The Room on the Second Floor (25 page)

He paused as he brought his cup over to the table and sat down. Roger waited for the conclusion, which was brief and to the point.

‘There are people around here who feel very bitter towards your uncle and, by extension, his family.’ He took a sip of the steaming coffee and sat back.

‘Yes, I noticed the low rates of pay and that’s why I gave you all a substantial rise.’ In fact it had been his beloved Linda, of course, who had drawn his attention to the abysmal rates. Duggie had been responsible for ensuring that the new pay scales compared well in today’s market. Henri nodded vigorously. Roger went on.

‘But, Henri, there is no getting away from it. However unhappy you may be with your boss, there is very little excuse for attempting murder.’ He thought of a possible exception, ‘Unless your name was Von Stauffenberg, and your boss was a former Austrian painter, with a bit of a space in the testicle department.’ Henri smiled briefly. ‘Besides which, it’s me they are trying to kill, not my uncle. No, there has to be more to it than that. Real hatred or real madness…’ His voice tailed off in thought. Before Henri could respond, the door opened and a familiar voice called in, hopefully.

‘And might that aromatic assault upon my olfactory epithelium be some of your real Italian coffee, freshly picked from the slopes of Sophia Loren and roasted on the thighs of Neapolitan maidens?’ Paddy bent down gingerly and very carefully pulled off his Wellington boots.

Jasper jumped up and greeted him effusively. It appeared that almost everybody in the manor liked the garrulous Irishman. ‘Now,
mon brave
.’ He addressed the butler. ‘If it were to be possible for me to help myself to a soupçon of that fine, scented nectar, sure and you would be making this poor sod-cutter a happy man.’

Henri gave him a tired smile and stood up.

‘Patrick, you may have some of this coffee but, as you know full well, only I have been introduced to the art of using this wonderful machine. Sit down at the table and I will make you one. White and three sugars,
non
?’ Paddy held up four fingers as he cautiously took a seat opposite Roger, taking care not to jog the plaster cast.

‘So, Paddy, what have you been doing over Christmas?’ Roger noted his careful and tentative movements. ‘Hopefully your back has just about recovered from your fall.’

Paddy nodded acknowledgement. ‘Sure and it’s nothing compared to your misfortune sir. At least I have the comfort of knowing who was responsible for my ill-fortune. That dust-obsessed Leviathan who roams the corridors of the manor spraying waxes, polishes and oils all over the place. It is a wonder that my backbone is still attached to my sacrum, and it’s lucky I didn’t break a leg. If you will excuse me mentioning that part of the human body, which is no doubt causing you no small discomfort, even as we sit here sipping our magnificent Italian beverages.’ He took his coffee cup from Henri and toasted them both. ‘Here’s to the health of you gentlemen. Let us hope that any further homicidal assaults upon our benevolent benefactor cease forthwith. May he and his delightful betrothed share a long and peaceful life together.’

‘Amen.’ Henri joined in the toast.

‘What’s your take on the events of the past weeks, Paddy?’ Roger was keen to see what response he got from this comic character. He had, after all, been in his uncle’s employ for many a year, even if his specific job description still defied definition. He could not help thinking that Paddy, too, could well have been responsible for the theft of the furniture. Then a sudden thought crossed his mind. The Irishman had complained loudly to all and sundry that his injuries were as a result of a fall in the house, but nobody had seen the fall. What was it the chief inspector had said about a ladder and a cold frame? No, surely it couldn’t be Paddy?

‘I will give you my opinion, as I see it, your honour.’ Roger registered that Paddy had bestowed yet another title upon him, but did not interrupt. ‘There are many of us who, from time to time, might have felt aggrieved in our employment.’ He hastened to clarify. ‘Only in the employ of your predecessor, you understand, never under the benign and generous guiding hand of a gentleman such as your good self. There is no excuse, or indeed explanation, for attempts upon the sanctity of human life. Not to put too fine a point on it, the person who has carried out these heinous acts is, without the slightest doubt, and in a single word, aberrant, deviant and dysfunctional.’

Roger noted that Paddy’s medical jargon was superior to his arithmetic. Henri added a few other epithets of his own, to show that he concurred.

‘Barking mad. Off his chump. Round the proverbial bend. Cracked, loopy, bonkers, crazy, mad as a hatter. A total nutter.’

He paused for thought. Paddy nodded, helpfully adding the word, ‘loony’. He looked across at Roger. ‘Sure and there are many neurologically unhinged people in this world. No doubt we all have our moments when we do things we later regret.’ Did Roger imagine the hint of a furtive exchange of glances between the two men? ‘But attempting murder? No, that is totally beyond the pale. By all that is holy.’

Still unsure whether he had seen anything untoward, Roger decided to press a little harder. ‘So you are saying that, in your opinion, there are no potential murderers here at the manor? Nobody at all?’ He watched them both closely. All he saw was instant, sincere denial. Henri answered for both of them, so appalled he lapsed into his native tongue.

‘
Absolument impossible
. Nobody, I put my hand on my heart and swear.
Non
, not on your Nellie. Nobody here.’ He paused briefly before conceding, ‘Well, except maybe that crazy lady on the second floor…’

Crazy lady on the second floor? That had to be Rachel Turner. Did they know something about her that he didn’t? Roger waited a moment for him to expand, but Henri had finished.

Roger looked at the two of them. ‘I can’t believe it either, gentlemen. But the fact is, the police are convinced that the person who locked me inside the pillbox may well turn out to be the same person who put the stuff in there in the first place. Indeed, he may have been responsible for the other attempts upon my life. But who the hell could it be…?’ The frustration in his voice was clear for all to hear.

Henri started to reply. ‘Not necessarily the same person…’ Before he could say more, they were interrupted.

‘Do I smell coffee?’ Duggie had been making his final round of the building in readiness for the following day’s grand opening. He was feeling extremely satisfied and relieved that all appeared to be in place. A quick coffee and then up to the second floor, which had already resumed operations after the Christmas festivities. The fact that this was New Year’s Eve did not stand in the way of the Salon and its ever-increasing body of customers. In fact, Mo had pointed out earlier that week that they were busier than ever. Presumably their clients chose to see the old year out with a bang.

‘Hi, Duggie. Take a seat.’

Roger waved him onto a seat on the other side of the table. Jasper promptly did his best to climb onto his lap. While Duggie gently dissuaded the dog and Henri returned to the coffee machine, Roger went on. ‘We have been sitting here, trying hard to think of who might be behind these attempts upon my life. It seems that my uncle was not the nicest of men in his latter years. Nevertheless, I can’t see how that could possibly justify trying to kill me. Any ideas?’

Duggie gratefully accepted an espresso from Henri. ‘The bit I can’t understand is that if somebody was unhappy with your uncle, they might still want to take it out on you. Maybe if you had been closely involved with the manor in the days of your uncle, then OK, I could understand. But you had nothing to do with him or it at all. It’s very strange.’

‘I remember,’ Henri was thinking hard, ‘I remember being told once that every Chinese restaurant, wherever it is in the world, pays protection money to the Chinese Mafia. I don’t know if that’s really true. But you don’t suppose there could be something similar for golf clubs, do you?’

Paddy and Roger’s reaction to such a ludicrous notion had them laughing out loud. It therefore came as a bit of a surprise to all of them to see the colour drain from Duggie’s face. He swallowed the last of his coffee and made a hasty departure.

As he ran up the stairs to the second floor, he prayed to nobody in particular,

‘Oh shit. Please don’t let all this be my fault.’

Chapter 42

Mo was in Reception, and she wasn’t having the best of days.

‘Hi, Mo. How’s it going?’ Duggie resurrected his cheery air. The answer was not promising.

‘Trouble, to be honest, Douglas.’ She was looking concerned. ‘I really don’t know how much longer I’m going to be able to hack it with Ms Turner. Have you seen the latest?’

She pointed across to the opposite wall, just above the cupboard containing the dirty DVDs. There, alongside the clear statement that the Salon was an Equal Opportunities employer, which did not discriminate on the grounds of sex, race, religion or age, was a new notice in a nice gold frame. He stepped across and took a closer look. It was headed in large letters: Client Charter. It contained a list of bullet points, laid out under the initial Mission Statement. Ah, Duggie thought to himself, this should be interesting.

But before he could get into the client charter, the security door burst open. Natascha appeared, wearing a new black leather domination outfit with mini skirt, stockings and vicious high-heeled shoes. Normally very friendly to Duggie, she only spared him a passing glance this time. She headed for Mo, smoke just about coming out of her Russian ears.

‘Listen, Mo. Somebody has been use my corset.’ Mo instinctively corrected her.

‘Using your bustier.’

‘Whatever. Somebody big and fat has been in this thing. Just look.’ Both Mo and Duggie watched as she grabbed the finely stitched leather half cups and pulled them out, away from her breasts. Duggie admired both the needlework and the breasts. He had just had sight of the invoice for the former. At a cost of almost 200 euros, the stitching bloody well had better be good. He immediately realised the problem. The previous occupant of the bra had stretched the leather. Natascha’s charms were now not so much lifted and separated, as virtually camouflaged by the garment.

‘You see? You know rules, Mo. You told all of us. You don’t use something if it don’t fit. We all know that, so who is this pig? She ruin my costume.’ She was spitting. Duggie decided not to get involved. Matters such as this, he felt, were not really his baby. He took a few surreptitious steps back and let the two women get on with it.

Mo did her best to calm the angry Russian down, while Duggie read the charter. The mission statement left him speechless. It read:

The Salon is committed to promoting a satisfying sensory experience and seeks to ensure the individual fulfilment of every client’s demands
.

It’s a brothel, for Christ’s sake
, thought Duggie,
why the hell do we need a mission statement?

As for the bullet points that followed, they contained a bewildering series of meaningless clichés. These ranged from
Total customer satisfaction is paramount
to
Complete accuracy and truthfulness in all promotional documents
. Considering that there were no promotional documents of any kind relating to the services offered by the Salon, that was superfluous, to say the least. But he steeled himself to read it right through. His eyes widened as he reached the bottom line. Yes, she really had written it.

The customer comes first
.

The document finished with a complaints procedure which included him, along with Rachel Turner as possible sources of redress. He snorted and turned back to Mo as Natascha, pacified at least for the moment, made her way back into the Salon.

‘So how did you calm her down?’ Duggie admired the way Mo had handled the incident.

‘I told her to take the suede mini-skirt and matching crop-top. I’m sure her client, Colonel Taylor, will find her just as attractive in that. I also reminded her that it is not, after all, going to stay on for long.’ Duggie had to hand it to her.

‘So what about the person who stretched the leather? Might that be who I think it is?’ He raised his eyebrows interrogatively. ‘After all, there are not many larger bodies round here. And I’m assuming it wasn’t Rocky.’

Mo glanced nervously at the closed-circuit TV screen, in case the manager was at the door.

‘I’m afraid so. It has happened before. On Christmas Eve it was Sindy’s PVC play-suit. Left it in an awful state.’ Duggie could not recall exactly which garment this was, but he felt it wiser to remain ignorant. ‘And it’s not just clothes. Some of Natascha’s toys have gone missing. We are short of a rabbit and a hedgehog.’

Duggie had been responsible for paying for these, so he now knew what she was talking about. Definitely not the sort of toys one would find in your local neighbourhood toyshop. He sighed deeply. It was quite clear that Ms Turner was turning out to be an unmitigated disaster.

Mo sighed in sympathy with him. ‘And we all thought she’d improve, now she’s got a man.’

This was news to Duggie. ‘A man? I thought she hated all men, starting with her ex-husband. Well, I hope this poor sod can understand what she says to him. It’s more than I can, half the time. Who is he? Anybody we know?’

‘I’ve no idea. She doesn’t talk to me about things like that. She just mentioned it to Ingrid the other day.’

Duggie spared a thought for the lucky man. He’d need all the luck he could get. ‘I think I had better have a word with her about this clothing business. Where is she now?’ This time Mo’s reply raised the hairs on the back of his neck.

‘She’s through there doing client questionnaires.’

‘Doing what?’ Duggie could not believe his ears. Mo gave him an answering look which spoke volumes. ‘She waits outside the doors of the rooms with a clipboard and asks the Joe…clients questions. You know,
Was everything to your satisfaction?
Or,
Have you any suggestions for ways in which we can improve the service we offer?
’ She gave Duggie a sour look. ‘The only suggestions so far have been for the old bag with the clipboard to get lost.’