‘Ailsa Grant was just someone my wife and I knew when we lived here, before moving to Glasgow. Hearing her name gave me a shock because I’d almost forgotten her, poor girl. Her father bumped her off, but you lot failed to nail him for it.’
‘That’s one opinion,’ Fleming said dryly. ‘So – what can you tell us about her?’
‘Not a lot, to be honest. Diane – my wife – knew her better than I did. She was blonde, quite good-looking – that’s about it.’
‘And you didn’t keep in touch with her in Glasgow?’
‘I didn’t, of course. Diane may have – you’d need to ask her.’
‘But you never saw her in Glasgow?’
‘No.’ A flat, definite response.
‘Or know who her friends were there?’
‘No.’ He was much more confident now. ‘Like I said, I’d no contact with her after we left here.’ He got up. ‘That’s all I can tell you. And that’s your five minutes. I’m leaving.’
Neither officer made any move to stop him. MacNee got up to open the door and send him away with the constable on duty, then signed off the recording and came back to sit down again.
‘Something’s eating him. But what?’
Fleming considered. ‘We got him on the raw with the questions about Lindsay. But apart from reacting when her name was first mentioned, he was pretty collected about Ailsa. Does that just mean he was taken aback at the idea of a link?’
‘Or maybe he’s been preparing his answers to those questions ever since he knew – or sort of knew – we would be asking them,’ MacNee said more cynically. ‘How did you know there was bad feeling between him and Lindsay anyway?’
‘From Jaki Johnston via Tansy. She and Andy Mac were a bit put out that you’d stolen a march on them.’
MacNee grinned. ‘I’ll take her with me when I go back to see Mrs Hodge. She’s away in Glasgow for a couple of days.’
‘Mmm.’ Fleming wasn’t really listening. ‘I’m going to have to clue them in about the possible connections. I’d hoped we could maybe find out a bit more about it first, because—’
‘Makes sense to me.’ MacNee didn’t wait to hear the arguments for and against. ‘Let’s get on with it. Might be interesting to know how the Grants were occupying themselves last night.’
‘It might indeed. But someone else can talk to them this time – I’ve seen as much of the road down to the Mull as I want to. Possibly slightly more than that.’
It was very quiet and very dark in the drawing room, with the curtains drawn. There was one lamp lit and the fire was flickering; Sylvia Lascelles had drawn her wheelchair as close to the blaze as she could. She was sitting in a hunched position, as if she was simply too weary to straighten up.
She was staring into the flames, and somewhere a clock was ticking, but that, with the occasional crackle from the fire, was the only sound. Then suddenly, behind her, she heard the French windows being cautiously opened. The curtain rings rattled, and she swivelled round in her chair.
A man was coming in – a dark, swarthy man, who when he saw her alone in the room, smiled. ‘Well, well, well!’ he said. ‘All by yourself? That’s good. That’s
very
good.’ He advanced towards her.
She looked back, her eyes wide in horror. Then she screamed.
‘Cut!’ The clack of the clapperboard broke the tension. ‘Fantastic!’
Barrie Craig came hurrying over to Sylvia. ‘You were absolutely amazing, darling. You hit it perfectly – if the technical stuff is OK, it’s in the can.’
Sylvia laughed shakily. ‘I talked myself into it. I could believe there was someone ready to kill me.’
‘No wonder, sweetie, considering last night. And to go on today, after all – that’s star quality.’ He went to talk to Tony Laidlaw and the cameraman in the far corner and the other actor followed him to look at the clip running. Then Barrie turned, gave a thumbs-up and came over to take her hand. ‘It’s a wrap. I don’t know how you do it, darling. And you look great on the screen, really wonderful.’
‘Don’t be a fool, Barrie, of course I don’t.’ Sylvia found Barrie’s fulsomeness difficult at the best of times, and this wasn’t the best of times. She disengaged her hand. ‘I look a wreck, and you know it. The only reason it’s been possible at all is that my persecuted character would be showing signs of strain and ancient frailty, and it’s saved Maggie in Make-up a job. I’m too old to relish insincerity.’
Barrie looked crushed. ‘But darling, I meant it – I’m your biggest fan! Of course you’re not looking your fantastic best, but you look – you look like a crushed flower—’
Tony, seeing a dangerous look in Sylvia’s eye, came over. ‘Barrie, could you go and have a word about the rest of the schedule?’ Then, turning to Sylvia, he said gruffly, ‘You’re exhausted. I’m taking you back to your room.’
She gave him her most ravishing smile. ‘I do love a masterful man! It reminds me of my darling Laddie – though of course when he said he was taking me back to my room it was for a rather different reason.’ She looked naughtily up at him under her lashes.
It surprised a laugh from Tony. ‘Don’t tempt me!’ he said, and wheeled her out.
When he had gone, Sylvia sank back in her chair, her hand to her head. It was aching, but she couldn’t risk any more painkillers yet. She was bone-weary, and she needed to lie down. She fetched her stick and stepped out of her chair, groaning a little at the pain; it was a relief to be alone, when she didn’t feel she must stifle it.
There was a handle on the wall by the bed, put there for Laddie, which made getting in easier, and she lay down thankfully, trembling from the effort, and pulled a cashmere rug over herself. She should really have waited for Frocks to help her out of her costume, but as lovely Tony had noticed, she felt completely drained.
Sylvia closed her eyes. Thoughts swooped around in her mind like the great bats she and Laddie had seen in Tonga, staying at that idyllic hotel. The white sand, the palm trees . . . and then she was asleep.
Laddie was coming along the beach, towards where she was lying in the sun, and she sat up smiling, holding out her arms. But his face, as he came towards her, was dark and menacing, and he held a knife in his hand. She cried out, the sound strangled in her throat, trying to jump up and run away from this monster, but now her legs were old and twisted and powerless . . .
A tap on the door woke her and she sat up suddenly with a cry that was half relief, half pain. Mrs Boyter’s voice said, ‘Madam, are you awake?’
‘Yes, yes. Come in.’ She eased herself up to a sitting position, trying to clear her mind.
Mrs Boyter bustled in. ‘There’s police officers wanting to talk to you. But I told them I’d see if you were at home, and I could just say you’re not, if you’re feeling a bit peelie-wallie.’
It was incongruous to see someone in a bright pink pinny adopt the gravitas, if not the vocabulary, of Jeeves at his most sombre. ‘Darling Mrs B, you’re a treasure! But of course I must. If you could just slip another couple of pillows at my back, I shall receive them here, in bed, like
le Roi Soleil
having a levée.’
Uncomprehending but obedient, Mrs Boyter did as she was asked, then departed. Sylvia reached for the mirror which always lay beside her bed, looked at it, and grimaced. She looked like a pantomime witch, but there wasn’t much she could do about it now except pat her hair into place and prepare to smile.
The room Mrs Boyter showed them into was big and spacious, with a heavily ornamented ceiling and a marble fireplace – once the dining room, Fleming guessed. There was no fire burning but alone of the rooms she had been into in this house it was adequately heated.
Sylvia Lascelles was propped up in bed. She greeted them with an apology for being found resting, with that same charming smile. If it hadn’t been for that, Fleming wondered if she would have recognized her. The last time, Sylvia had been wearing something very soft in a hazy mauvy-grey which emphasized the colour of her eyes; today she was wearing a shabby lovat-green twinset and her make-up could only be described as garish.
MacNee, smiling back, didn’t seem to have noticed, but Sylvia caught Fleming’s glance and gave her throaty laugh. ‘I haven’t taken leave of my senses, Inspector Fleming. I just hadn’t the energy to change after they’d finished with me this afternoon. Just imagine that it’s only the stage make-up that’s turned me into a raddled old hag.’
Fleming, embarrassed, made suitable protestations, while MacNee, enjoying his boss’s discomfort, said gallantly that he didn’t doubt it for a minute, and was rewarded with another smile and, ‘You’re a wicked flatterer, Sergeant MacNee!’
Realizing that MacNee was overcome by Sylvia remembering his name, Fleming took control. ‘I know you must be very tired, Miss Lascelles, but you’ll understand it’s important for us to know exactly what happened last night.’
‘Yes, of course. I felt so confused last night – shock, I suppose – but Marcus and I were talking it through this morning before he left hospital and I’ve got it much clearer now. Oh, do sit down, won’t you?’
As she fetched a chair, Fleming quietly ground her teeth. The last thing you wanted was your two principal witnesses discussing their evidence. There was always a tendency to rationalize, to be influenced by what the other person believed they had seen, whereas discrepancies were often revealing. They’d just have to read between the lines when they compared the two statements.
‘I was sitting, just looking out into the garden. The stars, the peace – I live in a tiny London flat, and Tulach is simply heaven. I heard Jaki saying goodnight to Marcus in the hall and I remember looking at the clock, because it seemed so early – before ten. But they’ve just broken up their relationship, you know, so I suppose the evening was dragging, rather. I could hear Marcus moving about, locking up, probably.
‘Then a little later, the doorbell rang—’
‘Did you notice the time?’ MacNee had taken out his notebook.
‘I’m afraid not, Sergeant MacNee. But I don’t think it was that much later. I assumed it was one of the
Playfair
people – there were problems with the schedule, and I remember hoping they wouldn’t keep darling Marcus up late. He leads such a hectic life; I hoped he would get a good rest while he was down here.’
She spoke with a mother’s fondness, Fleming thought. Perhaps stepmother hadn’t been such a false description after all.
Sylvia was going on, quite collectedly. ‘The window looks out on to the terrace. My bedside light was on, but I was sitting in shadow to have a better view of the night sky. I didn’t notice anything, until there was a sound, something—’
‘What kind of sound?’ Fleming interrupted.
Sylvia looked helpless. ‘I – I don’t really know. Just something. Then I thought I sensed a movement but even when I leaned forward I couldn’t see properly. I can’t see right along to the end of the house. Go and look – you’ll see what I mean.’
MacNee and Fleming walked over to the two sash windows, side by side. From the right-hand one, looking to your right, you could see just beyond the French windows, but no further.
Fleming turned back into the room. ‘Were the curtains drawn across the drawing-room window?’
‘No, I could see the light from it on the terrace. Then I heard a scuffle, and I levered myself up to try to see what was happening. I heard Marcus cry out and there was a man right behind him. I saw Marcus fall—’ She caught her breath.
‘A man – did you see what he looked like?’ Fleming asked gently.
‘No. No, I couldn’t, I couldn’t!’ She was obviously upset by this. ‘He was muffled up, with a hood – I couldn’t see clearly—’
‘But definitely a man?’
Sylvia paused. ‘I thought it was a man,’ she said slowly, ‘but I couldn’t positively state that it wasn’t a tall woman. I – I just don’t know. I couldn’t take in what was happening, make any sense of it. It was all so – so unreal!’ Again, she showed signs of becoming upset.
‘Don’t distress yourself.’ Fleming’s voice was warm and sympathetic. ‘If you can manage to tell us a few more things, we’ll leave you to rest.’
‘Yes, yes, of course I can!’ Sylvia said fiercely. ‘I must. Go on.’
‘We haven’t found the weapon. Did you see the man use it, or throw it away?’
‘No. As Marcus fell, I screamed. He had bent over Marcus, but then he looked up and saw me, I think, and took off across the garden. He disappeared beyond the shrubbery – and that’s all, really. Poor Jaki had to deal with everything. I could only bring blankets and hot bottles, thinking all the time Marcus was going to die—’ She dabbed at her eyes with a handkerchief.
MacNee leaned forward from his chair and patted her hand. ‘But he didn’t, Miss Lascelles. And if you hadn’t screamed, the man might have gone on to finish the job. You probably saved his life.’
‘I’d like to think so. I feel so useless, nowadays.’
‘People still want to see you on the screen,’ MacNee assured her. ‘It’ll be a real treat to see you acting again.’
Fleming watched him give her the restrained version of his smile which he used when he didn’t want to alarm the recipient. She cut in, ‘Miss Lascelles, just one more thing. Can you see in the shrubbery there that there’s a gap between those two bushes? Have you ever noticed that?’
Sylvia leaned forward. ‘Yes, I can see where you mean. But I’ve never paid any attention to it before.’