work, they end up by receiving money. Which is usually a more agreeable experience.”
“Yes, I can see that. Could you tell me how long the work would take?”
“Well, our order book is always full, so it might be some time before we started, but once we were under way, it would take about ten days.”
Not long enough for someone as vague as Mrs Selsby to start worrying about having lost something.
Time to change gear and start getting more detailed information, Mrs Pargeter thought. “I got in touch with you because I’d seen some excellent work you had done for someone else.”
“Oh yes?” He looked gratified. “Might I ask who that person was?”
It was a risk, but one worth taking. “Lady Ridgleigh.”
The risk paid off instantly. Desmond Chiddham gave a self-satisfied smile. “Oh yes, I’ve done a great deal of work for dear Lady Ridgleigh.”
“Done most of the Ridgleigh family jewels, have you?”
“Ah, now…” He wagged a finger archly. “Must be discreet. Mustn’t talk about my clients’ affairs.”
“Of course not.” Mrs Pargeter paused. “One piece you’d done for Lady Ridgleigh that I particularly liked was an opal necklace…”
“I remember it well. Particularly difficult to achieve, an imitation of an opal,” he said in a tone of self- congratulation.
“And a beautiful matching emerald set…”
“Yes, remember that, too. Mind you, you’re talking some years back. My relationship with Lady Ridgleigh,” he added smugly, “is of long standing.”
“Of course. She also showed me a matching sapphire set…”
“Remember doing that.”
“…and some turquoise ear-rings.”
“Yes. We’re talking more recently now, of course.”
Mrs Pargeter did not allow her inward elation to show. The last two items she had mentioned did not belong to Lady Ridgleigh; they had belonged to the late Mrs Selsby.
“So you see a lot of Lady Ridgleigh, do you?”
He looked a trifle piqued. This direct question meant he must qualify his name-dropping and define the extent of his hobnobbing with the aristocracy. “Well, I don’t actually see her that often. Our dealings are conducted through an intermediary.”
“Oh?”
“One of her staff tends to come up with the latest item for me to work on. I suppose he’s a butler or footman…”
“What’s his name?” asked Mrs Pargeter ingenuously.
“Unusual name,” replied Desmond Chiddham. “Newth.”
? A Nice Class of Corpse ?
34
Mrs Pargeter was back at the Devereux just after Newth had changed into his red jacket and opened the Schooner Bar. He had served Miss Naismith her first ‘Perrier’, which had disappeared with its customary despatch before the residents came in. He had given Eulalie Vance a white wine and soda, and was just going through the routine of asking Colonel Wicksteed and Mr Dawlish what they wanted to drink, when Mrs Pargeter entered.
“Pleasant day, I trust?” asked Miss Naismith, by now nursing a glass of real Perrier.
“Yes, thank you,” said Mrs Pargeter charmingly, but uninformatively.
After suitable deliberation, Colonel Wicksteed decided that he would have ‘a large Famous Grouse’ and Mr Dawlish ‘a small dry sherry’. Newth then turned to Mrs Pargeter.
“I think I’ll have a change this week, Kevin, love.”
A shadow of pain crossed Miss Naismith’s face.
“Yes, give me a large gin and tonic. Start out in a different way, and maybe things’ll turn out different, eh?”
“Sorry? I’m not with you.”
“What I mean, Colonel, is that we don’t want another week like the last one, do we?”
“Oh, I see what you mean.”
“We had enough excitements then to last a lifetime, didn’t we?”
“Still, we don’t want to dwell on the past,” Miss Naismith smoothly interposed, as ever endeavouring to scoop up the conversation before it dropped to an unsuitably low level.
But Mrs Pargeter was not to be deflected. For reasons of her own, she wanted the crimes of the previous week discussed. “I don’t know…two deaths and a robbery.”
Miss Naismith winced visibly. “I think it has always been true that the best approach to any misfortune is to put it from one’s mind and look ahead to the future.”
“Oh yes,” the Colonel agreed, adding one of his customary misquotations to reinforce the point. “‘If you can look at Triumph and Disaster, and treat those two old frauds the same way’, what?”
“Exactly,” said Miss Naismith, as if in some obscure way this confirmed what she had said.
“I don’t know, though,” Mrs Pargeter persisted. “I mean, we can’t pretend that those things didn’t happen. Nor can we pretend they haven’t set us all thinking, human nature being what it is.”
“The fact that human nature is what it is,” observed Miss Naismith, “has never seemed to me to be a cause for celebration.”
“What, you mean we should pretend we’re not all inquisitive old busybodies who’re dying to know everything about everyone?”
“I think such an approach to life would be preferable, yes.”
“Oh, come on, Miss Naismith, admit it, you’re as nosey as the rest of us.”
This joshing approach, as Mrs Pargeter had anticipated, did not go down well with Miss Naismith, who turned her personal thermostat down a good ten degrees.
“Curiosity, as you say, may be a human instinct, Mrs Pargeter, but it is one that should ideally be curbed at an early age by a proper education.”
“That’s a point of view,” Mrs Pargeter agreed blithely. She was enjoying herself. After the accusation about the theft of Mrs Selsby’s jewels, she knew that the balance of power between them had shifted, and that she could press quite hard to antagonise Miss Naismith without harmful effects. She wanted the murders and the theft discussed to see if they prompted any unexpected reactions; so, braving the deterrence in the proprietress’s eye, she pressed on.
“But it is interesting, isn’t it? I mean, as I say, two deaths and a robbery – it’s the stuff of detective stories.”
This caught Mr Dawlish’s imagination. “By George, yes! Back to Holmes and Watson, eh, Wicksteed?”
“Yes. Do you see yourself as a sleuth, old man? Tracking down the murderer to his lair, what?”
Mr Dawlish giggled with delight. “Maybe that’s my
Mrs Pargeter encouraged him gently. “Maybe so. And, if that were the case, what would your thinking be about this case?”
“Oh, Good Lord. Haven’t a thought in my head.”
“Colonel?”
“No idea. Not my speed, this kind of thing, I’m afraid.”
“Eulalie…?”
“What? Sorry?” The actress looked up from her drink, as if she had been dragged back from the depths of fantasy. “No. No. I hadn’t given it any thought.”
“Kevin?”
“I haven’t given the matter any consideration either, I’m afraid, Madam,” the barman replied primly.
