“Oh, I don’t need to prove it. This is only for my own satisfaction,” said Mrs Pargeter, again donning her mantle of bumbling naivete. “Remember, I’m never going to breathe a word of this to anyone. Once I’ve given you the notebook, I forget all about the whole business. Right?”
“Right,” said Kirsten, with an unpleasant smile. She took another look at her watch. “Now, the notebook, please.”
Mrs Pargeter felt a little chill of fear. There was a finite amount of time she could spend pretending to look for a fictitious notebook, and she didn’t want to put Kirsten’s patience to too much of a test. She had a feeling the results might be rather unpleasant.
Play for a little more time, though, before she started the search. “Yes, just before I get the book, Kirsten, tell me, am I right?”
“Right?”
“Right about the two murders.”
The Norwegian girl jutted out her lower lip and wobbled her head contemplatively from side to side. “Near enough right,” she said eventually.
“Oh, good,” said Mrs Pargeter.
“And now, no more wasting time. Where is this notebook?”
“Um…”
“Come on, quickly. I have a plane to catch tonight.”
“Are you going back to Norway?”
“No. Not that it’s any of your business, but I go first to Paris. Then South America.”
“Oh?”
“I have many friends there. You see, you did not get all the details right. I did not just buy drugs casually at London clubs. I am part of a larger network.”
“Based in South America?”
“Yes. And since I think Europe is not too good for me for a little while, I go to South America. My friends will look after me.”
“Oh, I see.”
“Now, the notebook…”
Mrs Pargeter looked at her blankly.
“The notebook.” The swordstick was once again brandished. “You know, I think I would be prepared to risk a little torture if –”
“Oh, no, no. It’ll be all right, I’ll – ” Suddenly Mrs Pargeter was immobilised by a burst of coughing. It seemed to fill the room.
Which was just as well, because, as it had been intended to do, the coughing covered the sounds of Truffler Mason’s approach.
Indeed, Kirsten was only aware that he was in the house when suddenly her arms were pinioned from behind her chair. The swordstick fell, clattering on to the tiles in front of the fireplace.
The murderer struggled, but was held as effectively as by a straitjacket. A stream of Norwegian obscenities flooded from her mouth.
Mrs Pargeter rose from the sofa and patted her hair into place. “Well, I’m very glad to see you, Truffler,” she understated.
? Mrs, Presumed Dead ?
Forty
The police were called, and Kirsten’s threatening of Mrs Pargeter with a swordstick, witnessed by Truffler Mason, was sufficient for them to arrest her. The suggestion of a cocaine-dealing connection prompted searches in ‘Perigord’, where enough evidence was found to break up a considerable drug-smuggling network. Then, under interrogation, the Norwegian girl confessed to the murders of Theresa and Rod Cotton.
In fact, the general assumption that the police had been satisfied with a husband-kills-wife explanation of the first murder was untrue. The case had remained very much open, and at the time of Kirsten’s arrest, the police enquiries had still been progressing. At their own pace.
A pace which, Mrs Pargeter noted with quiet satisfaction, was rather slower than her own.
¦
The surface of life in Smithy’s Loam soon closed over the murders; all appeared as it always had appeared. And no doubt, beneath that gleaming surface, the old secrets were joined by new secrets, and all those secrets, in the cause of middle-class gentility, were kept secret.
The planning application for the Indian restaurant was, incidentally, turned down. But when, a couple of months later, another application was filed to turn the same premises into an up-market French restaurant, there was unaccountably no opposition from local residents.
¦
The lives of the daytime denizens of Smithy’s Loam went on much as before.
At ‘High Bushes’ Fiona and Alexander Burchfield-Brown still tried to live up to their false standards, and Fiona spent much of her time agonising over her next, inevitable lapse from those standards.
In ‘Perigord’ at least there was a happy ending. Her husband’s rearguard action against their divorce settlement having been finally exhausted, Sue Curle got the hoped-for custody of her children. She did not engage another
At ‘Haymakers’ the ending was less traditionally happy. Vivvi Sprake discovered that her husband Nigel was having yet another affair with yet another secretary and realised finally that that was just the sort of man he was. She was then faced with a decision. Should she make a fuss and challenge the stability of their marriage? Or should she quietly accept the situation and keep an eye open for the kind of diversion for which her brief encounter with Rod Cotton had given her an incipient taste? She opted for the second alternative, and her children had a lifetime supply of motel soap.
In ‘Hibiscus’ Jane Watson slowly came out of her shell. Though the shock of her fears about Theresa Cotton and Mrs Pargeter had put her back in a terrifying way, she had even at that time been emerging from the breakdown, and with each day that separated her from her stay at the Church of Utter Simplicity, she got better. Beginning with short, informal coffee mornings at Mrs Pargeter’s, she soon began to lose her fear of people and start to lead a more normal social life. And her recovery may well have been speeded by the news that the Church of Utter Simplicity had been closed down after police investigation into its financial affairs.
Inside ‘Cromarty’ Carole Temple still found deep fulfilment in her relentless persecution of specks of dust. And if her husband’s unusual sartorial tastes ever caused any discord in their marriage, it was not visible through the house’s highly polished windows.
And at ‘Acapulco’, Mrs Pargeter, her life animated by regular chauffeur-driven trips to London, worked out the six months which she had promised herself to spend in Smithy’s Loam.
With the firm intention that, at the end of that six months, she would move on.
