The Shooting in the Shop (21 page)

Its owner looked fondly at the image. ‘Yes, me
just about “on the turn”, I would say. Even then the
photograph was a good seven years younger than I
was. By that time the waist had thickened, the face
spread, the veins in the nose become more visible. No
longer in the market for romantic leads, moving
towards seedy aristocrats, venal politicians and child
molesters.’ The thought seemed to cause him pain.

Remembering what she had thought after seeing
Flora Le Bonnier in
Her Wicked Heart
, Carole couldn’t
stop herself from asking, ‘Is it as depressing for a man
to lose his looks as it is a woman?’

Old Garge – or Rupert Sonning – burst into
laughter. ‘Full marks for tact, Carole. I know you used
to be a civil servant, I think I can now rule out the
possibility that you worked in the Diplomatic Service.’

‘I’m sorry.’ She was flustered both by her social
gaffe and also again by his detailed knowledge of her
life story.

‘Don’t worry, I’ve always favoured the direct
approach myself. And the answer to your question
is probably yes. In my young days my face was –
literally – my fortune. “You want a handsome young
devil – call for Rupert Sonning!” Oh yes, I was put
through the Rank Charm School, learned how to deal
with the press, not to tell them anything except the
stories the publicity department had dreamed up for
me. Then I did a few of those Gainsborough costume
dramas, had a very nice time, thank you very much.
And, looking like I did, I was also rather successful
as a ladies’ man.’ He chuckled, but there was sadness
in the expression with which he looked again at his
Spotlight
photograph. ‘Still, those times are gone, and
I suppose life now has other compensations. Though,
inevitably . . . lesser compensations . . .’

There was a silence, then Carole asked, ‘In your
acting career, did your path ever cross with that of
Flora Le Bonnier?’

He grinned. ‘Ah, the lovely Flora. Lady Muck
herself. Oh yes, our paths crossed. And how.’ He
chuckled at some fond reminiscence.

‘Have you seen her recently?’

A hint of caution came into his pale blue eyes.
‘Why should I have done?’

‘She spent Christmas not far away from here. Near
Fedborough. With her son and family.’

‘Ah, did she?’

Carole couldn’t tell if this was news to him, but
she rather thought it wasn’t. For the first time in their
conversation Old Garge had become cagey. But, she
reasoned, there was no way he couldn’t know the
Le Bonnier connection with Fethering. If he could
summon up so many details of her own life – even
embarrassing ones about how she’d spent recent
Christmases – he must have been aware of Gallimaufry’s
opening and of Lola’s connection to Flora Le
Bonnier.

‘I think you know she did,’ said Carole firmly.

The actor spread his hands wide to indicate the
end of his small subterfuge. ‘Yes, all right, I knew
that.’

‘So have you seen Flora recently? In the last few
days?’

‘You’re very persistent, Carole, aren’t you?’

‘I can be.’

‘Hm.’ He thought about this. ‘I don’t think I ever
had that quality. Of being persistent. Something lacking
in my genetic make-up. Perhaps, had I been more
persistent, I might have sustained a more enduring
career as an actor.’ He shrugged. ‘Still, one cannot
change one’s nature, can one?’

‘One can try.’

He considered this assertion, then asked, ‘Have
you tried, Carole? Have you tried to change your
nature?’

‘At times, yes.’

‘Didn’t work, did it?’

Carole would have liked to challenge that, but
came to the rueful realization that he was probably
right. Time to move back into investigative mode.
‘Old Garge . . . I feel a fool calling you Old Garge. As
if I’m in some third-rate stage play.’

‘But you are.’ The old man gestured around the
hut. ‘Look, we’re on the set of a third-rate stage play.’

‘Well, I’d rather call you Rupert, if that’s all right
with you?’

He inclined his head graciously. ‘I would be
honoured.’

‘Rupert, you still haven’t answered my question
about whether you’ve seen Flora Le Bonnier recently.’

‘True, I haven’t.’ He was silent for a moment,
teasing her. ‘But I will answer it now. No. It’s years
since I’ve seen Flora.’

‘Though at one stage you did see quite a lot of
her?’

‘We worked together on a few films, just after the
war, in the late forties.’

‘But was your relationship . . .’

He grinned, as he repeated firmly, ‘We worked
together on a few films, just after the war, in the late
forties. Inevitably, we saw a lot of each other.’

It was the practised ‘We are just good friends’
answer from someone who knew a bit about talking
to the press. He did, however, manage to incorporate
into it the practised cheeky implication that they
might have been more than good friends. Carole
recognized she wasn’t going to get anything else out
of him on the subject, so she changed tack. ‘Do you
know that Ruby Tallis describes you as “the eyes and
ears of Fethering Beach”?’

‘I wasn’t actually aware of that, but it doesn’t
surprise me.’

‘Well, having talked to you, I’d say it was a pretty
accurate description.’ He nodded acknowledgement
of the compliment. ‘So I would have thought you
know more than anyone else about what happened
the night Gallimaufry burnt down.’

‘“More than anyone else”? I don’t think you can be
taking account of the sterling efforts of the official
investigators into the incident, the British police. For
the sake of our country’s security, I would like to
believe that they know more about what happened
than I do.’

‘Yes, maybe, but . . . Just a minute, have the police
actually questioned you?’

‘We did have a brief conversation. Up in my room
in Downside.’

‘Why not here?’

‘As I may have indicated, my presence here may
not conform to every last detail of certain regulations.
I wouldn’t wish to add the constabulary’s not inconsiderable
workload by forcing them to investigate my
circumstances. So I thought it would save trouble all
round were I to tell them I had spent very little time
here over the Christmas period.’

‘So you said you weren’t here the night Gallimaufry
burnt down?’

‘That was exactly what I told them, yes. They had
no reason to disbelieve me.’

‘Whereas, in actual fact, you were here?’

‘You’re a woman of very acute perception, Carole.’

She knew she was being sent up, but was too
excited to let it worry her. ‘Why did you lie to the
police?’

Her question seemed to pain him. ‘It has been my
experience that it is always wise to minimize one’s
contact with them.’

Had she been less preoccupied by the details
of Gallimaufry’s incineration, Carole might have
enquired into the reasons behind his reply, but
instead, breathlessly, she asked, ‘Did you see anything
that night, Rupert?’

He gestured once again towards the window,
through which the blackened ruins of Gallimaufry
were clearly visible. ‘Hard to miss a major conflagration
at this distance.’

‘So what did you see?’

He was silent and looked at her. The shrewdness
in his eyes was so penetrating she once again had to
turn away. ‘Why should I tell you, Carole?’

‘You must have told other people. Surely it’s
impossible to talk to any of the Fethering Beach
Dog-walking Mafia without the subject coming up?’

‘The subject certainly comes up and I’m certainly
prepared to listened to other people’s theories about
it – mostly the theories of Derek Tallis, it has to be
said – but I haven’t as yet contributed much of my
own to the debate.’

‘But there must have been things you saw that
night.’

‘I’m not denying it. All I’m saying is that I’m
very selective about who I’m prepared to share that information with.’ Their eyes locked. Yet again it was
Carole who looked away first.

‘Why are you so selective?’ she asked meekly.

‘Because the stakes are quite high, aren’t they?
When there might be a murder involved. I mean, say
I have information that could send someone down for
life?’

Carole couldn’t stop herself from asking, ‘Have
you?’

‘Let’s keep our discussion in the world of hypothesis
for the moment, shall we? But say I did have
such information. Whether I share it or not raises
rather a substantial moral dilemma.’

‘There’s really no dilemma. Relevant information
should be passed on to the investigating authorities,’
said Carole with the pious rectitude of someone
who’d spent all her working life in the Home Office.

‘No, I’m sorry, I don’t hold with moral absolutes
like that. The question I ask myself is: “Who’s likely
to be harmed by my passing on this information?”
Is it someone who I think deserves to suffer, or is it
someone for whom I feel sympathy?’

‘You mean someone who you feel you should
protect?’

‘Yes, Carole, exactly. That is the question that is
currently exercising my mind – and my conscience,
and—’

‘But if you actually saw—’

‘
And
’, he continued firmly, ‘I haven’t yet decided
whether my instinct to protect someone is stronger
than the call of my civic duty.’

‘But can’t you at least tell me
who
you’re feeling
the instinct to protect?’

‘Oh, Carole . . .’ He shook his head pityingly.
‘You’ll have to do better than that. Were I to tell you
the name of the person who might need protection,
you’d know almost the whole story, wouldn’t you?’

‘Yes, but a young woman has died here and everyone
has a moral duty to—’

Her appeal was interrupted by a brisk rapping
on the hut door. As they looked towards it, Piers
Duncton entered, the habitual cigarette dangling
from the corner of his mouth. He reacted with a
narrowing of the eyes to Carole’s presence, but his
words were for the benefit of Old Garge – or maybe
Rupert Sonning.

‘I’ve just come from Lola’s,’ he said. ‘The police
are on their way to interview you.’

As she drove to the vet’s, Carole tried to find explanations
for what had happened at the beach hut after
Piers’s arrival. She had been unceremoniously sent
on her way, and, when she left, the young man was
also chivvying Old Garge to gather up his belongings
and leave. The actor raised no objections, evidently as
keen as Piers was that he should get out of the place.
Presumably the reason for his departure was to avoid
further interrogation from the police. And he had
dropped that clue about trying to minimize his contact
with the constabulary – was that because he’d
had uncomfortable experiences with them in the
past? Everything that had happened in Pequod again
raised the intriguing questions of how much Old
Garge knew and whom he was trying to protect.
Carole, having come so close to hearing the actor’s
account of Gallimaufry’s burning-down, felt acutely
frustrated at being denied her breakthrough on the
case.

She didn’t see Saira Sherjan at the vet’s. Gulliver
was brought out by one of the green-clad nurses while
Carole paid the receptionist the usual eye-watering
bill. The dog seemed none the worse for his hospitalization,
and greeted his mistress with heart-warming
enthusiasm. She was advised that he should have no
adverse reactions to the surgery, but she should try
for a week to keep him from eating dried food and
chewing bones or sticks, to give the gum a chance to
heal.

Gulliver seemed very pleased to be back in High
Tor and wolfed down the plate of (soft) dog meat that
Carole put in front of him. He then sat up, his tail
thumping on the floor, with an expectant look which
she knew well. The dog was telling her that he hadn’t
had a decent walk in the last twenty-four hours, and
she had a moral duty to rectify that state of affairs as
soon as possible.

Carole was sorry to disappoint him, but telling
Jude about her morning’s encounters was a more
pressing priority. So pressing that she even went
round to Woodside Cottage without ringing first to say
she was coming.

Jude tapped her chin thoughtfully. ‘I wonder . . .’

‘What?’

‘Well, it’s fanciful . . . and it would probably be too
neat to have happened in real life . . . but wouldn’t it
be great if we found out that Rupert Sonning was
Ricky Le Bonnier’s father?’

‘He admitted that he and Flora had worked
together,’ said Carole cautiously.

‘Yes, though as we well know, women don’t have
babies by all the men they work with. Even in the
theatre, where a certain laxity of moral standards has
always been the norm. But the timing could be about
right.’ And Jude told Carole about the relevant movie
history she had read in
One Classy Lady
. ‘You say
Old Garge mentioned being in some Gainsborough
costume movies after the war. Late nineteen-forties –
that’d be about the time Ricky was born. Hm . . . Pity
you didn’t ask whether he and Flora had ever been an
item.’

‘I virtually did, though not at the time realizing
quite how important the question might be. I wasn’t
contemplating the possibility that he might be Ricky’s
father. Anyway, the only answer I got from him on
the subject was a diplomatic one, which admitted
nothing.’

‘Oh, it’d probably be too much of a coincidence.’
Jude sounded almost dispirited. ‘But it all comes back
to Fethering, somehow. Ricky was brought up around
here by an aunt. He went to school here, which is
where he met Kath. And now he comes back to live
near here. Then you say Old Garge also has long-term
connections with the place. What about Flora? She
must have come here sometimes to visit Ricky as a
child. And if the aunt who looked after him was her
sister . . .’

‘Have we any means of checking up on this aunt,
Jude? Whether she’s still alive, even?’