The Seven Stars (10 page)

‘
Definitely “she”, sir?’ queried Vicky Penton from the back seat.

‘
Definitely “she”. It was nicked from the ladies’ loo.’

They turned the corner into East Parade and immediately came upon a long line of cars drawn up at the kerb as impatient husbands awaited their inexplicably detained wives. Opposite the brightly lit entrance to the store
, three wooden chairs had been placed to reserve a space, and as the police car approached, a uniformed doorman came forward and moved them. Baker slid into position.

Mrs Latimer was awaiting them in the foyer
, pale but composed. Baker knew her from the magistrates’ court, where she sat on the bench. She recognised him, and came quickly forward.

‘
Oh, Inspector, thank goodness you’re here. This is all most embarrassing.’

‘
Has anyone left the building, ma’am?’

‘
One or two, before the ring was missed.’

‘
And none since?’

‘
No, but they’re getting very restive.’

‘
Those that left, how long was it before the discovery of the theft?’

Mrs Latimer turned to the doorman.
‘Frank?’

‘
A couple of ladies left together about half an hour ago, ma’am, and two others separately only a minute or two before you sent down and told me no one else was to go.’

‘
Any way of identifying these ladies, particularly the last two?’

The doorman shrugged helplessly.

‘Do you remember what they were wearing, Frank?’ Monica turned to Baker with a quick smile. ‘Frank has instructions from his wife to report on people’s clothes.’

‘
Well, Miss Monica, I do recall the last two. One was all in pink — I remember thinking she looked like Barbara Cartland — and the other in navy and yellow, with gold buttons.’

Monica nodded swiftly.
‘I think I can identify them, if the need arises.’

Baker reasserted himself.
‘Now, ma’am, how many ladies are up there?’

‘
About seventy.’

‘
Well, I’ll come up and have a general word with them, take a look at the scene and so on. Then, I’m afraid, we shall have to search everyone.’

Monica
’s eyes widened. ‘But Inspector, you can’t! The Duchess of Hampshire and her daughter are here, and several other titled ladies. Whatever —’

‘
I’m sorry, Mrs Latimer, we have no choice.’

‘
But surely you need only search those who were in the cloakroom at the time?’

‘
It was crowded, I understand. The thief, if thief there be, might not admit to being there. Now’ — as she started to protest again — ‘shall we make a start?’

*

That evening was one of the longest Hannah could remember. The excited talk that had broken out after the inspector explained the procedure had given way to anxiety about the length of time required to search everyone, quite apart from the indignity of it.

There was a moment of drama when one
middle-aged woman fainted, causing the uncharitable suspicion that it might be a ruse to avoid being searched. Lady Ursula, whose chauffeur was no doubt in the long line outside, bore up reasonably well despite her air of frailty. Chairs had been brought from downstairs to implement the sofas that furnished this upstairs showroom, and there were seats for all who wanted them.

Having taken the police back downstairs
, Monica showed them into the tearoom and watched while they organised themselves at a couple of the tables. At their request, she’d already furnished them with a copy of the guest-list, which she assumed would be ticked off as, one after another, the ladies submitted to the search.

‘
What exactly will be involved, Inspector?’ she asked anxiously.

‘
Don’t worry, ma’am, it won’t be an intimate search. The ladies will simply be asked to empty their pockets and hand-bags on to the table and to unfasten their bras, which, as you’ll appreciate, would be a convenient hiding place. They’ll be asked whether they used the cloakroom this evening, and if so at what time and who else was there. Then one of the woman officers will quickly pat their bodies like when you go through security control at the airport.’

‘
You might as well start with me, then,’ Monica said. She’d no handbag with her, and no pockets in her two-piece, but one of the constables ran her hands over her body, and she unfastened her brassiere and as requested jumped up and down. Then, with heightened colour, she walked over to the screen which concealed the entrance to the kitchen.

‘
I think,’ she said, ‘that last part would be less embarrassing if performed privately.’ And she moved the screen to cover a corner of the room.

The inspector nodded impassively.
‘Now, Mrs Latimer, if you’d kindly get them organised upstairs, we can make a start.’

The first to appear was a middle-aged lady with
protuberant eyes and a large, tightly corseted body, who fixed Baker with an icy glare and stated, ‘Young man, I might as well tell you I have no intention of being put through this indignity.’

A good start.
‘I understand your feelings, madam, but I’m sure you realise —’

‘
If
it’s
any of your business, I did not go near the cloakroom all evening. I demand to be allowed to leave at once.’

Baker sighed.
‘I was hoping not to have to mention this, madam, but normal procedure is that anyone refusing to be searched is arrested on suspicion.’

‘
Arrested
?
’
Baker thought for a moment the woman was about to have a stroke. Her face suffused with colour and she seemed to have difficulty breathing. ‘Young man,’ she spluttered at last, ‘do you know who I am?’

‘
No, madam, though I appreciate there are some very eminent ladies present, and I greatly regret —’

‘
My name,’ she stated, drawing herself up and glaring at him, ‘is Lady Soames.’ She paused. ‘Did you hear that, young man? Soames. My husband is the Chief Constable.’

Baker closed his eyes briefly.
‘I’m sure, madam, that he would be proud of the example you’re setting.’

‘
Humph!’

So much for his chances of promotion
, Baker thought bleakly. But to his surprise Lady Soames up-ended her handbag on the table without further urging, and produced a lace handkerchief from a pocket in her skirt. He nodded in answer to Vane’s anxious glance, and the WPC conducted her behind the screen for the frisking.

‘
Well, I hope you’re satisfied,’ Lady Soames commented as she emerged, and, retrieving her handbag, she sailed majestically from the room.

‘
After that,’ Sue Crossley said with feeling, ‘the Duchess will be a doddle!’

*

The staff were the last to be seen, by which time it was after eleven. There were a dozen of them, including the weird old bird who’d made the phone-call, who gave her name as Hermione Tulip. Well into her seventies, her heavy makeup was of theatrical proportions but her hair, silver-grey, was smartly if severely cut and she stood tall and straight in an impeccable black suit. She was, Baker gathered, the linchpin of the establishment and appeared if anything more upset by the evening’s occurrences than Mrs Latimer herself.

The models who
’d taken part in the parade had, Baker gathered, left immediately afterwards and were therefore of no interest. Of the rest, the cloakroom attendant, one Daisy Phillips, was inclined to be tearful, convinced that suspicion lay heavily on her despite repeated assurances to the contrary. She knew the regular customers, and named several who had been in the cloakroom around the crucial time, which Sue Crossley checked against the relevant statements.

There were three waitresses
, normally employed in the tearoom but brought in to take round the wine, and four sales assistants who had helped dress the models and stayed on to book fittings if required. And last came the three members of the catering firm, Home Cooking, who had provided the food for the evening.

In view of the eminence of the clientele
, Baker was inclined to regard the staff as the most likely culprits. However, Monica assured him that apart from Mrs Phillips, who was on duty, they used the staff facilities and would not have gone near the first-floor cloakroom.

And when even they had been allowed to leave
, there were the entire premises to be searched, for which Baker had requested back-up. When the culprit had heard the police were coming, her first instinct would have been to dispose of the ring, probably in the hope of reclaiming it later. The long showroom offered dozens of hiding-places, each of which must be searched out and examined.

It might also
, he reflected, be worth SOCO’s having a look at the cloakroom, though unless they proposed to fingerprint the entire gathering — which heaven forfend, Baker thought tiredly — he couldn’t see that much good would come of it.

While the search took place above and around him
, he sat in the tearoom, accepted his umpteenth cup of coffee, and read through the list of statements which Vicky Penton had laboriously written down. The cream of Broadshire society, no less, but apart from Lady Soames no one had objected to their questioning. Nor, not unnaturally, had anyone admitted the crime. So where was the blasted ring, for heaven’s sake? It seemed that one of those rich, highly bred ladies had after all had the last laugh.

7

Webb learned of the evening
’s events on his arrival at Carrington Street the next morning, where it was the main topic of conversation and where Baker’s confrontation with the Chief Constable’s wife had been recounted with more glee than accuracy, growing in unlikeliness with each repetition.

‘
She’s a battle-axe all right, Lady Soames,’ Webb acknowledged with a grin. ‘Poor John — I shouldn’t have liked to be on the receiving end.’

‘
His only consolation was that she kept calling him “young man”!’ Crombie said. ‘Naturally the press are having a ball. With all those big names, who can blame them? Jack says they’re even asking if there could be a connection with the country house break-ins.’ Jack Williams was the press liaison officer.

‘
For Pete’s sake!’ Webb exclaimed. ‘At this rate, they’ll be looking for connections every time a kid nicks a Mars Bar! It’s obvious this was an opportunist crime and the villain a woman. What possible link could there be?’

‘
But all those nobs, Dave! It makes you think, doesn’t it?’

‘
I’m glad it’s not our pigeon, I can tell you that,’ Webb commented and returned to his work.

*

Helen’s chance came at lunch-time, when she spied Sir Clifford ahead of her in the lobby, for once unaccompanied. She quickened her step and touched his arm.

‘
Sir Clifford, could you spare me a moment?’

He smiled down at her.
‘Of course, my dear. Let me buy you a drink. We lecturers have the use of a private bar — it will be easier to talk there.’

He led her into a small room off the hall
, with large windows looking over the gardens at the side of the house. There were comfortable chairs and a glass and chrome bar in one corner. Two or three ladies were already seated at a table; in addition to their own group, a one-day seminar on lace-making was being held that day.

‘
What can I get you?’ Sir Clifford asked, seeing her to a chair and propping his silver-topped cane against the wall.

‘
Dry sherry, please.’

As he went to the bar
, Helen rapidly reviewed the points she wanted to raise, but first he’d a few questions for her.

‘
Forgive me if I don’t remember your name,’ he said, placing two glasses on the table and sitting down opposite her. ‘Put it down to advancing decrepitude.’

‘
Not at all — how could you remember, when you give so many lectures? I’m Helen Campbell.’

‘
Delighted to meet you.’ He shook her hand across the table with old-world courtesy. ‘And are you enjoying the course?’

‘
Enormously. In fact, that’s why I wanted your advice.’ She quickly sketched in her background in the antique business and her hopes for resuming work.

‘
Well, my dear, it depends how much time you want to devote to it. You could take a year’s course at the Courtauld Institute, but possibly in the first instance your best step might be to find employment at a local auction house, if there’s one near you. Where do you live?’

‘
In Hampshire — not far from Winchester.’

‘
That shouldn’t be a problem, then. Basically, what you need to do is study catalogues, walk round the sales and see how they’re laid out, check on prices and get used to handling objects. Then, if you want to go further and qualify as a valuer and auctioneer, you could take the courses set by the Association of Fine Art, Valuers and Auctioneers.’

‘
Thank you — that’s a great help.’

He reached in the breast pocket of his waistcoat and extracted a small gold-edged card.
‘And if I can be of assistance at any time, do please telephone.’

She thanked him again. He nodded and took another
sip of his sherry. ‘You’ve come from quite a distance; how did you hear of this course?’

‘
My daughter’s at university in Steeple Bayliss. I saw it advertised when I brought her back at the beginning of term.’

‘
A pity it’s not residential this year, but I gather they’re doing great things upstairs — putting in more bathrooms and generally modernising the place. Did you manage to find somewhere reasonable to stay?’

‘
Yes, I’m at the Seven Stars just along the road. It’s run by two sisters and their husbands, and the food is excellent.’

‘
Is anyone else on the course staying there?’

‘
No, just two long-term guests and me.’

‘
Well, I’m glad you found somewhere suitable. I usually stay at the White Swan in Steeple Bayliss when I’m up this way. It suits me well enough.’

Out in the hall
, the gong sounded for lunch. As they both stood up, Sir Clifford said, ‘At the end of this afternoon’s lecture I shall invite the class to come in here for drinks. I like to round off two-day seminars in that way. I do hope you’ll come.’

‘
Thank you, I’ll look forward to it.’

As they came out into the hall
, Valentine Perry was passing the door and his eyes narrowed on seeing Helen with Sir Clifford. She smiled grimly to herself, then was ashamed for indulging in his own game of one-upmanship. When, therefore, he came and sat beside her in the dining-room, she prepared herself for more unpleasantness. But to her surprise he opened the conversation by stating flatly, ‘You know Gordon Cain.’

‘
That’s right,’ she answered guardedly.

‘
Well?’

‘
No, but I’m staying at his guesthouse.’

‘
Ah. Then you also know his brother-in-law.’

‘
I’ve met him, yes.’

‘
What do you think of him?’

Helen privately decided that whatever her opinion of Nicholas Warren
, the last person she’d share it with was Valentine Perry.

‘
Very pleasant.’

He shot her a malicious
, sideways glance. ‘At least you didn’t say “nice”.’

Helen smiled despite herself.
‘I don’t know him well enough to express an opinion. Why?’

‘
I just wondered what your impression was. He’s quite a big name round these parts. His family were landed gentry, don’t you know?’ His tone was deliberately facetious. ‘But to give him his due, he’s a bright lad and he made all the right moves. Liked living in the fast lane, from all accounts, and being an ex-pat suited him down to the ground. Which is why I’m amazed he’s not bored rigid, running a glorified pub in the country.’

Not sure why she was defending Nicholas
, Helen nevertheless protested. ‘It’s hardly that, and anyway I gather he hasn’t much to do with it. He does consultancy work which takes him all over the country, so you can hardly say he’s buried himself.’

Perry
, who had been eating rapidly during this exchange, took a drink of mineral water and with his next question unexpectedly switched back to Gordon.

‘
What did you think of Cain’s article?’

Helen flushed
, remembering her brush-off. ‘I’m sorry to say I’ve not had a chance to read it.’

‘
You haven’t missed much. You’d do better to read mine, as I said in the first place.’ With which he pushed back his chair and left the table.

Helen gazed after him reflectively. Now what
, she wondered, was the point of all that? But whatever lay behind Perry’s questioning, it had succeeded in reviving her own curiosity about the ménage at the Seven Stars.

*

The drinks session at the end of the day was a pleasant occasion. Helen didn’t attempt to approach Sir Clifford; she’d had a private audience at lunch-time and was happy to let others surround him now. Valentine Perry was monopolising him at the moment, but then he did have a column to write.

She had forgotten Gordon
’s article until he’d mentioned it; she must try to read it tomorrow, in case Gordon himself referred back to it.

Idly
, watching Perry chat to the old man, she thought over his comments.
Were
the Warrens bored with the life they now led? How had they really adjusted from what sounded like a glamorous lifestyle overseas? Michael Saxton, she remembered, had expressed surprise at Kate’s willingness to settle down. What had made them decide to throw in their lot with the Cains and bury themselves in the country?

‘
You’re looking very serious!’ said a smiling voice, and Helen turned to Miss Chalmers.

‘
Sorry, I was miles away!’ But only nine or ten, she added privately.

*

It was almost time for dinner when Helen reached the Seven Stars. As always, the evening paper lay on the hall table and curiosity impelled her to pick it up and turn to the horoscopes. This time, ‘Tomorrow’s Birthday’ was not required to get in touch with anyone. He must change it sometimes after all, she thought cynically. Odd, the way everyone had reacted when she’d mentioned the column, as though they were on the defensive. She hadn’t intended to sound sceptical.

‘
You’re really hooked on those things, aren’t you?’ said a voice just behind her, and she jumped, turning to see Terry Pike looking at her curiously.

‘
Can’t resist them!’ she said lightly. ‘Do you know anyone who can turn the page without reading them?’

‘
And what does the future hold today?’ His flat, north-country voice made the query sound more scathing than perhaps he’d intended.

‘
I only read “Tomorrow’s Birthday”,’ she said.

‘
It’s your birthday tomorrow?’

‘
No, but — oh, it’s too complicated to explain.’

He seemed about to pursue the subject
, but to Helen’s relief Kate appeared from the direction of the kitchen and summoned them in to dinner.

*

‘I gather you got more than you bargained for at the Randall Tovey do,’ Webb remarked, when Hannah visited him that evening.

‘
We certainly did. I felt so sorry for Monica, it put a pall on the whole evening. I suppose they haven’t found the ring?’

‘
Not that I’ve heard.’ He poured her a drink.

‘
Is there any chance they will?’

He shrugged.
‘Information has been sent to local jewellers. If it does turn up, it could easily be identified — there are initials and a date inside. God knows why it was taken — it can never be worn in public unless it’s reset. Why did the silly woman take it off, anyway?’

‘
One of the claws was raised and would have caught on the towel.’

‘
Then she shouldn’t have worn it till she’d had it fixed.’

‘
Easy to be wise after the event,’ Hannah said drily. ‘Admittedly she should never have taken her eyes off it, but the fashion floor at Randall Tovey’s is the last place one would expect to have anything stolen.’

‘
You know at least some of those women. Any idea who might have taken it? Off the record, naturally.’

Hannah regarded him with horror.
‘I most certainly have not! David, they were —’

‘
I know who they were, love. The fact remains, like it or not, that one of them is a thief.’

Hannah said sombrely
, ‘And if she’s never caught, we all remain under suspicion. It’s appalling.’

‘
Did you go to the cloakroom yourself ?’

She shook her head.

‘Or notice anyone who did?’

‘
Not till after the alarm was raised. I was at the far end of the floor most of the time.’ She paused. ‘I hoped whoever had taken it might have hidden it somewhere.’

‘
So did John Baker. The place was turned over from top to bottom but there was no sign of it. Never mind, love, it might turn up yet. Stranger things have happened. In the meantime, worrying about it isn’t going to help, so finish your drink and I’ll get you another.’

*

The theft was also the main topic of conversation over the Seven Stars dinner-table.

‘
It’s caused a right old hooha,’ Gordon said, with his journalist’s inside knowledge. ‘Especially in view of the clientele. The duchess was there, for heaven’s sake.’

‘
The Duchess of Hampshire?’ Helen asked. ‘We’re going to visit her place on Saturday. When did all this happen?’

Kate looked at her in surprise.
‘Last night, haven’t you heard about it? I thought I saw you with the paper.’

‘
She only reads the horoscopes,’ Terry said.

There was a small
, taut silence, then Stella said quickly, ‘Well, it was all over the front page, with a photograph of the store and police cars outside. Everyone had to be
searched
! Can you imagine?’