CHAPTER FOUR
The Fleece residence in point of fact was in the parish of Thames Ditton; it stood opposite the eyot below Hampton Court and enjoyed the luxury of a river frontage. A short, serpentine, gravelled drive connected the house to the public road, curving its way through paling willows whose leaves were descending in the steady rain. The house which appeared was stockbroker’s Tudor, but of the less offensive type. Its windows were plain, its timbering restrained and its gables chaste and probably functional. Before the porch the drive formed a roundabout in the island on which were planted chrysanthemums, and to the right, through a long pergola, one saw the lawns running down to the river.
There were no lights in any of the windows, though it was now becoming dusk, but a green and cream sports car stood parked beside the roundabout. Gently rang, and rang again. They could hear the sound of the bell clearly; for nearly a minute, nevertheless, nobody came to answer the summons. Then the light was switched on in the porch overhead, a bolt drawn behind the door and the door itself opened.
‘Mrs Fleece?’
‘Y-yes. Who is it, please?’
She was a woman whose appearance checked with several firm clicks. Her height was approximately five feet seven, she had a strong-framed, slightly voluptuous figure, her hair was black, but had the sheen of dye on it, and her eyes were of a greyish hazel. She would be forty more or less, and was carelessly dressed in a black button- down frock. Her make-up was heavy and smeared and she had dark crescents beneath her eyes. She dispensed a heavy scent of carnations.
‘Superintendent Gently, C.I.D.’
‘Oh, I see. It’s about Arthur again…?’
‘There’s a little routine which we have to clear up.’
‘Yes, naturally. Though I thought the people at Surbiton…
She stood dithering, as though reluctant to ask them into the house; her eyes frowning vacantly at a spot behind Gently.
‘The servants are out… it’s rather difficult. I wasn’t expecting any callers. Up till yesterday I had the children at home here, too…
‘We won’t waste much of your time, Mrs Fleece.’
‘Oh, I know. You have to do these things.’
‘We’re sorry to trouble you at a time like this.’
‘No, that doesn’t matter. I’m getting used to it, anyway…’
At last she made up her mind and stood back from the doorway. They entered, and she led them down a panelled hall and switched on the lights in a room at the end of it.
‘If you’ll wait in here, please, I’ll be with you in a minute. I was just seeing to something. It’s the servants’ day out…’
Evans closed the door softly behind her and then turned to Gently with a grimace. ‘Twenty-two years make a lot of difference, but that’s life for you. It could well be her.’
Gently nodded. ‘She’d have lost that complexion.’
‘Aye. And she’s dyeing her hair for a reason. But you can’t get away from her eyes, nor the figure neither. She’s still a fine woman.’
‘I wonder…’
Gently wandered musingly round the large, pleasant room. It was a lounge, and had big bow windows which faced down the lawns to the river. The furniture was light and modern and over in a corner stood a miniature grand. A long, low couch in two-tone leather was placed back to the window; its cushions were crumpled. Evans was sniffing.
‘Can you smell it too, man?’
Gently nodded again. ‘Yes. Gold Block, isn’t it?’
‘Gold Block — that’s it. I couldn’t quite put a name to it.’
‘And it’s strictly a pipe tobacco.’
‘Goodness gracious! She isn’t a pipe-smoker?’
Gently smiled at him thinly. ‘We’ll perhaps hear the sequel in a minute.’
He had hardly spoken when they heard the sports car being started; a couple of full-throated roars, then a scrape of gears and the rattle of gravel. Evans started for the door, but Gently dropped a hand on his arm:
‘Take it easy! You’re too late, and it may not be our business anyway.’
‘But she had a bloke in here!’
‘That’s not one hundred per cent criminal.’
‘You don’t know — it might be that Stanley. It might tie in good and proper.’
Gently shrugged, shaking his head. ‘He couldn’t have got over here ahead of us. Better be a sportsman, laddie. After all, it’s the servants’ day out…’
Evans relaxed, but he still looked indignant. ‘The deadly wickedness of the world!’ he said. ‘And her old man still lying in the mortuary — due for burial Friday, they tell me.’
‘There couldn’t have been much love lost there.’
‘You’re telling me there couldn’t, man.’
‘It’s a point that’s worth remembering… and perhaps our driver can describe the bloke.’
When Mrs Fleece rejoined them she was looking inconspicuously neater and she darted a timid glance at them, as though anticipating comment. She chose a straight-backed chair and sat awkwardly, folding her hands in her lap. She said quickly:
‘I had to let out the plumber. We’ve been having trouble with the drains…’
Evans raised his eyes to the ceiling, where the prospect seemed to fascinate him.
Gently said: ‘We’d like some information about your husband, Mrs Fleece. It’s a painful subject, I’m afraid, but we’ll be as brief as we can. When were you married to him, by the way?’
‘When? Oh, in nineteen-thirty-nine.’ She appeared surprised by the question, but she answered it quite readily.
‘Had you known him for very long?’
‘Well, a year or two, I think.’
‘How did you come to be acquainted?’
‘I met him at a party my mother gave. Actually’ — she gave her shoulders a twist — ‘he was brought there by a friend of mine. I probably behaved very badly — Sally was awfully cut up, poor girl. But I really couldn’t help it, and it’s such a long time ago…
‘And when was that?’
‘Oh, years ago. Before he went on the expedition. They were planning it at the time, so it would be the autumn of nineteen-thirty-six. I remember Arthur taking me somewhere to look at their equipment — odd sort of tents and weird gas-masks, and the most frightful-looking food. It was all very expensive and I could never see the point of it.’
‘Did you meet other members of the expedition?’
‘I — well, I met some of them.’
‘Which ones, Mrs Fleece?’
‘Er, well… there was Dick Overton.’
‘Who else?’
‘I don’t know… there were several. I don’t remember.’
‘But you do remember Reginald Kincaid?’
‘No. I never actually met him.’
Her reactions were curious; Gently couldn’t quite fathom them. For instance, his question about Kincaid had the effect of relieving a mounting distress. As though it were somehow a safer subject, she added hurriedly:
‘But I knew about him, of course. He used to work for the same people as Arthur, and Arthur told me of his funny ways.’
