Situation Tragedy

appropriate.’

‘No. Haven’t heard much about her recently. What’s she been up to?’

‘Not a lot, poor darling. Got a bit over-exposed, I think, with the Royals thing. So I thought I’d just ring, see how she was.’

‘And how was she?’

‘Fine, fine. Pity about this damned go-slow. I was going to ask her to come along to one of these recordings.’

So that she can see George Birkitt’s name above the title, thought Charles, as the other continued, ‘Still, I’m taking her out to dinner in a couple of days. See if there’s anything left.’

‘Hope there is, for your sake.’

George Birkitt shrugged. ‘Doesn’t worry me one way or the other. Just be interesting to see her, though.’

‘Yes.’

‘Strange, you know, during the time she was successful with that series, while I was spending a lot of time sitting around at home while she was off at rehearsals and premieres and things, I got really paranoid about it. You know, began to doubt my own abilities.’ He laughed. ‘Even started to believe Stephanie’s publicity and think she was more talented than I was. Huh, but strange how quickly one gets like that. Most difficult part in the world, second fiddle, specially for a man.’

‘But you don’t have any worries about that now?’

‘Good Lord, no. Everything’s turned out fine recently. I really think this series could do me a lot of good, you know.’

‘I’m sure it will. Same again?’

‘That would be very pleasant.’

As Charles went into the pub with the empty glasses, he mulled over what George had said about the pressures of being second fiddle. A lifetime of it could unhinge someone. Suppose you married a wife when you were both at about the same level in the business. And then you watched her rise to international success, while your career made no noticeable advance. You saw her become the toast of London and New York, you heard her name on everyone’s lips, you saw her picture everywhere. You stood by while she became a pin-up of the Forces, you witnessed her career mature with her years, you saw her break into television with the same unerring success, you read the announcement that she had been made a Dame of the British Empire. .

That kind of pressure could drive a man insane. And who knew what revenge he might take on the world which had put him in a position of such constant inequality.

He wondered again where Barton Rivers would strike next.

With four pints of Guinness inside him, he wandered back to Hereford Road through the bleary sunlight. It was really too nice an afternoon to go back to the bedsitter, but he had a vague intention of ringing Frances. The school of which she was headmistress must have broken up by now. It would be good to speak to her. George’s words about the pressures of show business marriages had reminded him of the advantages of his own.

Then, after he had spoken to her, he might go out to the park. Walk round the Serpentine, maybe.

It was when he was inside the stuffy bedsitter that he became aware of the bulky package in his pocket. Oh yes, of course, his R. Q. Wilberforce. In his Guinness-sodden state, he couldn’t really think why he had it.

He pieced it together slowly. Oh yes, it had started with that book Romney Kirkstall had had, the biography of Aurelia Howarth in which there had been a still from an aborted film called Death Takes A Short Cut. Then later Romney said he’d seen a copy of a book with that title in a Charing Cross Road bookshop Barton Rivers had recommended to him. So Charles had gone to the bookshop, been put in touch with Gregory Watts and. . yes, yes, of course.

He took the brown padded package out. There was a little red plastic tag which would open the bag along a line of perforations.

He took hold of the tag and pulled it.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

DEATH TAKES A SHORTCUT

by

R. Q. Wilberforce

CHAPTER 1

THE TRAVELLER’S RETURN

Maltravers Ratcliffe had risen and broken his fast early, so that he was already installed behind his desk, with a long black cigarette holder between his teeth, reading through his accumulated correspondence, when his wife appeared at the library door.

‘So my bonny has come back to me,’ she announced with joy.

‘Over the sea to Skye,’ he rejoined merrily, as he rose to greet her. ‘Except, in my case, it was over the sea and through the sky. I came on the aeroplane to Croydon. Podd brought the Bentley down to meet me at the ‘drome, and we fairly flew again as we drove back here!’

‘You should have wakened me on your arrival.’

‘No, no, Eithne my love. Even the nonpareil of beauty can reap benefit from a little beauty- sleep.’

Nor was his description fanciful: Eithne Ratcliffe was possessed of a beauty that would quicken the blood in any man’s veins. Though slight, she was perfectly proportioned, and her carriage was superb. The golden hair that was her chiefest glory had been cut in the modern style, but its waves owed nothing to the artifice of coiffeurs. And her eyes! What eyes! Their hue of purest blue would have made a cornflower despondent; sapphires could offer but feeble comparison to them.

‘Was your business in Paris successfully concluded?’ she enquired of her handsome spouse.

‘Successfully enough,’ he conceded carelessly. ‘Although, as is ever the case, I trapped the small fry in the certain knowledge that the big fish swam away unscathed.’

‘Was it. .?’ Eithne questioned tremulously.

‘Our old enemy?’ Maltravers nodded with gravity. ‘That same Teutonic devil was behind this latest outrage. Backed by an international conglomerate of Jewish bankers, he was planning to flood the gold bullion market with counterfeit ingots. Had he succeeded, he’d have crippled all the major economies of the Western world! Shares would have gone down to cat’s meat prices and hundreds of perfectly decent small houses would have gone smash!’

‘But you prevented the swindle?’ demanded Eithne, her wonderful eyes sparkling as she looked at her husband.

‘Oh yes, I scotched his scheme easily. It was like eating jam. Once I had worked out that someone must be manipulating prices on the Bourse, I found out who it was first pop. A little Jewish thimblerigger, who I may say won’t be seeing much scenery except the inside of a prison for the next twenty years. The Surete were very grateful. I’ve been awarded one of their croix d’honneurs’.’

Charles’ concentration on the words wavered, but his interest was fiercely aroused. He skimmed verbose description of Maltravers Ratcliffe’s cricketing prowess and a long, somewhat precious discussion about where the couple should spend the weekend. This was resolved at the end of the first chapter. .

With a merry laugh, Maltravers cried, ‘I’ve had my fill of crime for a while! Let’s away to Derbyshire to play cricket. I happen to know Lord Wainscott fields a scratch team that’s none so dusty. Tell Podd and Smithers to commence packing for us immediately! We’ll take the Bentley and they can follow along in the Sunbeam. Oh, and tell Wallace to prepare a luncheon-basket, so that we are free to lunch where the scenery’s good. Then we’ll leap into the Bentley, my angel, point the bonnet towards Derbyshire, and be there in two twos!’