‘At the early stages, yes, of course there are. But everything that actually makes it into our catalogue or on to the shelves in the shops, I have tried personally.’
‘What about the Mind Over Fatty Matter Slimbic…?’ hazarded Mrs Pargeter.
This product name also stopped Sue Fisher in her tracks. She was distinctly flustered as she retorted, ‘That never reached the shops.’
‘Oh, but it did.’ Mrs Pargeter consulted more of Ellie Fenchurch’s invaluable research. ‘Five years ago. The Slimbic was on sale in the Mind Over Fatty Matter shop in Covent Garden. It had no adverse effect on any of the women who bought the product… except for the ones who suffered from asthma. They had very serious side- effects from eating Slimbics, didn’t they? Particularly the one who was unfortunate enough to be pregnant. She-’
‘The product was withdrawn immediately those side-effects were known. And the women who suffered were generously compensated.’
‘Oh yes,’ Ellie Fenchurch agreed. ‘The trouble is that someone who’s been bought off once is often very ready to be bought off again. Through your lawyers, you “compensated” the women to buy their silence. It only required another payment from my paper for them to end that silence.’
Sue Fisher was furious. ‘Chequebook journalism is one of the most contemptible-!’
‘I don’t think it’s any worse than chequebook justice,’ the journalist countered evenly.
Mrs Pargeter picked up the attack. ‘The funny thing about it is, though’ — she turned a page of her research — ‘that you’ve been a long-time asthma-sufferer yourself… haven’t you, Sue?’ There was no reply. ‘And yet you didn’t suffer any ill-effects from eating Slimbics…’
Ellie Fenchurch came in to spell out the point. ‘Which would suggest that you never actually tried one.’ Still silence. ‘Which rather makes nonsense of your claim to have personally tested all Mind Over Fatty Matter products which reach the High Street.’
Sue Fisher was broken. ‘What is all this? What do you want?’ she asked sullenly.
‘Very simple,’ Ellie replied, crisply efficient. ‘You were at Brotherton Hall earlier this week…’
‘Yes.’
‘During which time,’ Mrs Pargeter picked up the interrogation, ‘you booked in for a Dead Sea Mud Bath on Wednesday morning…’
‘Yes.’
‘Was that with a view to endorsing the treatment as a Mind Over Fatty Matter product?’
‘There was some thought we might introduce a skin treatment based on the baths, yes.’
‘Which was why you were testing them out?’
‘Yes. Well, that is to say… that’s why they were tested out.’
‘So you’re saying you didn’t actually test out the bath yourself?’
‘No,’ Sue Fisher conceded.
‘You weren’t in the Brotherton Hall Dead Sea Bath unit last Thursday morning?’
‘No, I wasn’t. One of my staff tested it out for me.’
In her diminished state, Sue Fisher had even forgotten to call her substitute a ‘co-worker’.
Chapter Twenty-Four
‘What do you reckon then, Ellie?’ asked Mrs Pargeter, as Gary’s limousine swept them elegantly towards the good lunch they had promised themselves as a reward for their morning’s work.
‘I reckon we’ve got her over a barrel,’ the journalist replied, with the assurance that came from having had many of the rich and famous over barrels. ‘You’re sure you found out everything you needed?’
‘For the time being, yes. Sue Fisher definitely wasn’t one of the people who overheard me fixing to meet Lindy Galton.’
‘No, and her alibi for the time of the murder sounded pretty solid too.’
Mrs Pargeter had had no hesitation about bringing Ellie Fenchurch up to date with all her suspicions. The journalist’s investigative skills might be needed further; and, needless to say, with someone trained by the late Mr Pargeter, worries about discretion were entirely inappropriate.
‘Yes. I’ll get Truffler to confirm that alibi, but I think she’s in the clear.’
‘On the murder itself. I still think there could be something else suspicious about her involvement with Brotherton Hall…’
‘Why?’
‘Sue Fisher never does anything for nothing. Why was she there in the first place?’
‘To make her latest video.’
‘Yes, but there are any number of other health spas all over the country where she could have done that. I’m sure she had some reason for choosing Brotherton Hall.’
Recollection of a conversation overheard from Ankle-Deep Arkwright’s office came to Mrs Pargeter. ‘I did hear her talking to Ank about some kind of testing that he might be doing for her. Or at least she didn’t like the word “testing” — she preferred to have it called “trying out”.’
‘Ah, did she?’ Ellie Fenchurch pounced on the detail with relish. It was exactly the kind of pointer that could set her going on a new investigation. ‘I’ll look into that, Mrs Pargeter.’
‘What, for your article?’
The journalist contemplated her long painted fingernails. ‘Oh, I don’t know whether I’ll actually do an article on Sue Fisher.’
‘But I thought that was the reason why you cancelled Warren Beatty. I thought Sue Fisher was going to be your big interview for this Sunday.’
‘No.’
‘Well, she’d clearly got the impression that she would be.’
Ellie Fenchurch’s face took on the post-coital expression of a female praying mantis. ‘Yes, I know she did. No, I just set this up to help you out.’
‘Well, that’s extremely kind, but it does seem a bit of a waste. Do you mean you’re never going to publish it?’
‘May do, may not. The important thing is that Sue Fisher thinks I’m going to publish it — or that I might publish it at some point. She’ll always have that threat hanging over her.’
‘I see.’
‘And rest assured, Mrs Pargeter, if there’s anything else you ever want to find out from her, that threat will still be quite sufficient for her to tell you anything she knows.’
‘Good.’
Ellie Fenchurch’s face glowed as a female praying mantis’s might after the first satisfying bite of husband. ‘No, she’s made a lot of other people sweat. It’ll give me a lot of pleasure to let the guru of Mind Over Fatty Matter herself sweat for a while.’
When Mrs Pargeter returned to Brotherton Hall after lunch, the receptionist handed her an envelope embossed with the health spa’s quasi-heraldic logo.
Mrs Pargeter opened it when she reached her room. The contents were word-processed on thick notepaper headed with the same logo.
Dear Mrs Pargeter,
I am so sorry that I’m not able to say goodbye to you in person, but I’ve been called away on urgent pressing business. I do hope that you have enjoyed your stay at Brotherton Hall, and that you will feel welcome to use our facilities again whenever you so wish — and to recommend them to any friends who you think might also enjoy them.
We do offer a range of special discounts and bargain breaks for regular customers, and hope to see you again before long.
Yours sincerely,
P. T. Arkwright
