“That’s her. That’s Miss Toffee-nose.”
“Pretty. In an obvious sort of way. And definitely, that nose is made of the finest toffee. How did you get it?” She examined the back.
I told her about my stalking of Liza Caldwell. I hesitated about telling her about breaking into the house, but she seemed ready to take on as much of my mad world as I could give her. I told her about the albums and the photos of Tony and Liza.
“They’re related, aren’t they?!” She was excited, enthralled by the mystery. She was kneeling in front of me, her dark eyes glinting like oil, her thin face lit up.
“That’s what I reckon. But there’s no resemblance.”
“Cousins or something. They’ve made it up. To keep you away. To stop you finding Tony. He could be alive. Oh, you must find out!” She was bouncing up and down on her knees like a puppy. I wished I had her suppleness.
“Calm down. I will. I’ll go see Kate and ask her to her face what’s going on.
All right?”
She was beaming. She sprung to her feet. “I’ll make us a cuppa. Do you know where she lives?”
I thought I knew. Kate hadn’t told me where she lived, just her phone number. It was in Chelsea but the operator refused to give me the address behind the number despite my pleas. But assuming Catriona and Kate were one and the same, her address as next of kin was in Tony Caldwell’s file. I used to pride myself on my memory, something that really helped when I was in the Force. Even now it could still come up trumps.
SEVENTEEN
Of course, I thought – as I wandered down the elegant Chelsea street the next afternoon – the address could be as fake as the marriage between Tony Caldwell and Liza. But somehow I thought not. Onslow Square was the right sort of stamping ground for a girl like Kate Graveney. I imagined the square was especially beautiful in summer, with the trees shading and defending the central private park, and the tall Georgian house fronts gazing down snootily at plebs like me. Most of the buildings were terraced and single-fronted – a door and one massive bay window. But here and there came a break in the pattern and a house stood clear of its neighbours by taking up twice the width.
Kate’s house – the one I thought was hers – was one of those. I walked past, then studied it from behind a parked automobile. There were one or two other cars around, big ones, expensive ones, but no Riley; then I saw the garage doors to the left of the flight of steps going up to the front door. The house was four storeys high and fronted by tall columns. It was painted white and had the girth of a good-sized hotel. It was as far removed from our two-room tenement flat in Kilpatrick as Buckingham Palace itself.
It was growing dark and the street lamps were coming on, shedding pale light over the scene. If I stood around any longer I’d be noticed. The last thing I needed was a local bobby checking me over. Lights began to come on inside, revealing tall ceilings and the occasional figure moving through the rooms. I gathered my jangling nerves and my well-honed inferiority complex, and walked towards the front door.
I stood for a long moment on the top stair, gazing at the heavy brass knocker.
Though I’d rehearsed my questions the night before with Val and again today a thousand times, I wasn’t certain that I’d be able to get them out. Hell, I might not even get through the door! I sucked in air, lifted up my hand and gave the knocker a good couple of thwacks. My mind was flipping like a jitterbug. Nothing happened for the longest while, then the door opened and a blaze of light blinded me.
“Yes, sir, can I help you?” It was the voice of a young woman, I assumed a maid.
“I’d like to see Miss Graveney. Is she in, please?”
I could now make out the girl’s face. She wore a small white cap and a dark outfit and white gloves. She looked scrubbed and clean and saucy, the sort you’d love to meet for a drink on a Saturday night before going dancing. You knew she’d be a great dancer.
“Is Miss Graveney expecting you, sir?”
Bingo! “I wouldn’t be surprised.” The girl looked puzzled. “Can you just tell her that Daniel McRae is here. She’ll know why.” She might, but would she see me? “I’ll see if Miss Graveney is taking visitors, sir. It is near supper time.
Perhaps you would like to come in and wait?”
“Yes, thank you.”
The maid curtsied, not something you see too much of around Castlemilk.
“Certainly, sir. Please follow me.”
I stepped inside the portico while the maid closed the outer door. She pushed at the internal doors and I followed her into a soaring hallway floored in black and white diamond-shaped tiles. A number of doors were set in the walls. A sweep of banister rose up either side and reappeared as the rail of a long gallery, high overhead. All it lacked was a pulpit. I could see the minstrels playing at Christmas, or a gang of choir boys. Nice, very nice. My office and bedroom could be tucked into a corner of this cathedral and would still leave room for a good-sized congregation.
The maid was prancing neatly across the ballroom floor. I knew she was a dancer.
I scampered after her. She opened a door and invited me in. I walked past her while she held the door. It was a library.
“I will inform Miss Graveney and see if she will see you. If you would like to take a seat, sir?”
There was a fair choice. It was like one of the good clubs I’d been scared to go into: a big room filled floor to ceiling with more books, and in much better condition, than the whole of the Kilpatrick public library. I wondered if they were as well read. Half a dozen leather armchairs spread themselves comfortably around three low tables, one with newspapers neatly arranged on it. A log fire sputtered in a fireplace where you could have roasted an ox. Maybe they cooked one at Christmas. The lighting was amber, except where standard lamps cast bright cones to read by. A place to sit and muse and watch the flames eating up the logs, and feel smug about your place in the world.
“Shall I take your hat and coat, sir?”
“It’s fine. I’ll just park them beside me.” I didn’t know how long I might be staying but thought it best to have all my kit by me in case of a quick exit.
“Very good, sir.”
I folded my coat and laid it on the table nearest the fire. I placed my hat carefully on top of it. I sank into the huge leather arms of a chair next to the hearth and facing the door. I waited. I waited and wondered how folk got to be this rich. Inherited wealth, passed down from some long gone establishment rogue; a sucker-up to the King maybe, or an adventurer with the East India Company carving up continents. Lending money for trade, plundering the new world, setting up factories and screwing the poor. Nobody got this rich by being nice. Was I jealous? Damn right.
I don’t know how long my reverie lasted but it stopped when the maid opened the door and let the Queen walk in. I got to my feet. It was the first time I’d seen Kate Graveney without an outdoor coat and hat. She wore a dark blue dress cut to mid-calf. Its soft contours confirmed my febrile imaginings about her figure. A double string of pearls sat easily across her bosom, came to a knot and dropped down to her trim waist. She was all poise and grace and languor. Thoroughly at ease in her natural setting, like a big cat on an African plain.
“Thank you, Millie. Get me two scotches, will you? Large ones,” she said.
Millie the maid, was it? I watched her go to a piece of the bookcase and press a panel. A slice of the bookcase opened up revealing a drinks cabinet.
“Every home should have one,” I said indicating the hidden drinks unit but possibly covering Millie too.
“I expect you manage, Mr McRae,” said Kate dryly.
Millie presented our drinks on a silver tray that I took to be the real thing.