Thirteen Steps Down (38 page)

The body he had wrapped in one of her own threadbaresheets. It lay in

his little hallway. He took the mattress cover out of its packaging and

saw at once it wouldn't do. It was too thin and--he shuddered--too

transparent. If he used it hewould be in the same mess as he'd been in

last time-worse,because eventually there would be a search for old

Chawcer. All he could do was wait until tomorrow and try to get a

stronger, thicker bag.

The pain in his back had returned. He shouldn't have dragged that

much heavier body up all those stairs. But what choice had he? And he

was going to have to drag it farther in case something happened to make

it impossible for him to refuseentry to anyone who needed to come into

the flat. As well as the pain he had a sore ankle where that cat had

scratched him. The whole area was red and swollen and he wondered if

Otto's claws were infected with nasty bacteria. But his life was more

important than pain, he thought, and he lugged the bodyi nto the living

room, where he dropped it in a corner and pushed the cocktail cabinet

across to hide it.

Its presence there haunted him and he had to move first into the

kitchen, then the bedroom. How could you relax in a room with a body,

however disguised, rolled up in one corner? In the bedroom it was better,

a bit better. He lay on his bed and thought, tomorrow I'll find somewhere

to buy a thicker, stronger bag and then I'll put her in it and under the

floorboards. After that, I'll put it out of my mind, I won't thinkabout it

anymore.

Nerissa was out with her father. She was his only daughter and his

youngest child and though he couldn't have said he loved her better than

his sons, he loved her differently, partly because she was the girl he had

longed for and partly because her skin was almost as dark as his. His

sons had their mother's features and skin lighter than his own. They

were tall and handsome and successful at what they did and he was

proud of them, but they didn't look like members of his tribe--its women

were famouslybeautifu-l-as Nerissa did and his old mother did. So,f or no

religious or ritualistic reason but just because they always did, he took

the day off and he and Nerissa went to thes heltered housing in

Greenford where his mother lived and, also for no particular reason

except that they always did, took her a flowering plant from Africa and

the best mangoes they could find (not, alas, sun-ripened and with juicedripping golden flesh) and a bunch of pink and red and gold banksias

rom the Cape, though this was not her part of that continent but the

best they could do.

In the car on the way Nerissa tied up her head in a wonderful white and

pink and emerald turban because this was what, in Grandma's eyes,

women who dressed properly went out in, and she wore an emerald

green caftan with a ruby border and looked like a chief's wife. "When they

had made Tom's mother happy and in her company had eaten and

drunk all sorts of things Nerissa knew she would have to compensate for

by starving herself, they got back in the car and drove to wherever they

were going for their day out. Somewhere different each year. Last time it

had been the Thames Barrier and the Maritime Museum at Greenwich

and this time it was Hampton Court Palace. Before they got there Nerissa

unwound the turban, tied her hair back in a ponytail and put on big

sunglasses so that she wouldn't be recognized. She kept the caftan on.

While they were walking round looking at things, the day having turned

out to be warm and fine, Nerissa told her father, the words coming out in

a rush, that she had fallen in love withDarel Jones.

"But you don't know him all that well, do you?" said Tom.

"I suppose not. I haven't seen him since we all went therefor dinner. But

I know. I know I've been in love with him for years and years. Ever since

they came to live next door."

"Is he in love with you, my darling?"

"I wouldn't think so, Dad. Not for a moment. If he was he'd do

something about it. He wouldn't just ask me to dinner with all you lot

there as well."

They had lunch in an Italian restaurant in Hampton, discovered by Tom

who was good on restaurants. "While theywere eating their zabaglione--or

Tom was eating his and Nerissa was pretending she couldn't finish hershe told her that as she was so beautiful and he, personally, thought she

was pretty nice as well, neither her appearance nor her characte rcould

be responsible for Darel's indifference.

"I suppose it could just be a case of Dr. Fell," said Tom.

"Who'sDr. Fell?"

" 'I do not love thee, Dr. Fell,

The reason why I cannot tell,

But this one thing I know full well,

I do not love thee, Dr. Fell.' "

"I hope not," said Nerissa, "because if that's it there'll be no putting it to

rights."

"Love's a funny thing. Your mother was beautiful, still is in my opinion,

but I don't know why I fell in love with her, and God knows why she fell

in love with me. Your grandma would say things were a lot easier when

the suitor and the girl's parents arranged the match and the chap got a

flock of goats and some bushels of corn with his bride."

"Darel couldn't keep goats in Docklands," said Nerissa,"and I don't

suppose he'd know what to do with bushels ofcorn. He did say that if got

harassed by that man who's stalking me I was to call him and he'd come.

Any time of the day ornight, he said."

"Are you being harassed?" Tom sounded anxious.

"Not really. I haven't seen him for a week."

"Well, if you do, call Darel and kill two birds with onestone."

Nerissa thought about it. "I don't want to actually look forward to the

guy coming back."

"Think again," said Tom. "Maybe you do want to."

Early next morning Queenie and Olive met at St. Blaise Houseand held a

two-woman conference. Both were indignant that Gwendolen had gone

away without letting them know. They sat in the drawing room, having

spread two clean table napkins across the seat of the sofa, drinking an

instant coffee brew that Olive had made and eating pastries from the

confectioner's box Queenie had brought with her, neither of them much

fancying food that came out of Gwendolen's kitchen.

"This room is filthy," said Olive. "This whole house is filthy."

She had sterilized the cups with boiling water and Dettol before filling

them with coffee.

"Well, dear, we know that but we don't have to live here, thank

goodness, and if you're thinking of having a whole house clean-up while

poor Gwendolen is away, I wouldn't. You know what she was like when

we tackled her kitchen. I think we should mind our own business."

"I can't understand her going away at all. In all the years I've known her

she's never been away."

"And she's never mentioned friends in Cambridge."

"No, but the professor may have known people there. In fact, it's quite

likely."

"That may be," said Queenie, "but why has she never said? And, you

know, dear, people of her age"--Gwendolen had been ten years older than

she and twelve years older than Olive--"take absolute ages to prepare

themselves for going away to stay anywhere. I remember my dear mother

when she was in her eighties taking a good two weeks to get herself ready

and she was only going to my brother. And she discussed the pros and

cons every day before she finally went. Should she leave in the morning

or the afternoon? Which train should shecatch? Could she ask my

brother to meet her or would he do that anyway? You know the sort of

thing. And Gwendolenwould be just the same. No, she'd be worse."

"Well, I don't know. Drink your coffee before it gets cold."

"I'm sorry, Olive, but I can't. It tastes of disinfectant.

Do you think she's got an address book about anywhere? Wecould look

in that. She must write down people's addressessomewhere."

They walked about the room, remarking on the grime and the cobwebs,

and were pulling books out of the bookcase and blowing dust off their

spines when Mix came down into the hallway. He had been on his way

downstairs, starting once more on his quest to find a thick stout plastic

bag, when he heard them come into the house. At first he had retreated

into his own flat, then, later, decided it would be best to confront them

and, most importantly, ask them to return the house key.

A few moments before he entered the drawing room, Olive had found

Gwendolen's ancient address book in a drawer among scraps of paper,

broken pencils, safety pins, elastic bands, antique 15 amp electric plugs,

and about fifty used checkbooks inwhich only the stubs remained. When

Mix came in she lookedup from the entries under B, which was as far as

she hadreached, and said, "Oh, good morning, Mr. Cellini," in an

unpleasant tone ..

"Hiya," said Mix.

"We were just wondering if you happened to know the name of the

friends Miss Chawcer is staying with."

"No, I don't. She didn't say."

"We're very anxious to know," said Queenie. "It's so unlike her to go

away without a word." She gave Mix one of the smiles that had been so

winning when she was eighteen, and laid her hand on his arm. After all,

he was a man. "We thought she might have confided in you."

He made no answer. "Can I have the key back?"

"What key?" Olive said sharply.

"The key to this house. You won't need it now she's okay.""Yes, we will.

We need to come in and see to the place while she's away. And another

thing. I shall give this key up to Miss Chawcer and no one else. Is that

understood?"

"Okay, keep your cool." Mix turned away and said over his shoulder,

"You don't want to send your blood pressure up at your age."

This was unwise of him, though Olive appeared to react not at all. She

said nothing to him or to Queenie even when she heard the front door

close behind him but sat down on the napkin-covered sofa by the table

and continued to turn thepages of Gwendolen's address book.

"What a terribly rude person he is," said Queenie.

"Yes. There's not a single Cambridge address in this book,Queenie." .

"Perhaps she knows it so well she doesn't need to write it down."

"At her time of life you forget your own name if you don'twrite it down."

Olive closed the book. "What are we going to do? We can't just leave it. I

thought Gwen was looking very unwell when I saw her on Sunday. She

looked as if she ought to have been inbed. And the next thing we know is

she's gone off first thing next morning to stay with people no one has

ever heard of inCambridge. In a taxi? When did Gwen ever go anywhere

in a taxi, always supposing she knew how to order one."

"Well, dear, I wouldn't trust that man Cellini an inch."

"Then what were you doing smirking at him in that flirtatiousway?"

He should have been out, calling at DIY places and hardware stores, but

he was afraid to leave those two old hags at large in the house. They

would be bound to search it. And what if old Chawcer had kept a key to

his flat? He'd never inquired and, to his knowledge, she hadn't been in

there while he was out. On the other hand, she had never told him she

possessed a key to his place and he'd never asked. If she had one they

would find it. He dared not take the risk of going out.

Outside his flat he sat on the top step of the tiled flight and listened. He

heard them come out of the drawing room. He could hear their voices,

twittering to each other shrilly. Like birds of prey, he thought, ravens or

whatever those creatureswere that you saw pecking at dead things on

motorway verges. Dead things--his comparison reminded him of the body

that lay, inadequately wrapped, behind the cocktail cabinet not many

feet away from him. It was very warm in the flat. He remembered what

had happened to Danila's body when it got warm and he went about,

opening windows.

It seemed those two had gone into the kitchen. He crept down a floor,

twinges running through his back. From there he could hear them

banging about in the kitchen and wash house.What were they looking

for? They came back into the hall andhe went back to halfway up the last

flight. Not that there was much chance of their seeing or hearing him.

Their lumbering progress up the stairs was too slow for that as they

puffed and panted and took rests, clinging, he guessed, to the banisters.

Ofc ourse they were making for old Chawcer's bedroom, and their

presence there made him more uneasy than ever. From the top landing,

through the banister rail, he watched them go into the room. To his relief

they didn't close the door. He heard them walking about in there, moving

small pieces of furniture, shifting ornaments about. One of them

coughed, no doubt from dust released when a curtain was lifted or a

shelf searched.

He didn't like them being in there. That was where he had killed her

and he still wondered if he had left behind some evidence of his presence

and his activities. Then he rememberedh e had taken the top sheet off

her bed to wrap her in. A wash of heat flooded over him. Old women