Chapter 31. Strategy
When she opened the front door at Norfolk Crescent the delicious scent of roasting lamb assailed her nostrils at the same time as laughter struck her ears. In the kitchen, she was surprised to encounter a mini-cocktail party – Enid chopping vegetables while Miss Bottomley looked on, enjoying a glass of red wine. Her withered-apple face glowed. “I hope you had success?” she enquired. “Enid’s been regaling me with tales about Morocco.” “There’s just a bit of hummus left,” said Enid. “Really you must try it.” Scarlet was more interested in the wine. “Sawditch is ordering couscous!” Miss Bottomley said. “Enid promises to cook us a mush-wee!” “A meshwi,” Enid corrected, handing Scarlet a glass of wine. “How did your publishing encounter go?” “Sadly, the man is a complete dunderhead,” said Scarlet, throwing the books on the table. “THIS is the sort of thing they publish! They expect us to accommodate ourselves to this ghastly drivel!” Enid looked thoughtful but Miss Bottomley seemed so crestfallen Scarlet sat right down to comfort her before taking a single sip. “They’re doing it for money,” she said. “They are on their beam ends – the place looks desperate – and remember, you are a very rich woman!” Miss Bottomley’s face cleared. “Buy the series back? Of course!” “These wonderful books deserve republishing, but I’m suggesting a lot more than that. What if you buy the publisher?” Miss Bottomley looked appalled. “Buy a PUBLISHER?” “your money is currently in property, which you’ve stated you don’t care about.” “That’s true enough,” agreed Miss Bottomley. “But what if these dunderheads – as you call them - are correct and my books are such old hat no one will care about them?” “Impossible!” roared Enid and Scarlet enthusiastically together. Scarlet said, ‘This Mr. Mountjoy is overlooking an entire market of mature women. They are the most enthusiastic readers if books, and Miss Clew has so much to offer them. Isn’t there a revival going on of the Golden Age of Crime?” “But buying a whole publishing company – “ “Or you could become an investor. Bob Thomas will know how just to set it up.” Miss Bottomley’s face cleared. Obviously “Bob Thomas” had become a magic name for her. “You’re right,” nodded Miss Bottomley. “Bob Thomas will know. Let’s call him.” “Call him tomorrow,” said Enid, spilling wine on Rod the Spy as she swept him off the table. “Dinner’s ready!” The dinner was delicious enough, but for some reason Scarlet had trouble sleeping, and Nick, too was wakeful. Enid seemed to sleep like a rock – at least Scarlet didn’t hear her or encounter her on the way to the bathroom. That’s all right, thought Scarlet stolidly, I can handle the nights if Enid can handle the days. But she was worried. How did she know Enid was who she said she was? Even if her past was impeccable, what if she was an alcoholic? Who had she reallybrought into Miss Bottomley’s home? She was surprised – shocked wouldn’t be too much to say – at the vulnerability of the old lady. She had handled the hiring of an editor much more expertly – though of course I think so, Scarlet admitted, because she hired me. Obviously, others might quibble. Enid put Scarlet’s fears to rest in the morning with her vigor and drive. She made crepes with fresh fruit for breakfast – Miss Bottomley sat at the table expectant and eager as a child. Enid managed Nick and the cooking effortlessly enough, Scarlet had to admit. A pile of clean diapers was already whizzing around the modern dryer. “Could you pick up a copy of Dr. Spock’s childcare book while you’re out?” she requested. “It had a wonderful recipe for infant’s milk I seem to remember. Probably get one at Foyle’s.” Any excuse to go to Foyle’s was welcome. “I’ll take the afternoon,” Scarlet promised. “Pelham D’Arcy has an appointment available at three-fifteen.” “That would be suitable,” Enid agreed. “I most concerned to protect the children.” “I’m sure your husband wants that too,” Scarlet comforted her, hoping it was true. Enid, who knew her husband best, didn’t argue. Scarlet phoned Bob Thomas and asked if she could have a short word with him – he suggested she join him for his “elevenses.” Neither Enid nor Miss Bottomley seemed to think it odd that Scarlet couldn’t conduct her business by phone. Scarlet dressed carefully, called, “See you later!” from the door and found herself out on a fashionable London street on a brisk winter’s day with the most blissful sense of freedom she had experienced since Nick’s birth. That is, until she saw Ian. His face was all smiles. He was looking very smart and every bit the country squire in green coat and moleskin breeches. She was glad she’d taken care with her own appearance, but she couldn’t disguise her dismay at the sight of him. His arms moved to hug her but she refused to halt her stride and so he fell into step beside her. “I’ve come to pick up the car,” he began, and she cursed herself for not having thought of it. “It’s around the back,” she said ungraciously. “You don’t want a car in London,” he said, “The parking alone is a nightmare.” And Candi must want the car in the country, thought Scarlet, but she managed to say nothing. Ian fell openmouthed at the sight of the large cobblestoned back court of Miss Bottomley’s residence. “You’ve certainly fallen on your feet,” he murmured. There was enough room for ten cars. “You’re right,” she said, unlocking the car, “I don’t want a car in London.” He stood awkwardly by the driver’s side. “I just wanted to see where you live and perhaps catch a glimpse of Nick.” Her heart smote her. Why hadn’t she thought of this? If she had walked through the kitchen to reach the back court instead of out of the front door she would have driven off without even seeing him! What would Enid and Miss Bottomley have done then? But it was no part of her plan to keep the child from his father. “I really think you need to make an appointment,” she said, climbing into the passenger seat, “While things are so awkward. Anyway, I must be on my way - I’ve got to see my lawyer.” She couldn’t resist this last. “I’ll drop you,” he said amiably. That would put her at the solicitor’s office far too early. “I have to go to Foyle’s first,” she admitted so he said, “Get in. I’ll take you.” Mr. Bossy or Mr. Agreeable? She couldn’t be sure, because she no longer trusted him. Into the silence he injected, “You’re looking well.” “I’m feeling well,” she lied after her sleepless night. But she appreciated the compliment. I’m as starved as Miss Bottomley, in my own way, she thought. Lots of deprivation and loneliness going round. “So…are you all moved in?” He made conversation. “It was furnished,” she responded. “And probably pretty well judging by the neighborhood.” He whistled. “How’s the editing job?” She tried not to laugh. “It’s quite involving. Exciting and unexpected.” He seemed amazed she’d acquired anything but drudge work. “And the old lady? How’s she holding up?” “I got someone to look after her,” said Scarlet, struggling not to sound smug but feeling it. Would he ask about the nanny? I mean, here she was, so SOMEONE must be looking after Nick. Did he even notice? Did he care? Apparently not. He evidently thought a house of old ladies and old lady minders could look after an infant. I despise this man, thought Scarlet a bit angrily. I actively despise him! “Well, I’m moving into the BBC flat,” he said. “It’s dreadfully big for me.” Should she remind him he needed a room for Nick and possibly for a nanny as well? She should ask Enid if she’d consider staying with Nick elsewhere. Would Nick be swarmed instead by Ian’s girlfriends – Scarlet felt certain that to the extent he thought about it at all, THAT was his plan, to fob Nick off on a series of impressionable girls. That wouldn’t do at all, but she knew Pelham would want her to say nothing. But there was SO MUCH she wanted to say! About his detective, for example! Trying to horn his way into Miss Bottomley’s! But she realized there was no point – he’d disavow knowledge, certainly. Anyway, why question a committed liar? “Would you like to…help furnish the place?” He asked this respectfully, almost shyly. “I could use your assistance.” Scarlet stared at him. He’d had plenty of ideas about Wyvern House! So why the sudden dearth – the need for her help and intervention now? She felt an unnerving thrill of power. Was that his goal? Or was he admiring her, courting her even, for refusing to lie down and accept ill treatment. She hadn’t considered this possibility – that once she no longer wanted him he would want her again – but she realized she should have. It had been true of all her boyfriends in the past. Probably some quirk of the male character – they always wanted to be the one to walk away. “I’ll help you do Nick’s room,” she offered. He pulled up to Foyle’s while traffic flowed around them. “This is fine,” she said, and jumped out of the car before he could argue. Parking really was a nightmare around Foyle’s – buses were everywhere. Once through the glass revolving door she watched him grinding gears as he swept into the roundabout. She wanted to make certain he was really gone. And then she saw a redhead step out of a cab – a redhead in sunglasses – surely that wasn’t Candi? It looked like her! She pulled away from the glass as if fearful of contamination.
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