Chapter 44. A New Life
Candi admitted everything. According to the newspapers, who disclosed much more than the police, “Scorned Girlfriend Plots to Confront Wife.” According to Candi, her plan was to “talk” to Scarlet “where she couldn’t get away,” but Miss Bottomley started screaming when Candi entered the house and “I couldn’t shut her up.” Mrs. Pourfoyle was indicted for “Malice murder” – a capital offense. The murder weapon – brought by Candi all the way up from Wyvern House – was a table leg she used as a club. Candi’s husband was standing by her. “Husband Claims Home-wrecking Cad Manipulated Lovelorn Girl.” Did Ian really want Scarlet dead? That was David’s argument! Would Ian be indicted? How long would the generous, the fantastical, the life-altering disposition of Miss Bottomley’s estate remain private knowledge? For these reasons and many more it was no surprise to receive a call from Pelham. “Ian wants to sign the divorce agreement we propose, without changes.” “Well, that’s a relief.” “He’s worried about being indicted for “transferred malice murder.’ “You mean they think he suggested killing me to Candi? I’ll never believe that.” “The press is painting him as a lady-killer. He’s concerned about losing his job. A quick divorce removes his motive and makes him an eligible bachelor.” Eligible Ian. Didn’t women flock to “lady-killers”, no matter what devastating facts they knew? Perhaps, thought Scarlet with her newly-acquired cynicism, they flocked BECAUSE of the “devastating facts.” Doesn’t every woman long to reform a roué? Horribly, I did, thought Scarlet. I fell for that. But she was a different person now. Still, the world thronged with eager victims. Ian wouldn’t be alone for long. “When’s he going to sign?” “It’s contingent on meeting you alone. I told them it would have to be at our offices.’ “All right.” “Wear your police whistle.” Could Pelham be serious? Surely Ian wouldn’t try anything violent – but she knew he would expect to touch her. She knew him that well. “Are you serious?” “I’m very serious. If you don’t bring it, we’ll have to bell you like a cat.” “I’ll bring it. If he signs, where are we?” “Then we get a decree nisi, which is provisional for one year. They usually rush these things through to get it out of the papers but it depends on the judge. Every now and then you get a Huey.” “What’s that?” “It’s Bob’s and my shorthand for an impossible judge. I must say the publicity makes this very unlikely.” “Why’s that?” “It’s an open secret that everyone hates our divorce laws. Literally everyone. They’re just on the verge of either breakdown or reform.” Scarlet shuddered. So many things you didn’t think of when you stood before the altar, wide-eyed and innocent! “I’ll bring the whistle,” she promised. She took care to wear it well-concealed. No point red-ragging Ian. She had never figured out his level of self-control. Was everything he did well-planned, or was he ruled by a raging id? Well, thought Scarlet, I don’t care. I don’t have to care. She imagined a future of trying to explain to Nick by Daddy did the things he did. Why he wasn’t like Pom. Adorable, sensitive, reliable Pom, who talked things out, who listened, who cared. Who changed, day by day, evolving to love better. To live better. Ian looked different. Older, battered, his eyes bloodshot. Scarlet thought she smelled whisky underneath the cigarettes. Was he drinking every morning now, or was it just because he was seeing her? His suit hung on him in a peculiar manner, as if he had given up on real nourishment. He and his solicitor, Mr. Jellicoe, could have been a vaudeville act – one so fat and the other starving-lean. Mr. Jellicoe seemed very obliging and impressed with his surroundings. He shook damp hands all around. Ian looked at Scarlet with deep hunger. I’m the one who “got away”, she thought. The only one. She was glad of the whistle. They were guided to the Partners’ Room. At ten in the morning, no sherry was on offer. Ian refused everything, even water. Scarlet accepted a cup of tea to have something to do with her hands, until she noticed they were trembling. She set her teacup down hastily. Pelham made a point of seating them at opposite ends of the table. He closed the door softly. Ian began. “Scarlet, I want to let you know how sorry I am.” He waited for a moment as if to allow her to speak. But what could she say? She had already decided not to be accusatory. When he was her ex-husband and the “occasional” father of her child perhaps they could concoct a relationship. At the moment, the situation was hopelessly fraught. He spoke again. “I never guessed…what she’d do. I didn’t listen to her natterings.” There went her resolve about accusations. She was just too angry. “The joke is on all of us. Poor Candi wanted to be treated like a wife without realizing how cruel you are when you’re sure of someone. You ignore them, you devalue them. You fobbed her off with lies while you went your smug and merry way. I think you secretly enjoyed making her crazy. I think you wanted to see just how crazy she would get. Makes it easier to get rid of them, doesn’t it?” She half-expected him to fire up but he hung his head. “Don’t compare yourself with her. You’re nothing like.” She could see the oil bubbling beneath his surface. He wished to flatter her, fawn on her, throw himself on her mercy. He was testing a way in. She should never have started this. Any game with Ian was just too dangerous. She summed up as best she could, “No one likes being lied to.” He rose. “You’re right, I’m wrong. I managed everything badly. I want to turn over a new leaf.” She rose as well, feeling a bit panicky. Was he planning to chase her around the table. “There’s Nick,” she said finally. “Of course, there’s Nick. But we won’t be together – with him – all the time.” Creepy! She summoned up her strength. “I don’t see that. I’m afraid we have little in common.” “How can that be? Don’t you remember the two young Oxford students working on St. Euphrosyne, with all our hopes and dreams and ambitions?” “I do,” she said. “I thought you didn’t.” He seemed to want to rush her. He leaned forward, light on his feet. She pulled out the police whistle. At the sight of it he sat down heavily and put his head on the table. “Oh, Scarlet, Scarlet.” He began to weep. She felt stunned. She had never seen him cry. She was surprised it was possible. Could he be faking this? Then she suddenly realized with a flash of insight that, from her point of view, the problem wasn’t that his emotions were false, but that they were ephemeral. “I’m sorry, too.” She advanced toward the door. “Haven’t we said everything?” He looked up, tear-streaked. “Do you hate me?” She was startled. She had hated him. That feeling was ephemeral. “No.” “Will you tell Nick to hate me?” Now she felt irked. “Of course not.” He gazed at her slyly. “Aren’t you afraid he’ll look on me as the fun dad, the devil-may-care seducer who gets what he wants?” He’d been arguing inside his own head, cruelly mimicking her voice. “I’ll take my chances.” Nick would know Pom. He could choose. Choice – well-informed – is up to each of us. “I’m forgiven?” This was strange. It was an odd word from an unbeliever. The trial hadn’t even been held. Did he want her as a character witness? “Not yet,” she said briskly. “You haven’t signed this document.” She put a hand on the doorknob. “Aren’t we done here?” He seemed almost confused, as if she’d spoke a different language. He rose awkwardly, holding out his hand. He had the sense to say nothing. She took his hand slowly and he immediately grasped it with his other one, as if he wanted her to feel his strength. She realized she just didn’t like the man. She turned away. She wrenched her hand back and, very unwillingly, he let it go and picked up the pen. Then she opened the door upon her new world.
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Chapter 43. Shattered
Dawn was just breaking as Scarlet came home. She took a long, hot bath and dressed, but the warmest sweaters and tights could not block the chill that had settled in her bones. The kitchen had become a crime scene. Enid switched her sphere of operations to the tiny kitchen off the ballroom. She could toast bread. Milk could be placed against the cold windowsill to keep it fresh. Scarlet crawled into bed with Nick. He still was healthy, wide-eyed, fresh, new and needy. He had no idea how horrible the world really was. “She’s gone,” Scarlet told Enid. “The brain injury was just too awful.” “What made you wake?” “I’m not sure. I had an awful dream. It was something about Miss Bottomley on a raft. I must have heard something.’ “Miss Bottomley screamed. I heard it too. That dreadful woman must have attacked her to stop her noise.” Candi had lots of reasons for attacking people. All given to her – thought Scarlet grimly, by my dear husband. The detective climbed the stairs. He didn’t look like a detective but more like a floorwalker with a shiny bald head and a sharp suit. “Scotland Yard,” he introduced himself. “Inspector MacBlythe. May I get the details of your story?” “We’ll meet you in the sitting room,” sighed Scarlet. She climbed reluctantly out of bed and walked to the chintz settee she had so admired just a few brief weeks ago. She had thought she knew trouble and sorrow then, but she had been truly naïve in the ways of misery. Fatally so. How could she could have ever guessed what viciousness simple selfishness would release! The Inspector was not as surprised by the existence of a night guard as the bobby had been. “This place is a treasure house,” he said. “It’s at least a two-man job.” “I wish we’d thought of it,” Scarlet wept. “The security man seemed so sure.” Enid freshened the tea. “What connection are you to Mrs. Pourfoyle?” MacBlythe was coming to the meat of the matter. “When I found out she and my husband were having an affair I told him I wanted a divorce. She quit her job and moved into our country house – at least that’s what my solicitor tells me. But last week she came up to London and threatened me as if I was the one blocking the divorce. But Ian’s blocking it. And he’s got other girlfriends. Also according to my solicitor.” MacBlythe took down all Pelham’s and Ian’s information, and moved to Enid. Nick began to cry and Scarlet gladly sprang to her feet to remove him from the room. Pelham called when the police had finished with him and requested an interview – “you and Enid both.” “Oh, good,” said Enid. “We’ll have dinner out, afterwards.” “I’m too tired for anything but fish and chips,” said Scarlet, who really didn’t want to see people. “That’s fine with me.” Dear Enid, obliging as always. Bob Thomas and Pelham met them in the Partners’ Room, which had a long table, imposing portraits and deep comfortable wingback chairs. Nick slept angelically in his carrycot. Scarlet imagined someday trying to explain all this to him. “Well, this is a terrible thing,” said Bob Thomas, pouring tea all around. From an antique silver set, Scarlet noticed. She and Enid refused sherry. “Is the woman mad?” “Temporarily maddened,” contributed Pelham, who was more accustomed to the vagaries of divorce. “Well, she’s committed murder, is what she’s done,” said Bob Thomas. They all agreed it was a terrible thing as they sipped their tea. There was a knock on the door and Pom thrust his head inside. “Pom, I’m in a meeting!” gasped Scarlet. “I asked Mr. Bronfen to join us,” said Bob Thomas. “Tea? Sherry?” Pom accepted a small sherry. He sat next to Scarlet and held her hand tightly, under the table. “All three of you – Mr. Bronfen, Mrs. Rumson and Mrs. Wye - are beneficiaries under Miss Bottomley’s will.” Light burst onto Scarlet when she realized, he is talking about me! She had forgotten she was Mrs. Wye. Suddenly she was on a par with Lady Lechmere in her attorney’s eyes. She had been upgraded. “Oh my goodness,” she gasped. “But won’t they contest it?” “Who?” inquired Bob Thomas calmly. “There are no interested parties. She was literally the last of her line. The property would have reverted to the Crown.” “Mr. Inkum-“ “Mr. Inkum would not dare. The papers he attempted to get Miss Bottomley to sign were so outrageously self-interested he would be drummed out of the profession.” It sank in. She sadly recalled Miss Bottomley’s delighted exclamation, “do you know, I am a very rich woman?” Pom and Enid and Scarlet gazed at each other, dazzled. Bob Thomas cleared his throat. “There are six trusts concerning real estate, art, publishing and commercial properties. Mrs. Wye is the discretionary trustee and I am the advisor.” And he proceeded to explain. Scarlet was openly clutching Pom’s hand as they staggered out of the lawyers’ office. “I’m gobsmacked,” said Enid. “What a lovely human being she was.” “And how we’re going to miss her,” gasped Scarlet. Pom guided them into a nearby bistro – “do you like pizza? You must try it,” and ordered a bottle of chianti. “To Miss Bottomley’s foresight and generosity,” said Pom. Nick’s eyes were big and he looked from each to each in the candle flame. “But we couldn’t protect her!’ sighed Scarlet. “It’s because of me she’s dead, don’t you see?’ “How could you know Candi would do such a thing?” “I couldn’t!” “Any thug could have broken in and attacked poor Miss Bottomley at any time. She could have been assaulted on the street! She was all alone before we came.” “But the time was so short. Too short.” “Time is always too short,” said Pom and he squeezed Scarlet’s hand meaningfully. Chapter 42. The Snarl Behind the Smile
That night Scarlet had the strangest dream. She was picnicking with Pom – a Watteau-like scene of countrified perfection. They lolled on a riverbank, dressed in party clothes with the best offerings of Fortnum & Mason spread out at their feet. But it seemed however much they laughed, lifting their glasses to each other, some desperate dread lurked right below the surface – clearing when in the stream beside them Miss Bottomley appeared on a raft. Night-clothed, disoriented and woebegone-looking she was swept downstream before Scarlet or Pom could react. Scarlet felt her clothes were an enormous weight, her limbs immovable, she could not even force her lips to shout. The terror was so immense Scarlet struggled to wake up. “This must be a dream.” And it was. She fell back against the pillows with relief. She had been given another chance. She must not waste it. What had she forgotten? Something connected with Miss Bottomley. Her preoccupation with Pom was causing her to neglect Miss Bottomley. Something – something – she forgot to do. But as often happens, the dream words melted away on the sand before she could read them. Was Miss Bottomley calling out for her? There was only one way to find out. Scarlet struggled into a bathrobe and slippers and hurried down the stairs. She heard it before she saw it, as she pushed the baize swing door some desperate struggle in the lighted kitchen. She threw the door open to see a slight figure kneeling over Miss Bottomley with a flail, beating and beating. Blood was everywhere, swirling patterns rising and falling to the very ceiling. The room stank like a charnelhouse. Scarlet sprang forward, grabbed the black clothed creature whose eyes beneath a ski mask swiveled up to confront her. Those eyes – mad with rage – were Candi’s eyes. Scarlet tore off the mask to reveal Candi’s demonic face. Candi shrieked – “You!” and attacked her. The club slipped from her hand and fell to the floor while the women struggled in a desperate embrace. Scarlet felt strong, but stupid – the other woman was wiry and crazed. “I’ve got to knock her out somehow,” Scarlet thought and with all her power forced Candi’s head against of the cast-iron Aga stove. Again and again she cracked it until Candi went down. Then she heard a siren, ear-splitting – and saw Enid aghast in the doorway. “What happened? I pressed the panic button!” “Call for an ambulance – Miss Bottomley’s been hurt.” Before she attended to Miss B she hogtied Candi with clothesline – no risking another assault. Candi seemed completely out of it but she was breathing. Miss Bottomley’s eyes were open. She was wearing the cursed red anorak over her nightclothes – bitterly Scarlet rued their casual swap. How much trouble this had caused! She had already received one warning about clothing confusion but she’d faild to grasp its meaning. “What happened?” gasped Miss B. “Did I fall?” Scarlet, hot with tears, pulled her wounded employer into her lap and began rocking her like a child. “You’re going to be all right,” she chanted. “We’re taking you to hospital.” The night guard appeared in the doorway, his mouth agape. “What happened?” “Somehow she got in and attacked Miss Bottomley. Enid called the police and ambulance.” “Oh my lord,” said the poor man, “Must have been when I went to the phone.” Miss Bottomley gasped and gasped. She clutched Scarlet’s hand so hard it was difficult to surrender her to the medics. As Scarlet climbed into the ambulance she could hear the night guard explaining to anyone who would listen, “I had to make my report.” “Don’t let the attacker go,” she drew his attention to the still immobilized Candi. She could hear the police siren, but she couldn’t wait for them. In the ambulance she asked herself, Was it this she had overlooked, inquiring who covered the guard when he needed a cup of tea or bathroom visit? Requiring him to phone the office meant Miss Bottomley’s home would be unguarded, if even for a moment. She could kick herself for not thinking it through. How easily we accept reassuring appearances without enquiring deeper! At the hospital Miss Bottomley was rushed away and Scarlet was given a blanket to cover her bloodstained nightclothes. She wished for the comfort of Enid’s presence but knew she must remain at Norfolk Crescent for Nick. She’d have to get through this alone. “May I speak to you, ma’am?” It was a London bobby, helmet removed, holding his notebook. “Sure,” said Scarlet in her exhausted American drawl. “What occurred precisely? Best you can recall?” “I must have heard something. I really don’t know why but I got up, thinking Miss Bottomley –“ “The injured party?” “Yes. She’s my employer. I thought she needed me. When I ran downstairs I heard them struggling. This woman Candi Pourfoyle must have come through the back entrance – there’s a guard on but he says he was making a phone call.” “There’s a guard?” interest in his gray eyes. “Well stone masons are building a new entrance at the back and there isn’t a door so they set a guard there. But he’s no good!” She bit her thumb angrily. “I wish I’d known he was going to be no good.” “Cup of tea?” A sympathetic sister approached. “Yes, please.” Scarlet accepted the white china cup – you could see the sugar they’d sloshed in. It was lukewarm but enormously comforting. “You recognized the attacker?” “Candi Pourfoyle, I told you. “ “And she is?” “My husband’s girlfriend. I don’t know if she thought Miss Bottomley was me or not – poor Miss B. was wearing my anorak – but Candi would have to come through the kitchen and if Miss B was there –“ “Hold on now, please. What exactly did you see?” “They were both on the floor. Candi was beating her with a club – blood everywhere. I pulled her off, knocked her out and tied her up with clothesline. Enid woke up and called the police.” “You knocked her out? Did you have a weapon?” “No. I wish I had. But I bashed her head against the stove.” The bobby patted her knee. “That’s a ghastly experience,” he said sympathetically. “Dreadful.” And it’s only going to get worse, Scarlet could tell from the doctors’ faces as they pushed through the operating theatre doors. She stopped trying to be strong and burst into tears. Chapter 41. Puzzle Pieces
Thus began the busiest week of Scarlet’s life, but so far, the happiest. The weather was sharp and clear emitting puffy snowflakes; the sky was wide and open and even in London one could see forever. There were visits to the Victoria and Albert museum where Kirby Crousam gave Scarlet, Miss Bottomley and Pom a guided tour. Scarlet had never imagined early, high and late Victoriana could all be equally interesting. They thoroughly enjoyed an auction at Christie’s where Miss Bottomley wanted to bid on everything but allowed herself to be guided to a gorgeous big green and grey Larry Rivers at an excellent price – dinners at Simpson’s, drinks at The Gay Hussar and ices at Largo’s. Miss Bottomley even talked them into attending a pantomime where she clapped as excitedly as a child. The front door had been replaced with a coded lock and two peepholes – one specifically placed at Miss Bottomley’s height – not that she ever bothered to answer the door any more. All three residents approved and declared it “much less bother”. A “panic button” had been installed to start up a loud siren signal anytime the Norfolk Crescent Irregulars felt themselves threatened. Pom behaved like a perfect gentleman, but he looked less haunted and so Scarlet did not have to feel guilty. He studiously avoided body contact with Scarlet but his eyes maintained a reassuring level of joy and promise. Scarlet was mentally relieved but her body was less cooperative – her whole soul ached for him. According to Pelham, the divorce case proceeded swimmingly: Ian had expressed relief to see from their divorce proffer that Scarlet wanted only maintenance for Nick and offered nanny-supervised visitation. Scarlet felt confident Enid was not Ian’s “type”, and that if he pretended that she were, Enid would see through his gambit. “Between you and me I think he’ll sign,” said Pelham. “He’d be a fool not to with what we’ve got on him. Ian will agree to be the guilty party and only the judge will ever have to know the details of the harrowing time you’ve been through. Should be over fairly soon when they accept our bargain.” Scarlet welcomed the days when Miss Bottomley met with Bob Thomas and she was free to drop into Coltsfoot & Briggins and liase with Mr. Mountjoy. She finally met the elusive Jemima Plympton “pleased to meet you I’m sure” and was given an introduction to the printer Cod Prollops & Daughters. She was rejoiced at this Dickensian name and accepted it as a very good omen for their future venture! She had already contacted Francesca Joringel, asking to see her manuscript. The interview she coveted, however, was with Mr. Beebee, head of the advertising firm Coltsfoot & Briggins had used for, quoting Mountjoy, “donkey’s years.” And what she had found out as Mr. Beebee made his pitch caused her to think nobody but a donkey would ever use this firm, but rather than tell them that, she resolved to ask Pom at the first opportunity if he knew anyone in advertising. She had already discovered through happy experience that his art school connections were invaluable. Once again she was lucky. On her way out, she saw a young woman – she couldn’t have been more than twenty – showing a portfolio to the bored receptionist who almost certainly had no clout whatsoever. “I’m sorry,” said the woman frostily in a not-sorry way, “Mr. Beebee’s in meetings.” Scarlet held the door open for her as the girl marched dejectedly out. “You’re casting your pearls before swine,” Scarlet remarked. The girl flushed, “They don’t want to hire a woman, that’s the truth. I doubt they have a single woman working there other than that bloody receptionist.” “The more fools they,” said Scarlet. “That’s what keeps them living in the past like a pack of dinosaurs. And the same thing that happened to the dinosaurs is going to happen to them. The ideas they showed me were hideously hidebound. Positively strangled at birth.” The girl looked at her with more interest as they stepped into the elevator together. “I’m Lalage Sumner-Locke,” she said. “I just finished up at Durham Technical College and my parents gave me two weeks at a hotel as a graduation gift to see if I could get a job in the City.” Scarlet knew this naïve introduction would have told against her anywhere except in front of a member of The Norfolk Crescent Irregulars. “My publishing firm is planning a hardbound reprint of the Miss Clew books of sixty years ago. I wonder if you’d read the books and mock up a advertising plan to get people excited about them.” “I think I’ve heard of those!” gasped Lalage. “My aunt read them through every year. I’d certainly love to try my hand.” And so Lalage Sumer-Locke came to tea in the Norfolk Crescent kitchen, showed everyone her amusing portfolio and was given ten pounds – “This gives me an extra two weeks!” - and a full set of Miss Clew books. “She was lucky to have found you,” commented Enid and the two women cleared up afterwards when Lalage had departed and Miss Bottomley, worn out from a morning with Bob Thomas (“Money’s a terrible responsibility!”) had gone to lie down. “I was lucky to find her! What did you think of the portfolio?” “I loved the Piccadilly swan lording it over the Mayfair ducks! She’s clever, that one!” This cleverness was confirmed when, the very next day, Lalage phoned from the Royal Park Court Hotel (“My parents said I could stay anywhere with Royal in the title”) and suggested she’d also like to illustrate the books. “The illustrations can be part of the advertising,” she said. “We’ll seize on say, ten moments or however many you want – show an exciting scene – and get people caught up in speculation. “Can Miss Clew escape this time? Is Miss Clew’s number up? Can the world exist without Miss Clew?” That sort of thing.” “I love it,” said Scarlet. “How are you getting along with the books?” “I’m loving them so much I have to put them down and force myself to draw. I’m on The Jade Monkey Puzzleright now.” “Keep up the good work,” said Scarlet. She was interrupted by Branner of Palace Security. “That back entrance going to take us longer, miss,” he explained. “We need to sub-contract a masonry job – mortar’s so friable you can put your fist through it.” “So you’ll be opening up the wall, then? How can you keep us safe?” “We’ll hang tarpaulins. And of course, there’s the night guard, ma’am.” Forever after, Scarlet was to regret not demanding extra guards. Was it possible to be too happy? It could make you careless. Chapter 40. “Everything’s Changed”
Suddenly Pom was kissing her face and Scarlet was kissing back. Time itself melted, goals melted, there was no future, only thissense of glorious happiness – Pom loved her, she loved him, she was the luckiest girl in the world. “Why are you crying?” he asked gently, wiping away tears with his lips. “Because this is a disaster,” she cried, “I’m in the middle of a complicated divorce – if I have a lover – if I have a boyfriend – aren’t I as bad as Ian?” “Surely not,” he said. “Your husband is rejecting love. We are finding it.” But he halted long enough to allow her to back away from him, straighten her clothing and question frantically, “Can’t we pretend this never happened?” “But it’s the truth,” said Pom. “I love you and you love me. I want to shout it from the housetops.” “But you can’t. It can’t happen if I want Ian to sign the divorce agreement I need, can’t you see? Let’s agree to put this on hold. No love talk –“ she gasped, “And no touching.” He backed away, putting his hands up. “Forgive me. I’m sorry. I’ve waited thirty-three years to find you, I can wait a few more months.” “It will go much faster than that if Ian sees he has no choice,” sighed Scarlet, then asked, “Thirty-three years?” “That’s how old I am,” said Pom. “Are you appalled?” “No,” said Scarlet. “I’m – hopeful. But I’m also frightened. Frightened.” He held up his hands, kissed her forehead and left. No sleep for Scarlet that night, as tossing and turning, she contemplated a divorce on Ian’s terms. She’d experienced marriage on his terms and it hadn’t been tolerable. She must not let him get the upper hand. The new world Pom offered was spectacular, exciting and completely unexpected. In the moment of his warm erotic presence she had wanted him totally – they had been near a bed, she would have fallen into it. And she was certain the experience would have been wonderful, their attunement was so perfect. But she had also been looking forward to her job, her new life in Miss Bottomley’s house as a single woman and she didn’t want to forgo those exciting experiences either. No, it was just too soon with Pom. She hadn’t yet learned how to properly care for Nick or care for herself, and she had just acquired s new charge: Miss Bottomley. The only way forward was slowly, one thing at a time. But as her hand reached down to touch herself she couldn’t help but vibrate to the promise of ecstasy she had experienced. Chapter 39. An Appointment With the Past
Scarlet bit her tongue to avoid telling poor Mr. Crousam that he didn’t look old enough to be running his own affairs, much less anyone else’s. The boyish-looking man produced a very professional portfolio with pages of checklists. He insisted on a complete tour. “Oh, my goodness,” gasped Crousam, “I can’t believe my eyes. Wells Antiquarian chairs, St. George cabinets –and this washstand – simply priceless!’ “I thought it was a prie-dieu or something,” muttered Scarlet. “No, this piece of marble was simply laid on top. I suppose they thought they were repurposing it. And the upholstery looks original.” “Well, no one has ever sat there,” said Scarlet, while Pom echoed, “Who would WANT to?” “It’s true these pieces are thoroughly out of fashion now,” Crousam agreed. “But they are living history. All the more reason they should be protected.” “They belong in a museum,” said Scarlet, and Kirby Crousam flushed with pleasure at a comment which in her country would be more of an insult. Scarlet’s conscience smote her and she offered Kirby Crousam a cup of tea. “After I’ve finished that would be most welcome,” said Crousam. “After you’ve finished you may be ready for dinner,” said Pom. “There are three floors of this stuff.” “I feel like I’m dreaming,” said Crousam. “It’s a treasure trove!” Closer up, Scarlet saw the network of wrinkles. He looked more like a jockey, really – boyish at a distance but seen close-to he was prematurely aged, like a chimneysweep . “How can everything possibly be in such perfect condition?” Crousam continued. “It’s a curator’s dream come true.” “Well, the old lady who lived here before Miss Bottomley seemed to prefer luxury cruise ships.” Kirby turned up the carpet to study the weave. “It usually comes down to some old party too frightened to make a will.” Pom flashed his charming smile. “And whose relatives were all too shy –“ “Or too snooty –“ teased Scarlet - “To get married or have children and so when the old lady died the whole property went to another old lady the first old lady had never even met.” “How Dickensian,” murmured Crousam. “And our heiress old lady was a novelist who believed in finding the proper place for everything,” Scarlet finished. “These pieces should be where people can enjoy them.” “And learn from them. The museum would be so honored to receive any of these pieces. We have such a small endowment – people don’t realize – but sometimes we can raise funds for certain items -“ “I think you’ll find Miss Bottomley wants to be as generous as possible. Why don’t you get in touch with Bob Thomas of Thomas & D’Arcy – he’s her man of business.” “Of course,” said Crousam, making a note. “Are there any rooms I shouldn’t enter?” “I’d say the kitchen and the rooms behind it. Those are Miss Bottomley’s private quarters,” said Scarlet. “But why don’t I find out for sure?” As she walked towards the kitchen she found herself wondering at the joy she felt from Pom’s sheer presence, the lightness he imparted to her step. Quite the opposite of Ian whose mind had hardened into such an inscrutable wall. Scarlet felt she and Pom seemed always to be thinking the same thoughts – she could literally feel his ideas quivering in the air, yearning for contact with her to make them visible. Miss Bottomley was drawing on her gloves, getting ready for her banking trip. “It’s just my own things here,” she said, gesturing at her modest bedroom – more like a nun’s cell than anything the rest of the house contained. “And I like the kitchen furniture. So once again your idea was sound: just tell him anywhere but here – unless you’re attached to the furniture in your own room, of course. You can exempt anything you’d like to have.” “I am fond of the desk in my room,” said Scarlet. “Thanks. You’ve been very generous.” Mr. Crousam paid Pom and Scarlet no further attention as he wandered from room to room, making notes. They could spend the whole morning together. “We’ll have to think up a new excuse after this,” said Pom and Scarlet laughed and squeezed his hand. “How about those auctions Miss Bottomley is so eager to attend?” “Good plan,” Pom agreed. “Do you think we could get away with one auction and one gallery visit per week?” “Or perhaps two,” said Scarlet and Pom pulled her back behind a Coromandel screen and kissed her. “I wish you hadn’t done that,” Scarlet gasped huskily as she fell against him. “Why’s that?” he murmured, playing with her hair. “Because it changes everything.” Chapter 38. Housework
That was how Scarlet, peony scented and comfortable in a warm dressing gown, came to be curled up in bed over a tray of hotpot and pie while Enid toasted bread over a roaring fire. Enid had divided the “magic wine” between their glasses. “I hear there’s plenty more where this came from,” she colloquialized while Scarlet laughed. “Feeling better now?” “Strangely wonderful,” said Scarlet, “Being Pom’s friends guarantees us the best solicitor, and belonging to the Norfolk Crescent Irregulars somehow protects against fear itself.” “Power of groups,” Enid suggested. “Finding one’s footing among the right people.” “It’s a paradigm shift, Pom says. I so naively assumed – I don’t know how to explain this – that Ian was always right. It sounds shamefully stupid but in the old US of A girls are trained to mold themselves to the man. It’s his desires, his personality, his future that’s important. We turn ourselves into a sort of mush. We become strangers to ourselves.” “It isn’t only in America,” said Enid. “Looking back on it, I can hardly believe it was me, agreeing to move into that ridiculous old house in the country. But he bought it without telling me and he wanted it so badly! How was I to know he wanted it only to park me there?”” “It’s the English way – country life and city life – with a whole third life “abroad.” My husband seems to think that around foreigners, Englishmen can degrade others without degrading themselves – some leftover right of non-existent empire, I suppose. Their obvious theory is that no one believes anything foreigners say.” “Horrifying! But it isn’t just the Brits – seems to be the colonizing impulse,” Scarlet considered. “It’s always an excuse to degrade people.” “And here’s resources at home – as Esme shows us – so poorly managed they’re going to waste! This big house!” “It’s the same thing at the publishers. Their focus was on degradation, never improving or lifting up. Can it be only women who share?” Enid changed course on her second glass of wine. “Do you think you’d still be together if it weren’t for that property purchase?” “Actually, no. I don’t even have that much comfort. Now I can clearly see that Ian’s been looking for a way to become Machiavelli’s Princeever since college. What I regret most is that I thought it was sexy. I thought it made him a prize. Everyone congratulated me on winning the trophy. Turned out to be a booby prize and I was the booby.” “I’ve said the same exact thing to myself a hundred times,” Enid agreed. “Colin was shopping for a booby! We mustn’t be so hard on ourselves. I was trying to please my parents,” said Enid. “In my day, they kept us so sexually ignorant we studied flowers to earn about marriage! My parents were panicking about finding a man who could reliably launch their grandchildren into the correct class. To them, Colin seemed to be “the one”. I felt nothing when he kissed me, but everyone told me that was because I wasn’t making myself pleasing or exciting enough. Colin wasn’t interested in my body. I never claimed to be Brigitte Bardot, I hated being pawed, so I thought I had to find a man in control of his desires. He was so uninterested in sex that conceiving each child was a full-scale battlefield campaign – you can’t imagine.” Enid shook her head. “We were both pretending. Operating on rote.” “I hope he’s a better father than he was a husband,” said Scarlet. “To my amazement, he can be. He was very unenthusiastic at first – really didn’t want adult status, much less becoming a grandparent. But kids are so winning. They kept bringing him interests to share and he enjoyed widening their world. That part’s been wonderful. And they were at school so much they missed seeing the worst of it. I think having the lawyers lay out clear guidelines will be good for Colin’s relationships. But now, without him to punish me, I punish myself over perpetuating my parents’ mistakes. But our children’s marriages seem solid so far – and much more grounded emotionally.” “You’re right about being too hard on ourselves. We should be congratulating ourselves that we got out of it!” “Seen the light, as the preachers say,” agreed Enid. “We do seem to be very lucky just now all of a sudden.” “Serendipity, they call it,” Scarlet agreed. “Do you suppose good fortune like that was always there and we simply didn’t know how to find it?” “To some extent,” said Scarlet. “The nanny agency rejecting the exact kind of person I actually needed for the job probably happens all the time. But someone like Miss Bottomley winning the tontine – surely that sort of good fortune is very rare.” “Pom’s right about the paradigm shift,” Enid nodded. “It depends how you look at things. Fingers crossed that our luck holds out.” As they crossed fingers, Scarlet thought, it all depends on whether the police can talk any sense into Ian. “What I know for certain,” Scarlet averred, “Is that your hotpot is perfection.” And they both managed a full night’s restful sleep. Scarlet was breakfasting alone at the dining table, scanning the papers when the phone call came. “You’ll never believe what Ian told the magistrate,” said D’Arcy. “By the way, our detective lost him at the BBC – there are just too many entrances – so he very sensibly dispatched himself to your current place of residence. He obtained one long distance photo of Ian backing you up against a wall – no kissing, but the buttons of your coat undone.” “What did Ian say?” “He said you were disguised as the nanny! Is that possible, Scarlet?” Scarlet flushed. She had not expected this. “I did borrow the nanny’s greatcoat. And hat.” “Why on earth?” “I wanted to get a good look at any loiterers.” “Please leave that to us and don’t do it again. We are presenting ourselves as the innocent parties here – if a judge gets a whiff that the two of you are playing some marital game he’ll toss the whole case out as collusive.” “I’m sorry,” said Scarlet. “I didn’t think. So what did the magistrate do?” “Well, he absolved Ian of contravening a court order but of course one isn’t supposed to slam nannies against walls, either. Since the detective testified to some kissing, Ian said he was having a “try-on.” It certainly doesn’t help his case and he was unarguably too close to your residence. The judge has added the nanny to the order and repeated “Stay away.” On the whole, I think we can call this a win.” A hammering at the front door vaulted Scarlet to her feet. Must be the security crew. “I must go. Is that all?” “That covers it. You be a good girl, now.” Scarlet promised, too distracted to argue that girlhood felt very long past now and never to come again. A woman wearing an old-fashioned duster stood on the doorstep, arm akimbo. “I’m here to see why I was fired. Mollie Jarviss of Jarviss Cleaning.” “I’m sure we didn’t fire you,” said Scarlet, who had been expecting the security men. “Why don’t you come in and we’ll sort this out?” She seated Mollie in the dining room and found Miss Bottomley toasting her toes in the kitchen, “keeping Enid company” which seemed to be her favorite new pursuit. She was wearing Scarlet’s bulky red anorak. “I hope you don’t mind,” she apologized, “it just fits me so well and it’s so comfortable.” “Not in the least,” said Scarlet. “You can have it. It doesn’t really fit me anymore. By the way, was there any problem with the cleaning company that you can remember?” “Our cleaning company? I can’t think of any,” said Miss Bottomley. “I never saw them. But they certainly seemed honest, quiet and best of all from my point of view – they were fast.” “Mrs. Jarviss is claiming she was fired.” “I didn’t fire her,” snorted Miss Bottomley, “I fired Mr. Inkum. Bob Thomas and I did.” “So you won’t object if I re-hire her?” “Not in the least. I wouldn’t care to audition anyone new at this late stage.” Scarlet carried the good news to Mrs. Jarvis. “It’s Inkum who’s been let go,” she averred. “We’ll be paying you from now on.” Relief melted Mrs. Jarviss’ face, followed by embarrassment. “That’s all right, then,” she said. “I apologize if I was forceful. I thought we’d been found wanting but nobody told me. Fix anything you don’t care for is my motto. My girls are honest and hard-working.” “That’s great, then. Miss Bottomley is well satisfied.” “Four o’clock today, then? Two pounds ten.” “Certainly,” said Scarlet, trying not to show how surprised she was at such a low figure for this vast place. She escorted a much-subdued Mrs. Jarviss to the door. “We’ll see you this afternoon, then.” If it was once a week, she thought, there wouldn’t be a need to give Mrs. Jarviss the code. But she must remember to get a check from Miss Bottomley. The security men were pulling up at that very moment. “Good morning,” said Mr. Dyson. “This is Bert, who will work on keying your front door. John Truax here will oversee the job at the back.” Bert was all business in a gray oil-stained boiler suit He immediately knelt to study the door locks with scarcely a glance at Scarlet. Truax was more personable. He looked ex-military with his shoulders bulging out of his turtleneck and tweed jacket. “Miss Bottomley’s favorite number is 771,” whispered Scarlet. “Some childhood address.” “That’s where we’ll start, then. If you could walk us to the back?” Miss Bottomley was delighted by the company and offered tea all round, which the men did not take up. Elevenses, they averred, would be welcome. “I will need a chair, if that’s all right,” said Truax. It was. Three trucks had already pulled up in the forecourt. “I wish I could watch,” said Miss Bottomley regretfully, “But I must get ready for Mr. Thomas. We’re going to the bank.” “Nick and I can keep watch,” said Enid. Scarlet thought it was really the handsome Truax who had drawn Enid’s attention. “I have some things to do upstairs,” said Scarlet. But it was not to be. The front door bell summoned her yet again. Who’s the housemaid now? Wondered Scarlet but her disgruntled expression changed when she saw Pom and a sweet-looking young man standing before her on the doorstep. “Finally, someone I want to see!” she gasped. Pom and the stranger broke into smiles immediately. “Kirby Crousam,” Pom introduced, “From the Victoria and Albert. We went to art school together.” They had to step over Bert to enter. Chapter 37. An Assault in Broad Daylight
Outside the first flakes were starting. The sharp air caught in Scarlet’s throat. Baby Nick’s breath came in short puffs. She saw nobody walking in the street at all. That’s paranoia for you, she thought. Being scared of people who aren’t there and people who are there. She resolved to walk to the grocery store like someone with a right to exist and to move freely, and not like a fearful, naughty schoolgirl playing hooky. But as soon as she turned the corner a man leaped out of the shadows and a hand grabbed her. It was Ian. “You almost frightened me to death!” she barked. “You’re not supposed to be here – I have a non-molestation order against you!” “If I didn’t know it was you – if you insist on creeping about in disguise – how can that be my mistake?” He was unshaven, his eyes terrible. She felt a stab of fear over his anger. This side of the building was virtually an alley – she should never have taken it but gone the long way around. No one would see her or help her if she needed it. She tried acting brave, and didn’t address his implication that he could have grabbed Enid. “Now that you know, leave me alone.” “But this court order, Scarlet! What are you playing at? That I’m a danger to you, to our son?” Her heart smote her – this would always be her Achilles’ heel. She could never believe he’d hurt Nick. On the other hand, she knew he was desperately committed to getting whatever he wanted when he wanted it - would be careless of Nick and entrust him to God knows who. And there had been a day – not so long ago, either – when she would have sworn he would never hurt her. The best defense - “You put Candi in the hospital!” she accused. “It was nothing but a couple stitches. She was in and out. I was only trying to stir up a bit of excitement – the woman’s like a planked fish in bed.” “You moved her into Wyvern because you’ve got a yen for fish?” Ian tightened his hold on Scarlet. “She quit her job! Her husband threw her out after she told him I raped her - I had to shut her up.” His eyes boiled at her – he did look dangerous. “Well that didn’t work – she followed you to London and threatened me.” “You’re joking.” Still, he didn’t release her. The greatcoat was so huge he couldn’t really hurt her but blocking her motion, imprisoning her, made her feel panicky. She tried shaking him off. “And who’s that living in the flat?” He relaxed into his first smile. But it was a wicked grin. “I knew this was all about jealousy! Relax, Scarlet, you’ll always be my number one! Don’t we need a nanny? She’s a nice country girl with a modest little job who needed a place to stay and is used to caring for brothers and sisters. If you decided you don’t like her, say the word and she’ll be gone.” “We need to make decisions through our solicitors,” said Scarlet, trying to push the stroller on. She didn’t want to call his attention to the fact that he hadn’t glanced at his son - it was informative – but she couldn’t surrender to his clutches. Ian shook his shaggy head. He needed a haircut. Maybe he was going for the look of one of the teddy boys at the Aldershot Palais. “Scarlet, you’re being ridiculous! You’ll beggar us and nobody wins! If you insist on divorce, all right, but let me see my son! Stay out of my sex life and I’ll stay out of yours. Don’t make me show MY photographs of YOUR boyfriend!” “I don’t have a BOYFRIEND. Pom is a FRIEND. My employer is employing him to do a job of work. If you’re willing to get the divorce all you have to do is tell Jellicoe. We’ll meet formally, iron out visitation, the lot. Don’t spring at me in alleys.” But he didn’t let her go, and he didn’t look at their son. Instead he pushed her against the wall and began passionately kissing her. “Oh Scarlet,” he moaned, “I’ve missed you so much. None of them are any good. No one’s got your spark. Don’t make me travel to America for a replacement! Come back to me, or if you won’t, at least give me husband’s privileges. Do you know how long it’s been?” She did know. She had reason to know that it was longer for her than for him. She twisted her mouth away but he crushed her lip with his teeth. Horribly he scrabbled at her clothing – she felt helpless – thinking –this must be what it feels like to be raped. She was powerless – he was so strong, swarming over her, pushing her right up against the stone wall. He found the police whistle and seemed to back up a little, pulling it up to his eye line so he could see what it was. “What’s this then?” He asked. “Gift from your admirer?” She snatched it from him and blew. The sound was earsplitting. He staggered away, pointed angrily at her and disappeared around the back of the building. Scarlet reversed course and rushed back to the front door of 14 Norfolk Crescent. Her thoughts were jumbled and crazy – where was the detective? How about HER detective? Where was ANYBODY – she certainly had seen no policemen. But Ian seemed believed to believe someone might come and that was good enough. She guided the pram up the steps and into Miss Bottomley’s front hall. She threw off the already unbuttoned greatcoat in a frenzy, stripping mitten and hat. Voices still came from the dining room so she pushed the pram towards the kitchen and through the swing door into the warm fug of the friendly room. Nick howled lustily. “Ian attacked me,” Scarlet gasped, falling into a chair. Enid’s face went white. “We’ve got to go to the police!” “I’m not going anywhere. I’m – afraid.” Scarlet burst into tears, laid her head on the table and wept. “At least we must call them.” Enid scrabbled for the phone. “Your police whistle saved me. Give me the phone.” Enid comforted Nick. Scarlet called D’Arcy instead. “It’s an emergency.” Gotobed the clerk put him right on the line. “Ian attacked me,” said Scarlet, trying to control her voice. “I was walking Nick, he pushed me up against a wall and started kissing me and tearing off my clothes.” “Oh, my God!” said D’Arcy. “How did you get away?” “I blew a police whistle.” “Well that was fortunate. Do you need a doctor?” Scarlet felt her lip. It was swelling, but no blood. “I don’t think so. Swollen lip.” “Can you make a police report?” The thought of leaving the house made tears spring to her eyes once again. “No, I don’t want to.” “I can do it for you. May I send Gotobed over to photograph your face? He’ll take the particulars.” Scarlet turned this over in her mind. Gotobed was a sweet, elderly man – could she speak to him about this? “All right.” “Very well then. He’s a cab ride away.” She hung up the phone feeling better while Enid alternated between taking pies out of the oven and getting tea. “I didn’t get your lemon curd,” she sniffed, “But your police whistle saved me.” “Thank God for that! Did a bobby respond?” Scarlet shook her head and sipped her strengthening tea. Gotobed arrived with a huge accordion camera and took a couple of snaps. Scarlet was so embarrassed she kept her eyes closed. Apparently there were also red marks on her throat – bruises developing. “The man must have been mad,” said Gotobed. “Have you ever been married?” asked Scarlet, instantly regretting the question as Gotobed’s face closed up. “I have not been blessed,” he sniffed. “Who would care to be blessed by THIS?” asked Enid, lightening the moment as she placed a plate of fragrant pie in front of Gotobed. Gotobed produced a notebook. “When was this incident precisely?” “Twenty minutes ago,” said Scarlet. “I was taking Nick on a walk to Sawditch’s to get lemon curd for Enid here and as soon as I rounded the corner – around to the right side there’s sort of an alley – he was on me.” “What did he say exactly?” She tried to remember while Gotobed wrote. “He was angry about the non-molestation order. I told him he shouldn’t be there – we needed to let the solicitors decide and he said they would beggar us. I said something about him putting Candi in the hospital and he said she was terrible in bed.” “He said that?” Enid gasped, then as Scarlet flushed said, “Sorry. I probably shouldn’t be here.” Scarlet placed a restraining hand on her arm. “No. Stay.” Mr. Gotobed said, “You have to stay. We need a second witness.” “Then he started kissing me, backed me right up against the wall. I was trying to twist my face away and he unbuttoned my coat and found the police whistle. While he was trying to figure out what it was I grabbed it out of his hands and blew it. He ran away. He never even looked at his son! Nick was right there!” Gotobed offered her statement for her to sign. “If you’ll just sign on the witness line, Mrs. Rumson? I’ll take this complaint around to the police and they’ll pick him up. Best pie I’ve ever tasted - ” he added, eying his half-eaten piece regretfully. “But I must be going.” “Of course,” Enid agreed. “Shall I wrap some up for you? No? Well, come back any time.” He insisted on taking another snap of Scarlet’s face – “It’s darkening up –“ he commented - before he left. Scarlet took Nick gratefully from Enid and buried her nose in his sweet neck.. A bell rang from the dining room. “Their tea needs freshening,” said Enid, preparing a tray. Scarlet was not able to get up the stairs without Miss Bottomley seeing her. “Scarlet! What happened to your face?” Bob Thomas’ concerned features appeared behind her. “Ian – my husband – attacked me. Mr. Gotobed’s taking my complaint to the police. I’m going to lie down.” Mr. Gotobed emerged from the kitchen, putting on his hat. “Just the man,” said Mr. Thomas. “Mrs. Bottomley’s business also requires a witness.” “Should I stay?” Scarlet asked unwillingly. “No. Gotobed can do it. You go lie down.” “Won’t the police want to speak to me?” “Not till tomorrow.” Nick started his caterwauling again – it was hard for Scarlet to surrender him to Enid but he knew she needed a hot bath. Thank God for mothers’ helpers. Every woman needs several, to Scarlet’s way of thinking. She went right upstairs and sank gratefully into a hot tub liberally laced with peony bath salts. Once she was dry she took a sleeping pill. When she awoke it was dark outside. “Turning night into day,” she thought. “Now I’ll be up forever.” She went into the bathroom. Her own face in the mirror terrified her – was that a BITE? She had no recollection of Ian’s teeth but he had kissed so forcefully she finally understood the term “masher.” This would take more cover-up and concealer makeup than Scarlet knew she possessed. In a way it was a relief to see the dark bruising – it proved she wasn’t “making a mountain out of a molehill” as Ian doubtless would claim. There was a knock on the bathroom door. Scarlet opened it slightly to see Enid’s concerned face. “May I bring up a bit of food after your bath?” she asked. “We could have dinner together.” “Dinner? Isn’t it after nine?” “Miss Bottomley went to bed before dinner, she was so exhausted. She says she and Bob Thomas created four trusts!” “Good heavens,” laughed Scarlet – “I’m tired just HEARING about it. What happened with the publishing?” “She’ll be majority owner! It means once again she’ll own Miss Clew!” “That’s good news anyway.” “I missed you both so much it really took the fun out of dinner. I ate cheese and crackers and put my nice hot pot aside. But here I am hungry again, and as you know, hot pot only gets better!” “Well,” sighed Scarlet – “I don’t want you to take trouble –“ “Scarlet, there’s a dumbwaiter! As you very well know!” “Then it would be lovely,” said Scarlet. And it was. Chapter 36. Cavern of Treasures
They couldn’t finish the wine. To drink such wine just for the sake of drinking would seem sacrilegious. After a single glass each, Pom corked it, “For Miss Bottomley’s breakfast.” She giggled. “For our next celebration,” she suggested instead and Enid said, “Tomorrow night?” Pom rapidly found a working bulb and carried it down to the wine cellar. Scarlet remained at the top of the stairs, but flooded with light, the cavern was not so intimidating. “Look at this,” said Pom, struggling with an ancient door, “I wonder where this goes.” “Let’s check by daylight,” Scarlet suggested. “I’m ready for coffee to clear my head.” Miss Bottomley had gone to bed. Enid was tidying the kitchen while the dishwasher hummed. Scarlet locked the wine cellar door carefully. “We’d better make certain this wine appears on the insurance inventory,” she said. “Must be worth a bundle.” Enid poured out coffee. “I appreciated your toast,” she said. “I realized I should have toasted you for rescuing ME.” “Miss Bottomley put her finger on it,” Pom agreed. “It was Rescue All Around.” “To the Mutual Rescue Society and Norfolk Crescent Irregulars.” Scarlet lifted her mug. And they toasted their new affiliation with excellent espresso. “Let me call you tomorrow after I’ve spoken to Kirby Crousam,” Pom told Scarlet as she walked him to the door. “He’s my man at the Albert and Victoria. I know enough to see I’m way out of my league here– we’ll have to call in the big guns.” “Big guns indeed,” said Scarlet. “Tomorrow we’ve got the security people coming to look at Miss Bottomley’s setup.” And, it would seem, not a moment too soon. They both saw the man who rushed into the phone booth as Pom climbed into his car. Darned detectives! Scarlet was changing into pajamas when Nick woke, and she had the pleasure of giving him a bottle. Enid was dead to the world. Palace Security – “by appointment to her Majesty the Queen” – showed up at precisely eight a.m. in the person of a Mr. Dyson who looked for all the world like a brigadier general. Turned out, he was retired British Army. Miss Bottomley was not awake but Scarlet walked them through the requirements. “We need something easy that Miss Bottomley can master.” Mr. Dyson’s eyes glittered. “How about a code? Such as banks use?” “Perfect. I’ll ask Miss Bottomley for her favorite number.” She was delighted to stun him with the sight of their new Cavern of Treasures. “Good Lord,” said Dyson, “We’ll need a new door here. Something metal. Where does this go?” “Are you ready to find out?” asked Scarlet. “It will be news to me.” Steps led up to the carpark. It was flimsily secured with a padlocked cellar entry. “Well, I’m glad to see there’s some security,” said Mr. Dyson. “I suppose they brought the casks in here. All this will have to be replaced.” Enid gave him a cup of Earl Grey in the kitchen. “I’d like to introduce a touchy subject,” said Scarlet. “We’ve already had a man try to gain admittance to the house through a ruse.” “You don’t say!” “That makes no difference,” said Dyson, stalwart. “You’ve got an elderly lady in a treasure house – just a matter of time before the cons look to test it. I’ll put a bodyguard on. You’ll like him – easy fellow. The front’s a fast job – can be over in a morning – but the back will take a week. And we’ll have to secure all these windows. The bodyguard can vet the workers for you, make certain everyone’s who they say they are.” “Perfect,” said Scarlet. After he’d gone, Enid commented, “Divorce?” “I’ll say,” said Scarlet. “We’ve both hired detectives.” Enid sighed. “Must be nice to be wanted.” “It isn’t me he wants, it’s Nick.” Scarlet was aware as she said it that this wasn’t strictly true. Ian wanted something from Scarlet – what was it exactly? Subjugation? Her admission that he was right and she was wrong? Her conversion to his double standard philosophy of male female relations? Bob Thomas showed up while Miss Bottomley was finishing her late breakfast. “Only one glass of wine for me in future,” she said. “I’m not accustomed to getting so much sleep and feeling wuzzy next day. Show Mr. Thomas into the dining room.” Since the dining room had no door to the hallway and their business could be heard all over the house Scarlet resolved to take Nick for a walk. It would be interesting to see who was watching the house. It was a chilly day with a promise of snow – mother and baby needed bundling up. At the door, Scarlet touched Enid’s heavy greatcoat and grey wool hat thoughtfully. “Enid? May I borrow your outdoor things? I want to see if anyone follows me.” It seemed a less embarrassing excuse than, “My anorak no longer fits me” and it was none the less true. Enid emerged from the kitchen, her face pink from a morning of baking. “Of course you may, if you promise to wear the police whistle you’ll find in my pocket! Clever girl! Can you pick up a jar of lemon curd for me at Sawditch’s?” “Can do.” It was a wonderful big greatcoat – impossible to tell what kind of body was underneath. In her nondescript wellies and hair tucked up into the wool hat, Scarlet could have been anyone – male or female. To make the impersonation perfect she even slipped on Enid’s big gray mittens, much coarser – and less warm – than her own lambs’ wool lined leather gloves. Last of all she put the police whistle around her neck. Amusingly it made her feel less ridiculous when someone like Enid took steps to be so careful. Chapter 35. Norfolk Crescent Irregulars
It turned out Pom had just the same idea. He appeared at the door – six o’clock exactly – with a bottle of good burgundy and a crop of invitations to upcoming gallery shows. “These belong on the mantelpiece,” said Miss Bottomley excitedly, using the scraps of cardboard to ornament a previously under-used drawing room. “I see what you mean about these paintings,” said Pom, walking slowly around a large daub depicting haymaking. “This one’s so filthy they seem to be performing farm work after dark.” “What’s the point of cleaning them?” Miss Bottomley complained. “They’re SO hideous. Just get rid of them.” “Now this furniture is probably worth quite a bit of money,” Pom opined. “It looks real to me but I’m no expert.” The dark, heavy furnishings represented the ugliest pieces of the Victorian era to Scarlet’s mind. The nice Directoire bits were all upstairs. “It’s too uncomfortable to sit in,” said Miss Bottomley and Scarlet couldn’t argue. It was a very cold room. “I prefer a good squashy chair from Heal’s. In a nice Liberty print.” “You might enjoy looking at the beautiful rosewood tables and chairs made by Dansk,” offered Pom. “I’ll take you any time you like. As for this stuff, I know a fellow at the Albert and Victoria who would offer an appraisal – they’d be delighted to have them if you didn’t want to sell.” Miss Bottomley’s face shone. “The Albert and Victoria Museum? That would be lovely! Would there be a plaque - “gift of Esmé Hope Bottomley? That sort of thing?” “Certainly,” said Pom. “Exactly that sort of thing.” Scarlet had one of those flashes of insight that seemed to come to her around Miss Bottomley. “You could say on behalf of The Miss Clew Trust,” she offered. “Get a bit of free advertising.” Miss Bottomley’s eyes closed in ecstasy as she clutched Scarlet’s arm. “Well done!” she gasped. “You are a good, good girl. Hiring you was the smartest thing I’ve ever done. Everything in its proper place, isn’t that what Miss Clew always said?” “She did!” agreed Scarlet. “When you put the pieces in their proper places, the meaning of the puzzle reveals itself.” “I wrote that?” sighed Miss Bottomley. “What a clever, hopeful young woman I must have been.” And at that very moment Enid announced dinner. It was a rollicking evening of delicious food and pleasant company. Pom’s delicious burgundy was soon exhausted. “You know, there’s a wine cellar downstairs,” said Miss Bottomley. “I’ve never been. The key is hanging behind the kitchen door.” Scarlet was about to refuse further alcohol but when she saw the way Pom’s face lit up she knew they’d at least be obliged to take a look. Hanging as it was beneath aprons, the key was difficult to find. “Better take care,” Pom said as the tiny door squeaked open, “These steps look treacherous. I’ll go first.” When the light switch failed to perform its job, Pom produced a pen light from his pocket allowing them to proceed downstairs. They were confronted by a cellar full of wine. “Oh my God” said Scarlet at the sight of dusty racks going on forever. “It’s like the treasures of the Thousand and One Nights,” said Pom and Scarlet added “With Miss Bottomley as our Sherhazad.” She chose a bottle at random from the closest rack. “Romanée-Conti. It’s a burgundy but I can’t see the year. Will this do?” “I hope so,” said Pom. “I’ve never actually worried about being worthy of a wine before. In fact, I would have said such people are idiots. But that’s seems to be definitely what I’m feeling now.” “I think it’s Miss Bottomley we have to struggle to be worthy of,” said Scarlet. “You’re absolutely right. What a good way to put it.” He squeezed her shoulder. “Is there is a store of electric bulbs anywhere?” Pom asked Miss Bottomley when they were back at the table. “I’ve no idea,” Miss Bottomley replied. “On the second floor are lots of unused lamps,” suggested Scarlet. “Some of them must have working bulbs.” “There’s a good plan,” said Pom and Enid offered up her glass. “I’ll drink to that.” As Pom dusted the bottle he said, “1937. Let’s hope that was a good year for French reds.” “Probably the last for awhile,” said Enid. “Considering what was going on in the rest of the world.” He opened it with some ceremony, poured out a smidgen for Miss Bottomley and waited attentive as a sommelier. She sipped. “I’ve never cared for wine,” she said, “But this tastes lovely.” It was. Rich and subtle, flavored with sunlight, the wine brought tears to their eyes. Scarlet choked up. “I’d like to toast our hostess,” she offered, rising to her feet. “Oh please,” Miss Bottomley disparaged, “Don’t bother. You’ve brought me so much. I’m so proud to be the founding partner of the Norfolk Crescent Irregulars.” Everyone laughed at this dedication but Scarlet pressed forwards. “But I want to say it. I was at the worst time in my life – I couldn’t allow myself to think quite how bad it really was, because I had Nick to consider. And you – rescued me. Thank you.” “Hear, hear,” said Pom and Enid seconded, “Aye, aye.” Miss Bottomley’s cheeks were pink. “That three month trial period we discussed? Consider it over – you’re both hired as long as you care to stay, Enid and Scarlet. Think how you’ve helped ME! I was hiding in my kitchen – I think ultimately I’d have signed any document Mr. Inkum prepared jut to get rid of him – and the only thing that stirred me was the thought of my novels lying mangled and bloody two for a penny on a railway stall. And look where I am now!” She raised her glass. “Here’s to you! All three of you!” Pom and Enid also rose. “We accept,” said Pom. “To us.” Solemnly they drank their delicious wine. |
Alysse AallynArchives
November 2021
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