As if prompted by her thought, the suspicious face of Brenda Chew suddenly poked round the dining-room door. ‘Donald, I’m not going to warn you again. If you’re drunk tonight, I don’t want you with me.’
The face vanished as quickly as it had appeared. Donald Chew’s jaw fell and into the embarrassed vacuum Carole easily dropped a change of subject. ‘Donald, I’d like to talk a bit more about Nigel Ackford.’
But it wasn’t the right subject. The claret-coloured face clouded instantly. ‘There’s not much purpose in that, Carole. Nigel’s death was very sad, a tragedy for one so young, but I don’t really think we should dwell on it. Time to move on. Apart from anything else, I seem to remember you saying you’d never met him.’
‘That’s true, but my friend did.’
Donald Chew sighed ingenuously. ‘I don’t honestly think I have anything more to say about Nigel Ackford.’
Carole took a risk. ‘You wouldn’t by any chance know about a note that was found in his room at the hotel?’
The solicitor looked very alarmed. ‘What do you mean?’
His reaction was sufficient for her to persevere. ‘A note was found in the four-poster room early on the evening of the dinner. It read:
ENJOY THIS EVENING.
IF YOU’RE NOT SENSIBLE,
IT’LL BE YOUR LAST.
Rather than cranking up his anxiety, to Carole’s surprise, this seemed to relax Donald Chew. ‘Oh yes.’ he smiled. ‘I left that for him.’
‘But why?’
‘To wish him luck for the evening.’
His response sounded innocent, but Carole had to say, ‘It doesn’t sound like a good-luck wish.’
He sighed. ‘Nigel and I had argued about a lot of things – professional things – he had all kinds of misplaced scruples about our work. He didn’t seem to understand how necessary solicitors are for the smooth-running of life and society, he didn’t realize how much good we do. I tried to persuade him, and engineered his introduction to the Pillars of Sussex. It was a terrific opportunity for someone his age. So I left him the note. He knew what it meant. Enjoy yourself, join in, don’t get on your high horse about ethics. If you don’t do as I suggest, I said – then this is the last Pillars of Sussex evening you’ll ever attend.’
‘Oh.’ Carole was utterly deflated. The explanation sounded all too credible. Had Jude over-dramatized once again?
‘Did you tell the police about the note, Donald?’
‘Of course I didn’t. Given the way the night ended, I wasn’t going to volunteer the fact that I’d been up to his room.’
‘The room must’ve been locked. How did you get the letter in?’
‘Pushed it under the door. I was only wishing him luck, for heaven’s sake. There was nothing sinister about it.’
‘Did you know it was Kerry Hartson who found the note?’
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘Or that later that night it disappeared?’
‘No.’
The openness of his reply suggested that Donald Chew was probably telling the truth. Time to move on. ‘I was wondering,’ she said, ‘about Nigel Ackford’s private life.’
The solicitor spread his hands wide. ‘Who can say? These young people, they don’t get married early like my generation did. Goodness knows what they get up to.’
‘But do you happen to know what Nigel himself got up to?’
A shake of the head. ‘Not really. Some talk of a girlfriend at some stage.’ His words were slurring badly now. As his wife had feared, Donald Chew was already very drunk. ‘W-working in a building society or something – I never met her.’
‘But, Donald, you knew him well.’
‘Just in the way a boss knows an employee.’
‘Did you ever hear any suggestion – or get any impression that Nigel Ackford might have been gay?’
‘Gay?’ The word went through him like an electric shock.
‘Yes. Homosexual.’
‘Why would I know about that?’ he asked in a state of panic.
‘Because you worked with him.’
‘No. I don’t think . . . No, there was nothing of that. You’ve got the wrong end of the stick.’ He lumbered to his feet. ‘Excuse me, I must – sorry. Call of nature.’
And he stumbled out of the bar.
When the Pillars of Sussex assembled with their womenfolk, Carole was struck, not for the first time, at how much easier men have it on formal occasions. For them, ‘black tie’ on an invitation is a very simple directive. And, though some try to tart up the basic image with frilly shirts, rainbow ties, cummerbunds and amusing braces, at bottom they all know that they’ll look fine in a simple, unadorned dinner suit.
Whereas for women, the potential choices are infinite. Even within the description of a ‘little black dress’. Carole was aware that the all-purpose one she was wearing (and had worn for every formal event since her retirement) too obviously trumpeted its Marks and Spencer’s origins. Those of the Pillars’ womenfolk who had also opted for black were wearing much more expensive designer labels, but without the aplomb with which such garments were modelled in fashion magazines.
And the women who had ventured beyond black provided a wonderful demonstration of the old truism that money does not necessarily imply taste. There must be a way of dressing the older woman elegantly for a formal evening, but British designers appeared not to have found it. The basic sartorial rule among the Pillars’ wives seemed to be that all their dresses should be made of two contrasting fabrics, divided at the waist. (Since most of the guests were of an age when waists become ill-defined, this was a bad idea.) Whether the top half was in heavy velvet and the bottom in something silky and diaphanous, or vice versa, did not seem to matter. Colours were either too garish or too subdued, and accessories gold and fussy. The womenfolk would have looked better if they’d simply worn the price tickets. In that way, they could have made the main point – how much they’d paid for the dresses – without looking dreadful in them.
As if to provide a shaming benchmark for their lack of taste, among the womenfolk floated Suzy Longthorne, stunning in the simplest of long sleeveless dresses in burgundy silk. Carole felt grateful for the anonymity of her own Marks & Spencer’s black.
Suzy recognized her and flashed a quick professional smile. ‘Did I gather you were one of the people in charge?’
‘A mere helper. You’ll find the one who gives the orders is Brenda Chew. Over there in the gold brocade skirt with the green bolero jacket.’
‘Right.’ Suzy Longthorne looked anxiously at her Piaget watch. ‘I want to get them through to the dining room soon. Otherwise I’ll have a grumpy chef on my hands. The first course is a soufflé.’
‘Sounds great.’ If the hotelier thought she was one of the organizers, Carole might as well take advantage of the fact. ‘Is it you we have to thank for persuading your ex-husband to be our auctioneer tonight?’
‘Nothing to do with me,’ Suzy replied, with considerable asperity. Another look at the Piaget. ‘He hasn’t arrived yet. Always leaves everything to the last minute.’
‘Do you think he’ll come?’
‘If Rick says he’s going to do something, he’ll do it. He’s always true to his word.’ A wry grin came to the famous lips. ‘Well, professionally at least. Not perhaps if you’re married to him. I’ll go and have a word with Mrs Chew. Mrs Chew, would you like me to start telling your guests to move through?’
Suzy wafted away, and Carole was joined by James Baxter who, as current president of the Pillars of Sussex, felt it his duty to meet everyone. He introduced himself and, with some puzzlement, asked who she was with. He thought he knew all the members’ wives and girlfriends; the idea that someone had brought along a new specimen of womanfolk apparently caused him considerable excitement.