‘What was the technical term for the doctrine of chance?’ Major Payne picked up his pipe.
‘What doctrine?’ She lowered the paper.
‘We were talking about it last night.’
‘The Calculus of Probabilities?’
‘That’s it. Well, according to the Calculus of Probabilities,’ Payne said slowly, ‘coincidence in these particular circumstances is not very likely. You agree?’
‘I don’t see how it could be coincidence.’ Antonia frowned. ‘Two disappearances – on the very same day – both missing persons with links to Ospreys and Ralph Renshawe. Something – something must have happened to them. People don’t just – disappear.’
‘Omnia exeunt in mysterium,’ Major Payne said. ‘Everything dissolves in mystery… Perhaps there is some human Bermuda triangle encompassing Ospreys?’ He put his pipe in his mouth and produced a match.
‘No, not in the kitchen, Hugh, I’ve told you.’
‘I need to smoke,’ he said. ‘Helps me to think.’
‘Oh very well, but only this once.’ She sat down slowly. ‘Where have they gone? Something must have happened.’ ‘Maybe the padre and Ingrid decided to elope and set up house together? Emotionally labile people attract one another. Plenty of examples. Bonnie and Clyde. Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton – they got married, then got divorced, then remarried, then got divorced again. Hinge and Brackett – young men masquerading as old women. The Papen sisters -’
‘The Papen sisters were sisters, Hugh. They couldn’t have attracted one another.’
‘Wasn’t there a touch of incestuous lesbianism about them? Garbo and Gilbert.’
‘Gilbert and George?’ Antonia said despite herself.
‘Absolutely. See? The list is endless.’
‘Why would Father Lillie-Lysander and Ingrid want to elope?’
‘Because of the padre’s vows… Um… They need time to think ahead – plan the future – think of the best way to break it to the cardinals -’
‘For a man whose intelligence has been described as subtle, Hugh, you do talk a lot of nonsense.’ Antonia frowned. ‘Are you sure Gilbert was emotionally labile? I mean Garbo’s Gilbert?’
‘He thought he was the greatest actor who ever lived. He drank himself to death.’
‘We don’t know if Father Lillie-Lysander was emotion-ally labile.’
‘Well, he’s been listening to strangers describing their unspeakable fantasies for heaven knows how long. Through a grille. Try to imagine what that could do to a chap. Don’t you think the grille is a form of peephole to one’s most private peep show?’
‘No, I don’t. Really, Hugh -’
The next moment the telephone started ringing. Payne felt delighted at the interruption – he didn’t at all like the expression on Antonia’s face. ‘I’ll get it.’ Jumping up from his seat, he picked up the kitchen extension.
‘Oh, hello, Beatrice.’ He grimaced at Antonia. ‘Actually, we just read it and were talking about it. Yes, terrible thing to happen… I can imagine… What? Now? I see. I don’t know – um – Oh, I am sorry. Just a moment. Let me ask Antonia.’ Putting his hand over the receiver, he whispered, ‘She wants us to go to her place. Now. She is in a state. She’s had a row with Colville and he’s dashed out of the house. She’s been abandoned by everybody. She is in floods of tears. .. hysterical.’
‘Oh dear.’ Antonia glanced down at the salad bowl. ‘I suppose we’d better go.’
She was not sure whether she said yes out of concern for Beatrice Ardleigh, or because she was curious about the amazing turn of events. The latter, she admitted to herself. A double vanishing was most certainly worth investigating. Beatrice, on the other hand, was perfectly capable of coping on her own. Beneath that vulnerable fluttery exterior Beatrice was actually quite tough, Antonia felt sure. Why indulge her unduly? And it wasn’t as though they were her oldest – or her best – friends… Beatrice was after Hugh… Beatrice had probably been hoping she would be able to get Hugh on his own…
‘Doesn’t Poe refer to the Calculus of Probabilities in The Mystery of Marie Celeste?’ Payne said as they were getting into the car.
‘You mean The Mystery of Marie Roget.’
‘Do I? Oh, of course. Association of ideas. Marie Celeste was the ship from which everybody disappeared mysteriously and without a trace
…’
20
The Scapegoat
Once again they were at Millbrook House.
They heard the eerie sound of drumbeats, which should have been incongruous in Oxfordshire but some-how felt appropriate under the blazing sun. The front door opened even before they had rung the bell and Beatrice flung herself on Antonia’s neck. Between sobs and gasps, she managed to say that she had never felt so frightened in her life. Everything had gone wrong. Ingrid had vanished into thin air. The police had been noxious and officious. The police had acted as though she had something to do with Ingrid’s disappearance. Worst of all, Len had left her!
‘I am sure you are wrong,’ Payne murmured. ‘Colville worships the ground you walk on.’
‘No more,’ Beatrice whispered. ‘No more.’
‘What happened?’ Antonia asked.
Len had been extremely cross with her – Len was a prince among men, but she’d never seen him so furious – he had gone off – she seriously feared he’d never come back. Or that he might do something silly. It would serve her right if he did – she’d been telling fibs – she had been deceiving Len. She didn’t deserve Len. She was responsible for the whole catalogue of misfortunes. She was the architect of the disaster. She had brought all these troubles on her own head. She was terrified. She had always known she’d die alone. And it was less than a month to Christmas!
What had that got to do with anything? Payne thought. The bloody woman was hysterical. And those drums – enough to drive anybody mad! They were still standing in the hall. Payne strode into the sitting room and turned off the CD player. As he did so, he inadvertently pushed some CDs off a shelf and they spilled on the floor. Damn, he said, but didn’t pick them up. He could hear Beatrice sob-bing uncontrollably in the hall. He went over to the drinks table, poured some brandy into a glass and brought it back to her.
‘Thank you, thank you, dear friend,’ Beatrice clutched at his hand. ‘You and Antonia are the only friends I have. My only true friends.’ After this extravagant statement Beatrice gulped down the brandy. It made her splutter and cough, but she clearly felt better for she started examining her face critically in the mirror. She said she looked a ‘fright’. She asked Antonia whether she could borrow her lipstick. ‘I can’t find mine. We use the same colour. I noticed the first time I saw you,’ Beatrice breathed.
Antonia opened her bag and took out her lipstick, but in the process her diary fell out. She picked it up, not notic-ing the slip of paper that dislodged itself from between the book’s pages and fluttered down to the floor.
Having painted her lips, Beatrice led the way into the sitting room. Her arm was linked through Antonia’s. ‘What’s your favourite scent?’ she asked.
Antonia said she didn’t have a favourite scent. It struck her that she probably gave the impression of being rather puritanical. She needed to loosen up. Hugh was bound to start thinking her a nuisance sooner or later.
‘Mine is Ce Soir Je T’Aime. My life is incomplete with-out it,’ Beatrice said. She then promised to send Antonia a bottle of Ce Soir Je T’Aime for Christmas.
Beatrice’s hair had the sheen of Mycenaean gold; she wore preposterously high heels, a rather chic black cocktail dress and a heavy ornate necklace that didn’t really seem to go with the rest of her. (Had she dressed like that to impress Hugh?) On close inspection the necklace turned out to be made of miniature Taj Mahals. Payne had also taken note of the Taj Mahal necklace – he thought it an impossibly kitsch-y artifact – an affront to good taste.
‘Len had it specially made for me when we got engaged. He drew the design himself. They’d never had to make anything like it before,’ Beatrice explained. ‘The Taj Mahal was built by some Indian emperor for his beloved wife, wasn’t it? Len’s such a silly romantic. He paid a fortune for it. I don’t wear it often. To tell you the truth,’ Beatrice lowered her voice, ‘I don’t care much for it, but I put it on for Len’s sake. So that when he comes back, he will see that I am wearing his necklace and then he will forgive me. I am an idiot, I know!’