lives off his inheritance, as far as I can gather. His papa founded a pretty successful pharmaceutical company and he’s got a seat on the board. No chance of one not knowing. He’s got the company logo on his key-ring, socks, sweaters and probably underpants.’

‘And he’s in London for what?’

‘Gambling clubs.’

‘Age?’

‘Late forties.’

‘What does he look like as well as fat?’

‘Almost bald, but those hairs he does have are beautifully coiffed. My guess is he blow dries it daily.’

Rachel frowned. ‘What would he have done in the war if he’d been old enough?’

‘Good question.’ Amiss ate thoughtfully. ‘I know. He’d have sat on the board of the company and asked no questions.’

‘Redeeming feature?’

‘Stolid good humour.’

‘You know that party game — what animal does he most resemble? Sounds as if he’d be a warthog.’