"What a terribly rude person he is," said Queenie.
"Yes. There's not a single Cambridge address in this book,Queenie.".
"Perhaps she knows it so well she doesn't need to write it down."
"At her time of life you forget your own name if you don'twrite it down."
Olive closed the book. "What are we going to do? We can't just leave it. I thought Gwen was looking very unwell when I saw her on Sunday. She looked as if she ought to have been inbed. And the next thing we know is she's gone off first thing next morning to stay with people no one has ever heard of inCambridge. In a taxi? When did Gwen ever go anywhere in a taxi, always supposing she knew how to order one."
"Well, dear, I wouldn't trust that man Cellini an inch."
"Then what were you doing smirking at him in that flirtatiousway?"
He should have been out, calling at DIY places and hardware stores, but he was afraid to leave those two old hags at large in the house. They would be bound to search it. And what if old Chawcer had kept a key to his flat? He'd never inquired and, to his knowledge, she hadn't been in there while he was out. On the other hand, she had never told him she possessed a key to his place and he'd never asked. If she had one they would find it. He dared not take the risk of going out.
Outside his flat he sat on the top step of the tiled flight and listened. He heard them come out of the drawing room. He could hear their voices, twittering to each other shrilly. Like birds of prey, he thought, ravens or whatever those creatureswere that you saw pecking at dead things on motorway verges. Dead things-his comparison reminded him of the body that lay, inadequately wrapped, behind the cocktail cabinet not many feet away from him. It was very warm in the flat. He remembered what had happened to Danila's body when it got warm and he went about, opening windows.
It seemed those two had gone into the kitchen. He crept down a floor, twinges running through his back. From there he could hear them banging about in the kitchen and wash house.What were they looking for? They came back into the hall andhe went back to halfway up the last flight. Not that there was much chance of their seeing or hearing him. Their lumbering progress up the stairs was too slow for that as they puffed and panted and took rests, clinging, he guessed, to the banisters. Ofc ourse they were making for old Chawcer's bedroom, and their presence there made him more uneasy than ever. From the top landing, through the banister rail, he watched them go into the room. To his relief they didn't close the door. He heard them walking about in there, moving small pieces of furniture, shifting ornaments about. One of them coughed, no doubt from dust released when a curtain was lifted or a shelf searched.
He didn't like them being in there. That was where he had killed her and he still wondered if he had left behind some evidence of his presence and his activities. Then he rememberedh e had taken the top sheet off her bed to wrap her in. A wash of heat flooded over him. Old women would be bound to spo tthat, it was the kind of thing they noticed. He found himself trembling all over, his hands shaking and out of control.
But they came out of the room after about ten minutes andhe heard Ma Fordyce say as they went down the stairs, "I feel sure there's something we've missed, Queenie. It's just a feeling I have."
"So have I, dear. There's something in this house that if wecould find it would tell us at once where she is and whatshe's up to."
"I'm not so sure of that."
The rest of what Ma Fordyce said he could no longer hear.By that time she was down in the hallway and all that was audibleto him was the twitter of their voices. He listened for thefront door to open and close.
Putting her coat on, Queenie said that the weather was getting hot again. There was something unnatural about it, didn't Olive think?
"Global warming," said Olive. "I expect the earth will burn up but at least we won't still be here to see it."
"Now isn't that being a wee bit morbid, dear?"
"Just realistic. I've been thinking about that missing sheet.
Gwen is such a peculiar woman, perhaps she never used a topsheet, just a blanket and an eiderdown."
"Oh, no, dear. I don't mean she's not peculiar. I absolutely agree with you there. But as to not using a top sheet, I know she did. I distinctly remember seeing one when we used to go in to her bedroom before she went into hospital. Very grubby it was, too."
"Then where is it?" said Olive as they closed the front door behind them and went down the path into St. Blaise Avenue.
It was the middle of the afternoon before Mix succeeded in buying a sufficiently large and stout plastic bag. The pain in his back which had eased a little that morning now came back with stabbing shafts and a very unpleasant kind of prickling like red hotneedles being dragged up and down his vertebrae. Once the principal aim of his errand was satisfied, he had meant to go into the Job Centre, but he was finding that he could scarcely walk upright and the negligible weight of the plastic bag was almost too much for him. If he went into the Job Centre like that they'd think he'd come in to apply for incapacity benefit. At this rate, maybe it would come to that…
Once he was home again, a little comforted by a large BootCamp-he had run out of gin-he braced himself to take thebody out of its sheet wrapping and transfer it to the bag. He crawled toward it on his hands and knees but, as he pulled himself up by holding on to the cocktail cabinet, he knew he would be unable to move even so relatively light a piece of furniturewithout injuring his back perhaps beyond cure, and there was no other way of getting the body out from behind it, for thetwo rear corners of the cabinet were close up against the walls that met at right angles.
Panic took hold of him. Tears started in his eyes and he drummed on the floor with his fists. After a while, doing his best to control himself, he crawled into the kitchen and, once more hauling himself up, took four strong ibuprofen and swallowed them down with the Boot Camp dregs.
Some hours later Olive came back to St. Blaise House, bringing her niece Hazel Akwaa. She felt she needed the support of a sensible younger person. The sun was setting and crimsonlight lit up the sky over Shepherd's Bush and Acton when the two women went out into the garden. On the other side of the wall, where the fairy light palm tree rivaled the sunset, Mr.Singh was throwing down handfuls of corn for his geese.
He said, "Good evening, Mesdames," with exquisitepoliteness.
"I love your tree," said Hazel. "It's gorgeous."
"You are very kind. In the absence of a gardener, my wife and I felt the place needed a soupcon of beautifying. How is Miss Chawcer?"
"She seems to have gone away to convalesce with friends."It was the middle of the afternoon before Mix succeeded in buying a sufficiently large and stout plastic bag. The pain in hisback which had eased a little that morning now came back withstabbing shafts and a very unpleasant kind of prickling like redhotneedles being dragged up and down his vertebrae. Oncethe principal aim of his errand was satisfied, he had meantto go into the Job Centre, but he was finding that he could"
To the countryside, I hope? That will do her good."
Olive was looking round for Otto. "D'you know," she said,"I haven't set eyes on that cat since the day before yesterday."
"Now you mention it," said Mr. Singh, "nor have I. Not, I must say, that I find this a matter for regret. It is such a predator that I fear my poor geese may meet the same fate as my guinea fowl."
Throwing a final handful of corn, he gave Olive and Hazel akind of court bow and went off into his house. The geese cackledand gobbled.
"Have a look at that flowerbed," said Hazel. "Doesn't it look as if someone's been digging a grave?"