‘Shooting polo’s been a shambles,’ confided Ogborne. ‘Mikhail’s fallen off three times. All he’s interested in is getting his new crocus-yellow Range Rover resprayed before he goes back to Russia — I’m sure it’s nicked. Tab has been yelling non-stop. With no Tristan to smarm, charm and calm, and no Rupert, Lucy or Wolfie, we might as well have stayed at home. How’s Tristan? Bet he’s enjoying the peace. He’ll be auditioning for Hercule soon, so they can send potential leading ladies in with his caviare every day — can’t be bad.’
‘Is Claudine Lauzerte going to be in Hercule?’
‘I’m sure. If Tristan had had his way, she’d have played Elisabetta, but she’s even older than Dame Hermione.’
‘Did she give him that peacock-blue shirt and jeans he never takes off?’
‘Dunno,’ said Ogborne, going vague. ‘Secrets and Lies is on at the Odeon. Fancy going to see it this evening?’
‘I might. Did the crew give him a Lalique lighter covered in lilies at the end of the shoot?’
‘Naah,’ said Ogborne. ‘Bit upmarket for us.’
Karen thought she’d better offer some plums of gossip.
‘We’ll be getting the DNA results tomorrow or Tuesday, Tristan’s as well, if they pull their fingers out,’ she said. ‘Botanists in Forensic are frightfully excited. Among the plants shoved up Beattie’s vagina’, she lowered her voice as the couple at the next table stopped talking, ‘was a really rare white rock rose and an even rarer relation of the monkey orchid, the chimpanzee, which hasn’t been found in England for fifty years.’ She collapsed with laughter. ‘So there’s added pressure to locate their place of origin.’
‘Shouldn’t fink they needed any potting compost up Beattie’s snatch,’ grinned Ogborne.
‘What’s Claudine like?’
‘Well,’ Ogborne deliberated, ‘Valentin described her as a bourgeois ’ousewife whose face had been touched by the finger of God.’
‘Did anything happen between her and Tristan?’
‘I gotta go back to the set. You coming to that movie?’
‘Yeah, sure.’
Ogborne glanced round furtively.
‘Tristan was giving Madame Vierge direction one day,’ he murmured. ‘She was in costume, long-sleeved purple dress, little lacy gloves. Tristan was squatting down, holdin’ her hands, talking intensely, as he often does with Hermione and Chloe, or even Baby and Mikhail, but I noticed his finger was caressing the gap between her sleeve and her glove.’
‘I’ll see you outside the Odeon at the start of the big film,’ said Karen.
She was not at all pleased when a call on her mobile asked her to whizz over to Penscombe to investigate the whereabouts of Rupert Campbell-Black. Interpol had had no success in finding him, so Gerald Portland wanted her and Gablecross to pump Taggie.
Neither of them talked on the drive. Karen’s head was full of Tristan and how to prove his innocence. Gablecross was feeling beleaguered. All his Brownie points over Hermione’s CD and Rozzy’s presents had been cancelled because he’d had to leave his silver-wedding lunch in the middle of the speeches. Nor would Margaret ever forgive him for snatching up the pink roses and silver foliage, sent by her sister and Australian brother-in-law, to hand over as a peace-offering to Taggie after his mauling of Tabitha last Thursday.
‘No-one’s got any right to live in such a big house,’ fumed Karen, as she pressed Rupert’s doorbell with unnecessary force. ‘This place would make a wonderful hospital.’
Xavier and a pack of dogs answered the door. For a second he and Karen gazed at each other. Then he said, ‘My mother can’t be disturbed, she’s crying. My sister Bianca is comforting her.’
What a beautiful child, thought Karen, wondering how he fitted into such a privileged white right-wing environment.
‘Why’s she crying?’ she asked.
‘Because her dog died. Shall I give her those flowers?’ Xav eyed the pink roses in Gablecross’s hand.
‘No, we’d like a word with her.’
‘She’s down at the graveyard,’ explained Xav. ‘I’ll take you, if you promise not to upset her. My father left me in charge.’
Karen’s disapproval evaporated when Xav introduced her to Peppy Koala on the way. She had won twenty-five pounds on him in the police sweepstake and bought a ribbed scarlet sweater, which she had worn to dramatic effect at the local disco.
‘When did your dog Gertrude die?’ asked Gablecross, admiring the handsome glossy chestnut.
‘Tab brought her home on Sunday night. I woke and looked out of the window. She had blood all over her dress. Daddy went off in the helicopter earlier.’
‘Did he?’ Gablecross stroked Peppy Koala’s sleek, arched neck only a little faster.
‘He took his gun because he was so angry.’
‘When did he get back?’
‘Before Tab. When she arrived with Gertrude, Daddy went out and hugged her. He hadn’t seen her for years. She cries a lot and looks past you. Gertrude’s funeral was the next day. Mummy won’t cry in front of Tab, but Tab’s gone to polo today. Daddy promised us Gertrude has gone to heaven, but Bianca’s worried Rannaldini’s gone there too and might hurt Gertrude again. But Daddy said Rannaldini would be sitting in a bonfire with demons sticking these into him.’ As he closed Peppy’s half-door, Xav tapped a pitchfork leaning against the wall. ‘Tab’s mother’s staying too. She’s a drip. Daddy hates her.’
‘Are you sure your father took the helicopter on Sunday night?’
‘I said so, didn’t I?’
‘Where’s he now?’
‘Abroad, to find out more about Tab’s boyfriend who’s in prison.’
Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings, thought Gablecross in jubilation.
They found Taggie planting heartsease and polyanthus round Gertrude’s grave. Bianca was helping her with a toy trowel. Both children were dispatched to the kitchen to organize cups of tea.
The moment Gablecross laid the roses beside Gertrude’s wonky cross, Taggie started to cry again.
‘I’m so sorry.’ She collapsed on to the grave of Rupert’s great Olympic horse, Revenge. ‘But Gertrude was with me the whole time before I married and when I lost the babies, and when Beattie Johnson dumped twice. I thought she’d be jealous when we adopted Bianca and Xav. We had to leave her for six weeks when we went to Bogotá, but beyond the odd sniff, she loved them, finished up the food they didn’t like. She always kept a biscuit hidden in her basket so she could rush out and eat it very slowly in front of the other dogs. I’m sorry.’
Taggie raised streaming eyes to Karen and Gablecross. ‘She was such a mascot. I live in such a lovely house, but it seems so empty without Gertrude. I feel our luck’s running out.’
‘No, it isn’t,’ protested Karen, putting an arm round Taggie’s shoulders. ‘You’ve got everything to live for. Those kids are so cute.’
‘It’s probably because Rupert’s first wife’s staying,’ confessed Taggie, wiping her nose with the back of her hand and covering her face with earth. ‘She keeps saying Gertrude “had a good innings”, like some stupid cricketer. Oh, God, I’m being a bitch. Lysander, Rupert’s assistant, has an incredibly clever, handsome headmaster father, who’s coming to supper tonight. He and Helen can quote poetry at each other.’
The afternoon sun peering through a lime tree showed up her dreadful pallor.
‘Mrs Campbell-Black,’ said Gablecross, feeling a louse, ‘I know this is distressing, but Beattie Johnson’s last call on Friday night was to your husband. According to Gordon Dillon on the Scorpion, she had some dirt on him and some other woman while you’ve been married.’
Taggie looked up in bewilderment, Karen in horror.
‘Your husband was overheard telling Beattie he’d bury her. He left the set at midnight. An hour and a half later she was dead. Have you any idea of his movements that night?’