Chapter 26. The Detective
As they selected cheeses, cake, apples, biscuits and the components for what Pom described as a “strengthening soup”, Pom said, “I adore old-fashioned places like these. All the grapes and calves’ foot jelly.” “Thanks for reminding me,” said Scarlet, adding grapefruit marmalade and fish fingers to their hoard. “Fish fingers?” Pom questioned. “Everyone needs a fast, easy dinner,” said Scarlet. “That’s what freezers are for.” “I don’t have a freezer.” “But MissBottomley does. Quite an up to date one.” “And then there’s the problem that fishhaveno fingers.” “We call them ‘fish sticks’ in America.” “My, that does sound irresistible. A stick of fish. Such cleverness you Yanks have. I wonder what is the correct wine with “sticks”? Allow me to purchase for you a nice rosé. Or would you prefer champagne?” “No wine at work, thank you,” said Scarlet. “I need to keep my wits about me.” As soon as the grocer heard it was for Fourteen Norfolk Crescent he insisted on delivery. “She’s our landlady,” he told the astonished pair. “She owns everything round here.” Pom kept an admirably straight face during this disclosure. Scarlet carefully set up her own account and stressed that it was her responsibility alone. “Don’t be in such a hurry to pay for everything,” said Pom when they were safely back inside the Dorset. “Sounds like she’s rich as Croesus, much as she doesn’t look it.” “All the other interviewees thought she was the housemaid,” admitted Scarlet. “It just makes me all the more determined to do my very best for her. Those books of hers are just plain wonderful, and where else in the world would I ever get such a perfect job?” And she shared with him the dramatic tale of Miss Bottomley’s late-acquired wealth. “Please don’t tell anyone,” she begged. “I didn’t even tell Ian.” Pom’s eyes widened. “I can keep a secret. Honored that you chose me. But are you certain the pair of you don’t need live-in bodyguards as well?” “I’m sure we do,” said Scarlet. “And heaven knows there’s room. Are you offering?” “I don’t think I’d be any good at that particular role,” said Pom. “I think you’ll find Miss Bottomley very averse to strangers,” said Scarlet. “Maybe as time goes on I’ll be able to talk her round. I’m currently in favor because I was the only one who’d actually read her books. She’s not used to money and she doesn’t like solicitors. I hope Pelham D’Arcy might offer assistance but we’ve got to give it time.” It turned out the grocer’s van had gone around to the kitchen entrance. Off the kitchen was a scullery with new-looking washer and drying machines. “They’ve got me running off my feet answering doorbells here and doorbells there,” complained Miss Bottomley as they brought the groceries in. “First it was that strange friend of yours -“ Scarlet seated Miss Bottomley to toast her toes by the gas fire. Pom almost sat on the King of Wessex. “Meet Ceawlain,” Scarlet explained. “Sue-Allen?” “No,” said Miss Bottomley and Scarlet both together, “Ceawlain, King of Wessex.” Scarlet inquired, “What strange friend was that?” Miss Bottomley considered. “Well, he was quite silly. He certainly didn’t guess he was speaking to an authoress of detective novels, because he used quite a transparent ruse to try to get into the house.” Scarlet and Pom stared at each other, appalled. “What did he say?” asked Scarlet while Pom said, “He could have simply thrust you aside!” “I’d like to see him try,” grumped Miss Bottomley. “I’d have skewered him with a hatpin and summoned help with my police whistle.” And she displayed these items for their inspection. “This is ghastly,” said Pom and Scarlet asked, “Doesn’t that door have a chain?” “Obviously one must take the chain off when one answers the door,” said Miss Bottomley. “And a peephole?” wondered Scarlet. “I’m too short for the peephole,” sighed Miss Bottomley. “The peephole is too tall for me.” “Here’s an idea,” suggested Pom, “An intercom. You won’t be run off your feet that way. You’ll be able to ask who it is and get them to describe themselves. Tell them to put a letter requesting an appointment in the mail slot.” “Oh, I dolike that idea,” gushed Miss Bottomley. “Takes a man to look at problems from the engineering point of view.” “I’ll look into it for you, shall I?” offered Pom, and Miss Bottomley seemed relieved. “But what did he look like?” Scarlet poured a tin of vichyssoise into a saucepan while Pom sliced cheese and pears. “Very smartly dressed, I must say. Bowler hat and all found. He said he was from an architectural publication and he wanted to take pictures inside the house. He wanted to see the Missus. I didn’t tell him I was the Missus, I just said no, no, and no.” “Did he give up?” “He most certainly did not. Tried slipping me a five-pound note!” “He really did mistake you for the housemaid,” laughed Scarlet and Miss Bottomley laughed with her. “I rejected it. Played along. Told him I valued my “position”. But he wouldn’t leave. He had his foot in the door.” “But this is a horror story!” Pom gasped and Scarlet said, “You should have used your police whistle.” “Perhaps I should. But then he started asking questions about you.” “Me?” “Yes. Wasn’t there a young lady in the house and when was she due back. I said, “Here she comes!” and when he turned to look, I shut the door!” “That was clever,” said Pom, and Scarlet said, “Worthy of Miss Clew.” And Miss Bottomley reddened with pleasure. “But who could it have been?” asked Pom. “It doesn’t sound like Ian.” “It’s that detective of his,” said Scarlet. “He took pictures of us last week and Ian threatened me with them. I explained to him that we’re only friends.” “Utterly uncompromising pictures,” Pom assured her but Miss Bottomley was nonchalant. “I should have known there would be a detective or two hanging about any modern girl,” she remarked. “Keeping me up to date!” Pom refused to shake off his anxiety. “You be sure to tell your solicitors,” he suggested. “Both of you.” “I’ll tell Pelham,” agreed Scarlet, thinking how lucky she was that Miss Bottomley wasn’t sufficiently intimidated by all this bother to choose another assistant, but Miss Bottomley scoffed. “Oh, my Mr. Inkum, he’s a perfectly dreadful man! Always trying to get me to sign documents and when I said, “Don’t I need a solicitor?” he answers, “I’m your solicitor. This is for your OWN GOOD.” “Funny how when people say that it’s never true,” mused Pom, as they settled at the table for a delicious meal. “That’s what I thought,” said Miss Bottomley. “I told him to leave the papers with me so I could think about them and he said, “Don’t think too long!” “Sounds like a threat!” gasped Scarlet. Nick’s cry made them all jump.
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November 2021
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