He descended the stairs and went out of the house with-out locking the front door.
He got back into his car.
He sat trying to collect his thoughts. Suddenly he felt empty – anticlimactic.
It would be up to Beatrice to discover the body and inform the police. Whenever she and Payne came back. If they came back… They were bound to notice the light in Ingrid’s room… It might be quite late – midnight or even in the small hours of the morning… Would they come back? They might decide to spend the night at an hotel – or at Payne’s pied-a-terre. Fellows like Payne always kept a pieds-a-terre… Payne’s wife clearly had no idea of what was going on, preoccupied as she was with her writing, inventing murders and victims and alibis. Shouldn’t he write to Antonia Darcy and apprise her of her husband’s infidelity? Anonymously – signed ‘Well-wisher’? No – what would be the point? It wouldn’t change a thing – too late.
He stared in front of him into the gathering darkness. He had prepared an alibi for himself. Now what was it? He frowned. He needed to concentrate. He gripped the wheel between his gloved hands and shut his eyes. No, he didn’t need an alibi. No one would ever suspect him. Why should they? He would need to clean the boot though – dispose of the handkerchief and the paper with the house plan -
Colville groaned. He had felt the beginnings of a depression, the powerful daemon he had never been able to understand, counter or control. It started as usual with the familiar sinking sensation – thoughts of futility and pointlessness – a nameless dread nagging at his mind, like some ancient curse. What had Bee said the last time he had complained? By no means let the black dog pounce! It’s all a question of silly biochemistry, darling – one of those rogue enzymes. Bee hadn’t been exactly helpful. The truth was she had never understood him – she hadn’t even tried.
What good would all this money be to him without Bee’s love? Even if she stayed with him, for appearances’ sake, she’d continue to sneak out to meet Payne. Of course she would. Colville clearly lacked that significant It in the boudoir department… Love trysts… Secret and not so-secret assignations… Bee would expect him to condone her ways – she regarded him as a mere blind, doting dullard. .. He took Payne’s pouch out of his pocket and stared down at it.
Then another thought struck him. If Bee did leave him for Payne, which she probably would do in the end, he’d get nothing… not a penny. He could never tell Bee what he had done… All his efforts – to keep Bee and Payne in state! He examined his bruised knuckles. The risks he had taken – the danger he had put himself in – so that those two could enjoy a life of plutocratic leisure -
He started the car. He had no idea where he was going.
‘Oh, but you must come in and have a bite to eat,’ Beatrice said when they delivered her at Millbrook House shortly after ten that evening. ‘Please… I feel a wreck. I look a wreck, don’t I?’ Opening her eyes wide, she turned to Antonia. ‘Don’t I?’
‘Not really,’ Antonia said.
‘Oh, I can’t get Len on his mobile… I could do with some company.’ Beatrice shot Payne a sidelong glance, but Antonia no longer minded. Earlier on Beatrice had been saying how absolutely thrilling she found that young man’s South African accent. She meant Greg. It wasn’t at all ‘common’, nothing like the way Australians, say, spoke – it sounded warm and unusual and well, sexy. She had given a laugh and made a funny face – her ‘duck face’, she informed them.
At one point she and Greg had started talking about tattoos and she had confided in him that she too had one. She would have shown it to him, she said coyly, if only she didn’t have to remove her stocking. They had stood in the kitchen at Ospreys, drinking brandy. Greg had opened one of Ralph Renshawe’s bottles of Armagnac. They had all needed a drink. Father Lillie-Lysander’s body had been taken away. The police had gone.
Well, Beatrice couldn’t help herself. She was that sort of woman. Still, they needed to talk to her seriously before long. What would be the best way to break the news to her? Beatrice wouldn’t have hysterics, would she? Antonia couldn’t bear the thought of a scene. They would probably end up staying the night at Millbrook House. (Where was Ingrid’s body? What had he done with the body?)
‘Heaven knows where Len has gone… He seems to have had a bonfire earlier on, can you smell it?’ Beatrice had opened her door but seemed reluctant to leave the car. ‘Such a pleasant, Christmassy kind of smell… I am sure that’s our back garden… Why are you so quiet? You look as though you know something I don’t. Don’t tell me I am imagining things. I saw you whispering, just before we left Ospreys… What is it? Why are you looking at me like that? You are frightening me!’
Antonia pretended she hadn’t heard. Keeping Beatrice in the dark afforded her an unworthy frisson of sadistic pleasure. ‘It’s getting colder,’ she said. ‘ The weather’s turning, have you noticed?’
‘All right.’ Major Payne cleared his throat. ‘Beatrice, there’s something you should know -’
Beatrice interrupted. ‘Oh my God, look – look. The light’s on in Ingrid’s room!’ She pointed. ‘Ingrid seems to be back… Now you simply must come in… You can’t possibly leave me alone with her. We may have to call the police and you can do that so much better than me.’
28
The Taj Mahal Necklace
Four weeks later it was Christmas and they had Major Payne’s aunt staying with them. Lady Grylls had recovered from her cataract operation, but she still wore a piratical patch across her right eye – because she fancied herself in it rather than out of any real necessity, Antonia suspected – and was eager for entertainment. Lady Grylls loved stories of mystery, mayhem and murder, so, with the Christmas pudding and the black coffee, they told her this one. The whole lamentable affair in which greed, revenge, despair and madness all played a part.
‘Colville gave every appearance of a man who stands on his feet, representing solidity and permanence, but he became a double murderer,’ Major Payne said. ‘Well, he wasn’t a particularly effectual landlord. His business had been going to the dogs. He needed money badly and, having this magnificent windfall come to his wife, he wasn’t going to allow it to be snatched away, just like that. What was hers was going to be his. They had a joint bank account. We are talking about a fabulous fortune here. Big money.’
‘How big?’ Lady Grylls asked. She liked details in a story.
‘Very big. Thirty-five million pounds. Well, money is a great catalyst. He decided to follow Ingrid moments after he’d seen her through the window and snapped her with his Polaroid. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision. He saw her make for the bus stop. He had no doubt she’d get on the number 19 bus, which would take her to Ospreys. Maybe he saw her get on the bus. His one and only concern was that Ralph Renshawe should be alive at eleven o’clock and sign the will which made Beatrice his sole beneficiary.’
‘I love reconstructions like that.’ Lady Grylls helped her-self to more cream. ‘It’s almost as though you were there. You are terribly clever.’
‘Not at all. Much of this is pure speculation, darling, so we may be well off the mark about an awful lot of things… I wouldn’t presume to know exactly what went on in Colville’s mind, but it is doubtful whether he had a plan as such, not when he set out. His idea was to stop Ingrid inflicting any harm on Ralph Renshawe. Intervene, if necessary. So he ran out of the house, got into his car and drove to Ospreys.’
Lady Grylls frowned. ‘Why didn’t he alert the nurse over the blower if he was so concerned? He could have phoned Ospreys and saved himself the trouble. Or rung the front doorbell when he got there – and explained to her what was happening?’