Chapter 15 The One and Only #3
Once he’d managed to shake off a rather dissatisfied Ivor Fowler (expecting more fulsome praise for the couple’s handiwork), Flynn went looking for Hetty.
He found her and Margot—thankfully there was now no sign of either Hortense or Mitzi—taking a “fag break” and drinking tea from enamel mugs.
“I can get you a tea if you want,” Margot said.
“The Garden Café’s got its power up and running.
We’ve been sneaking in and stealing from their urn. ”
“Don’t let on to Mitzi.”
“No chance, that woman’s completely loco. Her husband, too. He was here earlier, said he was doing a recce, wants Mitzi to put on a show. Said—and I quote—that there was ‘good moolah’ to be made from the cake. He’s deluded if he thinks he’d get permission for that.”
“I know.”
“Found your missing French girlfriend yet, Harry?” Margot asked.
Flynn was beginning to feel rather sorry for Delphine, reduced now to little more than her nationality and sex.
He remembered the bleak atmosphere in Half Moon Street last night and felt suddenly nauseous.
He must have looked it, too, as Hetty said, “Are you all right, Harry? Sure I can’t get you some tea? ”
“Yes, sure. I’m fine. Thank you, Hetty. I’m actually here looking for Badger. Someone said he was in Homes and Gardens. I don’t know why, he never comes here.”
“Badger?” Margot said to Hetty. “Do I know him?”
“Alistair Badgley,” Hetty said to her. “The Norfolk Badgleys? Their disgraced scion. Propositioned a man in the Gents’ on Oxford Circus. Just his luck it was a policeman undercover.”
“Blimey.”
“Blimey indeed.”
“Do you know anything else about him?” Flynn asked.
“Only that he was in Special Ops during the war. Sent a friend of mine over to France. Never seen again after she was dropped.”
“Germans,” Margot said in disgust. “They tortured women. Who tortures women?”
“I’m sure Badger would rather that hadn’t happened,” Flynn said.
“Anyway,” Hetty said, “haven’t seen him. Sorry.”
“Must go,” Margot said. “Can you get me a silverware colander, Harry?”
“How are you really, Harry?” a concerned Hetty said when Margot had gone. “There’s a rumour that the police think you did it.”
“Did what?”
“Killed Delphine Dubois.”
“Well, I didn’t.”
“Of course not. Uh-oh—Dangerfield alert. On the Fairway. He’s not coming this way, is he?”
“No, he’s going into the Dome. You know him, do you?” (Hetty moved in opera circles too, he supposed.)
“Horrible man. His wife’s not much better. She can be quite formidable. And he’s…” She went quiet and looked uncharacteristically pensive. “Well, the clue’s in the name.”
“Dangerous?” he guessed. “Dangerous how?”
Hetty shrugged. “I was at a party, after the war, the Dangerfields were there. I was hot and tired, been dancing all night, and went looking for a glass of water, down in the servants’ quarters.
There was only champagne upstairs—it was that kind of party.
And it was cooler downstairs as well and I always prefer hobnobbing with the servants, don’t you? ”
Flynn laughed. “You’re hobnobbing with one now, Hetty.”
“Well, you know what I mean. Anyway, Dangerfield must have followed me down, because before I knew what was happening he had me pinned up against the wall in the servants’ passage.
No one was around. He held me very tightly by the wrists.
” She bit her lip. “It hurt. I couldn’t get away from him.
You know, people talk about his eyes—how attractive they make him—but close up, when he’s looking at you, I think they’re the ugliest things in the world.
There was nothing behind them. They were blank, like a wolf looking at his prospective prey. ”
“God, poor you. Did you manage to escape? Were you all right?”
“Kneed him in the cobblers,” she said, suddenly cheerful at the memory. “I was brought up around boys, they don’t scare me. Giles Dangerfield did though, that time. Hey-ho, all part of life’s rich tapestry, as they say. And that man will get his just desserts one day, you’ll see.”
Flynn was greeted enthusiastically at his front door by Mrs. Betty.
It was nice, he thought, to have a living creature to come home to (although not necessarily Veronica).
He followed the dog into the living room.
In contrast to the animated Mrs. Betty, Veronica was lounging on the sofa, a cigarette in one hand and a glass of his whisky in the other.
It was a rather stagey pose, and he suspected that she had heard his key in the lock and hastily arranged herself like that in order to shock him.
He supposed he should be grateful that she had survived all day without him.
“You’re supposed to tell me off,” Veronica said, sounding disappointed. “I’m a child.”
“I’m too tired to start chastising anyone, least of all you. It’s been a long day.”
“Doing what?”
“Oh, you know, the office.” He laughed rather maniacally and then caught the worried look she gave him. “Sorry,” he said.
There was food in the flat for once, evidence of Veronica’s trip to the corner shop—milk, eggs, cheese, bread, even bacon, as well as a bag of dog biscuits. Wealdstone had arrived.
“You need to give me a key,” she said. “Had to leave the door on the latch. Anyone could have walked in. Just as well you don’t have anything worth stealing.”
Flynn made bacon sandwiches and they ate them while Veronica regaled him with her day’s activities.
“Went to the shop, I’ve got an IOU for you. Then I went to the shop again for the old women downstairs—”
“Hilda and Gertie—they’ve got names.”
“More IOUs for you, ’cos they didn’t have any money. Taught me to crochet. Boring, but they earn money from it. ‘Antimacassar’—big word. Then I visited the old man, the tailor, Mr. Whatever—”
“Rakowski.”
“He made some lunch—Ivy would have called it foreign muck, but I quite liked it. Then we played chess for a bit.”
“You know how to play chess?”
“I do now. Then I went to that restaurant downstairs—the French place? Washed some pots for them, so they gave me food as well—more foreign muck but again quite nice, no frogs’ legs or snails or anything nasty like that.”
“You’re very enterprising.”
“Another big word, don’t know what it means.”
Flynn’s inner thesaurus was momentarily challenged, but then he came up with “bold.”
“I like that,” she said.
Flynn poured himself a large whisky, sank down on the sofa next to Veronica and said, “Cheers,” clinking his glass against hers.