Chapter 11 #2
“Not everyone can be as blasé about a police ‘interrogation’ as you appear to be.”
“It’s not just that.” Willie frowned in thought. “She’s been—”
“Hold on a minute. Someone’s coming over.”
A corn-blond young man had just walked in, scanned the room, and spotted Willie. After a moment’s hesitation, he headed for Alec’s table. In spite of his cocky stride and a gleaming smile, he looked worried.
As he came closer, Alec saw that he wasn’t as young as he’d appeared through the haze of smoke in the bar.
Thirty, or even thirty-five. Nonetheless, he was extremely good-looking.
His navy suit was in the latest style, double-breasted, with pencil stripes, wide trousers and sleeves, slightly tailored waistline, and wide lapels with rounded tips.
His tie was striped with a hideous shade of mauve.
Alec said in a low voice, “A secret admirer?”
“Certainly not!” Willie snapped.
“Miss Chandler. I’ve been hoping to run across you.”
“Hello, Mr. Vaughn,” she greeted him, coldly polite.
The estate agent, Alec recalled.
“Sorry to butt in, old chap. I won’t be a moment. How are you liking the house, Miss Chandler? No problems?”
“None that we can blame on you,” Willie said sarcastically.
“Oh. I … Good. Heard from Judith yet? Mrs. Gray?”
“No, and we hardly expect to.”
“She might send her address, so that you could forward anything she left behind.”
“She didn’t leave anything that wasn’t included in the contract of sale, and she hasn’t sent her address. Sorry.” Willie didn’t sound in the least apologetic.
“Sorry to bother you. You will let me know if you get her address?”
She sighed. “I’ll tell Miss Sutcliffe you’re asking for it. She’s the one who sorts the post.”
“Thanks ever so. It’s just—”
“I’m sure you want to go and join your friends, Mr. Vaughn. Good-bye.”
He went off at last, disconsolate.
“What was that all about?” Alec asked.
“I’m not sure. He came to the house one evening. I was the only one at home—I was tired and the others went to the cinema. I didn’t invite him in.”
“You don’t like him, do you?” It was more of a statement than a question.
“I don’t think you should ask me that.”
“You’re right. I apologise.”
Willie waved away his apology. “I forgot to tell the inspector he called. Does it matter?”
“Shouldn’t think so, but do tell him when you get a chance. Vaughn asked the same questions at that time?”
“Yes, but I don’t remember that I bothered to mention it to Izzie. For all I know, she did find something from Mrs. Gray in the post and chucked it away, not having any use for it.”
“I’ll ask—I’ll suggest that Underwood ask her. No, I’ve got to keep my finger out of this pie! You ask Isabel and if she says yes, advise her to report it to Underwood.”
“It would eliminate Mrs. Gray as victim and possibly save a lot of effort, I suppose.”
“Especially if she remembered the address, or could find the paper. The S?reté—No! Stop me meddling.”
“As long as you don’t actually get in touch with the S?reté or tell Underwood what to do, it’s not meddling,” Willie assured him. “One can’t help thinking about it.”
“But I shouldn’t be talking about it.”
“Let’s talk about something else, then. When do you think we’ll be able to move back—”
“I don’t think you should ask me that,” he quoted her own words.
She laughed. “Oh dear, there really isn’t any other topic of conversation at the moment, is there?”
“Would you like another sherry?”
“What I’d like is a large B and S. I’m not sure mixing the two is a good idea, though.”
“It won’t hurt you. One B and S coming up.”
While he was at the bar, Daisy and Isabel came in.
Daisy did look tired, as Willie had claimed.
Barely convalescent, yet she couldn’t keep her nose out of a murder investigation, he thought with exasperated fondness.
No point in trying to exact her promise not to get involved, but he would make her promise to take care of herself.
He hoped her friends would keep an eye on her when he went back to London, if she insisted on staying.
Isabel saw him and they came over.
“What would you like?” he asked.
“Sherry, please,” said Isabel.
“Not something stronger?”
She grinned. “I was brought up Methodist. I still feel slightly guilty drinking sherry. I never developed a taste for cocktails, and beer is unladylike. I hope their sherry is better than what we offered you.”
“Mrs. Barnes, the doctor’s wife, seemed to find it acceptable. Daisy, the usual?”
“Yes, please, darling. But let’s take our drinks to the dining room. I asked them to reserve us a table. I’m so hungry I could eat a horse. Where are the others? Not still in that dismal parlour?”
“Willie’s over there.” Isabel nodded towards the corner. “I’ll fetch her.”
Alec added a sherry and a vermouth with soda to his order and asked the barman to have them brought to the dining room. The man grudgingly agreed.
“Vera’s gone upstairs,” Alec told Daisy. “Willie said she’s upset.”
Daisy frowned. “She was in quite a state, and I can’t work out why. I’ll go and see if she wants to come down for supper.”
“Let one of the others go, love. You’re not altogether yourself yet.”
“I do feel rather like a wet rag, but I’m sure it’s just missing lunch. Tea was good but didn’t make up for it.” She paused as the others came up, then said, “Sally Hedger is waiting in the dining room this evening. I’m sure she’d take a tray up to Vera if she doesn’t want to come down.”
“I’ll try to persuade her to come,” said Willie. “It’s not good for her, brooding alone. Besides, we need to talk.”
“No talk about the m—the case while we eat!” Alec commanded.
“All right, but I still think Vera should join us. If she hides herself away, Inspector Underwood is bound to find it suspicious.”