state of our respective minds. Miss Haywood may break down and confess fully, but there’s no guarantee. And I think it highly unlikely that Lena will ever admit to selling her daughter to the Vorodins.’
‘What if Lena did tell the truth about Dufrette and Sonya? What if some kind of sexual abuse did take place?’
‘Again, nothing that has the remotest chance of standing up in court. It was twenty years ago. A mentally deficient child too. Would Sonya – assuming she were ever tracked down – be able to testify? I rather doubt it.’ Payne lit his pipe.
There was another pause.
‘We could always report Dufrette for possessing a gun,’ Antonia said.
‘They are sure to discover that he has a licence for it.’
Antonia sighed.
20
Interlude
The next day Major Payne was called away to his farm in Suffolk, rather urgently, as a sudden crisis had arisen. His manager had been involved in a car crash, not a fatal one, but he was to spend at least a month in hospital, consequently Payne needed to take over the reins. He asked Antonia to go with him and, although she was tempted, she said it would be impossible. She couldn’t afford to take any more days off so soon after coming back from her holiday. They agreed to keep in touch either by e-mail or by phone.
‘Do let me know if something crops up,’ he said.
‘Like what?’
‘I don’t know. Something might. I have a funny feeling… Somehow I don’t think this is the end of the affair,’ he said. ‘For one thing we haven’t found Sonya Dufrette.’
She let him kiss her goodbye.
As it happened, she was very busy herself. It was the day for her monthly report to the club committee and she discovered she hadn’t done it. What with the flurry of recent activities, it had completely slipped her mind. She had only remembered the report as she woke up in the morning, and had jumped out of bed in a panic. She did manage to complete it in less than an hour, though it was far from satisfactory – or so she feared. Her only hope was that it wouldn’t be scrutinized too closely. That’s what she told Hugh, who phoned her at half-past eleven that same morning to see how she was getting on. He was insouciant about it. ‘Bluff your way through. They aren’t a particularly efficient bunch, from what I have heard.’ He meant the club committee. She agreed – they weren’t. ‘What’s that music?’ he asked. ‘Are you having a knees-up in the library^? ’
‘It’s the gardener’s radio. History of flamenco.’
At three o‘clock in the afternoon she went up the wide sweep of the staircase. She walked along the corridor, beautifully carpeted and decorated with taste but besmirched by a superfluity of signs and directions. The club was a notorious maze and, without the signs, newcomers would get lost and wander around until rescued by club members or staff. Antonia knew the place like the back of her hand, so the signs only annoyed her.
The committee meetings were invariably held in a huge gilded room with long curtained windows that looked over an enclosed formal garden. The walls were decorated with portraits of Nelson, Wellington and George V in his Sailor King uniform. Above the fireplace there was an obscure painting of the Battle of Balaclava.
Antonia was the first to arrive. It always happened that way. The committee weren’t famous for their punctuality. For a couple of moments she amused herself idly, standing beside the portrait of George V, bringing her face very close to it and seeing the intricately, even finickily, rendered blue uniform and perfectly trimmed beard disintegrate into a fuzzy, meaningless blur of brushstrokes. She then headed for the rickety, baize-covered card table, around which were ranged some ill-assorted chairs of good quality. She sat on one of the two Sheratons and, inconsequentially, remembered that last time she had sat on the Louis Quinze.
She opened her folder in front of her. Random thoughts kept revolving inside her head. The true nature and personality of Lawrence Dufrette. (How dangerous was he?) The need for a pair of shoes to go with the dark blue suit she was wearing. (Would Hugh like them?) The possible whereabouts of Veronica and Sonya. (What new names might Sonya have been given?) Hugh’s whereabouts at that very moment. (Could he be attending some tea-party organized by one of his numerous well-wishers with the sole purpose of introducing him to some highly eligible local widow? She sincerely hoped not.)
Where had Curzon, the giraffe with the bitten ear, disappeared? The answer to this one suggested itself almost at once: Sonya had missed it and Veronica had contacted Lena and asked her to send it to them, which Lena had done… So Lena did have a forwarding address
…
Where was it she had heard ‘Lavender’s Blue’ played? And why did she think it was extremely important that she should remember… Had it been on the radio? She felt sure she had been sitting in the library… Had Mrs Cathcart hummed it, perhaps? Unlikely. Colonel Haslett? No, she didn’t think so. Colonel Haslett often hummed but it was usually some Gilbert and Sullivan tune – or ’Colonel Bogey‘.
Antonia shut her eyes. Watch out for that ring, Miss Pettigrew had said.
Suddenly she sat up. She had heard the familiar cackling and shuffling noises outside the door, heralding the imminent arrival of the club committee. They didn’t come in at once, though, but started a discussion outside, over whether the sign on the door should be changed from Vacant to Meeting in Progress, or whether doing so would put off any legitimate latecomers. Eventually it was decided to change the sign, and three people entered the room.
Mrs Compton, Mr Reece and Commander Bridges.
They appeared greatly surprised to see Antonia and even more surprised when they heard that she had been waiting since three o‘clock. ’Oh dear. We did say half-past, didn’t we, Douglas?‘ Mrs Compton said. She was a tall willowy woman of indeterminate years, dressed elegantly in a light green suit with darker green facings, whose immaculate coiffure the unlikely colour of ’Dutch gold’ added to her height and sophistication.
Commander Bridges, thus appealed to, went very pink. He attempted to solve the dilemma between his conscience and manners by saying that it had been half-past three to start with – and that went back at least five years – they must be living in the past! He made it sound like some sort of a joke. He tugged at his intricately tied cravat and beamed and nodded at Antonia. He was clad in a dark blazer and grey trousers. He was seventy-six but looked younger, though sitting down and getting up were a problem. Antonia saw him glance down nervously at the Louis Quinze. He hated being helped either way. Given the option, he would have remained standing.
Mr Reece asked Commander Bridges if he knew the latest cricket score.
‘This room needs changing,’ Mrs Compton observed, looking around with a critical expression, holding her chin between her thumb and forefinger. ‘Don’t you think? I don’t know what it is. Something – I don’t know. Don’t you think?’
‘We did it only recently, Arabella,’ Mr Reece said cheerfully. He was a large, stout man in his early sixties, with a pleasant red face, wearing tweeds. He looked like a gentleman farmer but was in fact a magistrate. ‘Can’t afford to do it again. The budget -’
‘Ah, the budget.’ Mrs Compton sounded scornful.
‘Afraid so. It’s tighter than ever,’ Commander Bridges said. ‘Heaven knows how we manage.’
‘Refreshments coming up,’ Mr Reece announced. He rubbed his hands. ‘Jolly good.’
A waiter had wheeled in a trolley. Commander Bridges started easing himself into the chair. They all looked away delicately. ‘Two messages,’ the waiter said. ‘One from Mr Beeson, the other from Lady Franks. Apologies, et cetera. They aren’t coming, so start without them.’
Mrs Compton waited until he had left the room and said triumphantly, ‘This is the third time. I detest counting, but it is the third time. I do think, Douglas, you should say something. It’s not as though we have all the time in the world!’
Commander Bridges harrumphed. ‘Yes, yes, of course, Arabella.’
‘Muffins. Crumpets.’ Mr Reece had started lifting lids. ‘Can I tempt you, anyone? Arabella? Antonia?’
Antonia said she would like a cup of tea and a muffin.
