Thirteen Steps Down (18 page)

before? It would have meant nothing to him then but, at the start of

Christie's trial,all of it would have come back to him, and as the vulgar

peopleput it, he put two and two together. He had told her in

Januarythat he was awfully fond of her, and when Christie's trial began

she was certain he had been on the point of proposing to her. Eileen

Summers was to be told he no longer cared for her. Gwendolen Chawcer

was his true love. But when he read in the newspaper that Christie had

lured women to his house by claiming to carry out illegal operations he

would naturally have thought Gwendolen had gone there for an abortion.

Oh, the horror of it! The shame! Of course, no decent man would want to

marry a woman who had had an abortion. And a doctor would be even

more set against such a thing.

Gwendolen walked along Cambridge Gardens, thinking of all this and

growing more and more dismayed. If only she hadn't posted the letter!

She would write another, that was the only thing to do, and she wouldn't

wait for a reply. Believing what he did about her, he very likely wouldn't

deign to answer her at all. No wonder he hadn't been to her mother's

funeral or come back to see her. No wonder he had married Eileen

Summers after all. She was brooding along these lines when she came

face to face with Olive Fordyce who was walking along with Queenie

Winthrop. Queenie had a shopping trolley that she leaned on as if it were

a walker, and Olive had Kylie on a lead.

"Goodness, Gwendolen, you were lost in a dream," saidQueenie. "In

another world. Who were you thinking about? Your fancy man?" She

winked at Olive, who winked back.

It was too near the bone for Gwendolen. "Don't be stupid."

"I hope we can all take a joke," Queenie said ratherdistantly.

Here Olive intervened. "Let's not quarrel. After all, who have we got but

each other?"

This went down badly with the other two. "Thank you very much, Olive.

I really appreciate that." Queenie drew herself up to her full five feet one.

"I have two daughters, in case you've forgotten, and five grandchildren."

"We can't all be so lucky," said Olive peaceably. "Now,Gwen, while I've

got the opportunity, I want to ask you a very great favor. It's my niece.

May I bring her to see you some time this week because she really is

dying to see your house?"

"You say that." Gwendolen spoke grumpily. "But she won't come, she

never does. I go to all that trouble and she can't put herself out to come."

"She will this time. I promise. And you needn't bother with cakes. We're

both on a diet."

"Really? Well, I suppose she can come. You'll go on and on about it

until I say yes."

"Could we say Thursday? I promise I won't bring my little dog. That's a

lovely ring you're wearing."

"I wear it every day," said Gwendolen distantly. "I never go out without

it."

"Yes, I've noticed. Is that a ruby?"

"Of course."

Gwendolen made her way home, cross and dismayed. Nevermind about

that silly Olive and the niece, they were just a minor nuisance like a

mosquito buzzing round one's bedroom in the night. Nor did Olive's never

before noticing the ring matter much. Her only true concern was with

Stephen Reeves.The post would have been collected by now and that

letterwould be on its way to Woodstock. She must write again and put

things straight. All these years he might have been thinking of her as a

woman of low morals. He must be made to see her in her true light.

Chapter 12

It was to be a long time before the disappearance of Danila Kovic was

known to the police. She had been a solitary girl, come to London from

Lincoln at Madam Shoshana's command, having no London friends but

Mix Cellini. The room in Oxford Gardens had been found for her by a

London acquaintance of her mother's. Danila had never met this woman

or her husband, never been to her home in Ealing and heard nothing

from her. As for her mother, she had come to Grimsby as a refugee from

Bosnia, bringing her small daughter with her and, her husband having

been killed in the war, had remarried. Danila sometimes said--when she

had someone to say it to that her mother was less interested in her than

in her present husband and their two sons. Packing her off to London

was a way of getting rid of her.

When she had been in London a month her mother died of cancer.

Danila went home for the funeral but her stepfather made it plain he

didn't want her staying with him. She went back to Notting Hill, virtually

alone in the world, nineteen years old, not particularly attractive, without

skills and, withone exception, without friends.

By the middle of the week, when she still hadn't come towork, Madam

Shoshana washed her hands of her and worried only about finding

someone else to do her job. If she thoughtof Danila at all, it was to

conclude that she had got fed up withthe job or gone off with some man.

In Shana's experience,there was always some man about for a girl to go

off with. These days people seemed to wander about the country, and

about Europe for that matter, whenever the fancy took them. Danila

need not think she was keeping the job open for her.

Kayleigh Rivers hadn't been close to Danila. They had never been to

each other's homes, but they had twice been for a meal together and

once to the cinema. She was the nearest to a friend Danila had and the

only person who knew her to worry about where she might now be.

Behind the counter in her Turkish carpet seller's costume, Shoshana

phoned an agency she had used before, the Beauty Placement Centre,

and was sent a temp. Just in time, as she had a new client coming to see

her when she was wearing her soothsayer's hat.

A spiteful message left on his mobile warned Mix not to bothert o come to

Ed and Steph's engagement party. He wouldn't be welcome. The party,

said Ed, was for friends and well-wishers, there would be no room at the

Sun in Splendour for those who failed to keep their promises.

"What a carry-on over nothing," said Mix aloud in the car.

On that terrible night when the girl had provoked him into beating her

to death, when she had asked for it as plainly as if she'd said, "Kill me,"

there had been moments of thinking his chances of meeting Nerissa

forever ruined. But as the dayswent by he began to feel better. He forced

himself--he was proud of this--to phone the spa and ask for Danila. The

reply he got hugely raised his spirits.

"Shoshana's Spa. Kayleigh speaking."

"Can I speak to Danila?"

"Sorry, Danila's left. She doesn't work here anymore."

It wasn't difficult to interpret that as meaning they thought she'd given

up her job. If they were worried, if they thought she might have been

abducted or murdered or both, they wouldn't have said she'd left. They'd

have said somethingabout her being missing. Maybe, he thought, she'd

never bemissed, maybe there was no one to look for her or care what had

happened to her. He'd read somewhere that thousands ofpeople

disappear every year and are never found.

Almost as an afterthought, he asked to speak to MadamShoshana.

"I'll see if she's free."

She was and he made an appointment. On a Wednesday afternoon,

going upstairs, Danila had met Nerissa coming down. Why shouldn't he

meet her this Wednesday? Of course, it hadn't been a Wednesday

afternoon but a morning on someother weekday when he'd seen her go

into the spa. Still, he pinned his faith on her going to Shoshana

tomorrow.

If that failed, he'd somehow sabotage her car and then be on hand to

repair it for her or at least advise her. It was a bold stroke, but it might

really work, and with speed. He'd see her trying to start the car and

failing and then he'd go over and very politely offer his services. Mix lost

himself in this new fantasy. She'd be so grateful when she heard the

engine tum overthat she'd invite him in for a drink. People like her never

drank anything but champagne and she'd always have a bottle waiting

on ice--but no, he remembered he'd read that she didn't drink at all. But

she'd have champagne for visitors. They'd sit and talk and when he'd told

her about his long devotion to her and about the scrapbook, she'd ask

him if he'd like to come to apremiere with her that evening as her escort.

He had to get to know her first. Was there something he could do to run

the battery down without her knowing? He'd find out, ask around, and

then he'd do it. All he needed afterthat were jump leads. He pictured her

struggling to make theengine fire. She'd look so beautiful, the exertion

and the stressbringing a faint flush to her golden skin, her dainty foot

wildlypressing, but in vain, on the accelerator, at this point he'd go

over to her, say, "Can I help, Miss Nash?"

She'd say, "You know my name!"

The enigmatic smile he'd give would excite her curiosity.

"It's the battery, don't you think?"

It looked like it, he'd say, but luckily he happened to have jump leads

with him. Once he'd recharged the battery, sheought to drive the car

around a bit to stop it getting flat again. Would she like him to drive it?

Of course she could sit besidehim while he drove. Rather than her

inviting him in that first time, this was a more realistic scenario. He'd

take her down to Wimbledon Common or maybe Richmond Park and

she'd beso thrilled by his driving and the masterful manner in which he'd

taken over car and her, that she'd say yes immediately when he asked if

he could see her again. No, he wouldn't ask if,but when.

He got to Shoshana's Spa half an hour earlier than the appointed time,

so he managed to park the car on a meter-he'dfeed that once the traffic

warden had gone around he corner-then sat in the driving seat and read

another chapter of Christie's Victims. Reggie hadn't seemed to think

much about finding girls. If he wanted one girl he got her to come to his

house, fixed up that gas arrangement ostensibly to cure her catarrhor

abort her, and when she passed out he strangled her. Screwed her first,

of course. Mix didn't fancy that part of it, hecouldn't have had sex with a

dead girl, but to do that was Reggie's sole motive. And he killed how

many? Mix had only got sof ar as the death of Hectorina McClennan and

he thought therewere more to come. Not old Chawcer, though, she was

the one that got away. For his own part--and he considered this in acool

practical way of which he was proud--he probablywouldn't kill anymore.

It was a lot of trouble, especially covering one's tracks afterward. Except

Javy. Now he'd killed once, the idea of doing it again, and doing it when

he really wanted to, seemed less formidable.

He read another couple of pages, saw rather ruefully that there

wereonly three more chapters to go, put the marker in his book and,

checking on the traffic warden, a further two pounds in the meter, and

rang the bell at Shoshana's. She answered in a deep thrilling voice and

he could tell she had someonewith her. He heard her say, more briskly,

"I'll see you next week." The door slid open when he pushed it. His throat

dried and his heart beat faster at the prospect of meeting Nerissa on the

stairs, but the woman coming down was middle-aged and overweight. It

couldn't be helped, he'd hear his fortune and try to find out the times she

came; he'd ask if necessary.

The room where Shoshana sat was like nowhere he had everseen

before. It was very hot and, for the time of day, very dark.His sensitive

nose smelled tobacco smoke. There seemed tohim something not only

eccentric but actively unpleasant inpinning the curtains together with

those great clumsy brooches.He tried not to look at the owl and, with an

even more deliberateturning aside, at the wizard in gray robes positioned

behindShoshana's chair. She herself he had expected to be a glamorous

figure, skillfully made-up and svelte, as would befit theproprietor of a

beauty spa. Little of her was visible but what hecould see was enough:

wizened face and sharp black eyes peeringout of stormcloud-colored

draperies.

"Sit down," she said. "Will you have the stones or thecards?"

"Pardon?"

"Am I to look into your future by means of gemstones orcards?" She

frowned. "I suppose you know what cards are." She produced a greasy

pack from a concealed pocket in hertopmost layer. "These things. Cards.

Which is it to be?"

"I don't want my fortune told. I want your advice on ghosts."

"Fortune first," she said. "Take a card."

Uncertain whether he would be allright to dig into the pack, he took

the top one. It was the ace of spades. She looked at it and then at him

inscrutably. "Take another."

She had shuffled the first card he took back into the packbut still when

he picked one it was the ace of spades. Even in the gloom he could see

that her face had fallen. She looked like a woman who has just been told

a dreadful piece of news, dismayed but still incredulous.

"What is it?" he said.

"Take another."

This time it was the queen of hearts. A faint smile touchedher lips. She