The Blood of an Englishman Page 7

  “I am afraid we didn’t have a very good date. And now I owe you a meal. Why don’t you come to my place for dinner tomorrow night instead of waiting until Saturday?”

  “I’d love that,” said Agatha.

  “I gave you my card. I’ve got a flat in Mircester near the theatre.”

  “That would be lovely,” said Agatha, happy again. “And look, it’s beginning to thaw and the sun has come out.”

  John’s mobile phone rang. Agatha heard him say, “I can be with you in about fifteen minutes.” When he rang off, he said, “That was the police. They want to interrogate me again.”

  “Do you want me to come with you?”

  “No, I’ll be all right.”

  But Agatha could sense his uneasiness. The police would want to question him once more about why he gave up his starring role on opening night to George Southern.

  “I often wonder,” she said cautiously, “why you let George take your place.”

  “Because I am too soft-hearted,” said John. “He begged and begged until I gave in.”

  John did not want her to know the truth, the truth being that George had paid him a thousand pounds to take his place. He certainly did not want Agatha to know how desperate he was for money.

  * * *

  Agatha bought all the morning newspapers before she went to the office. She told her staff to get on with whatever cases they were working on, with the exception of Toni who she asked to stay behind. Agatha often had to fight down feelings of jealousy for her beautiful assistant until common sense told her that Toni was the brightest and best.

  “Take half these papers, Toni,” said Agatha, “and go through them and compare them with my notes on the computer and see if there is anything I might have missed. Now, there is a schoolteacher called John Hale. I don’t want you to go near him, but I want you to find out some background on him. After all, why would he give up his place in The Mikado to George Southern?”

  Toni took away half the newspapers, and Agatha settled back with a sigh. Her ongoing low self-worth made her cautious. She could not quite accept that John was interested in her because he found her attractive. Other people might judge Agatha’s appearance to be that of an attractive woman, but Agatha always wished she looked younger, thinner and glamorous.

  The newspapers were full of the gruesome story of the beheading of George. There was a long interview in the Daily Mail with Gareth Craven. “Shock upon shock and blah, blah, blah,” muttered Agatha. She read on. Gwen Simple and her son had declared themselves too upset to speak to the press. Pixie Turner was only given one line and no photo. She’ll be furious, thought Agatha.

  Toni suddenly said, “You were asking about John Hale?”

  “Yes. What?” asked Agatha.

  “There’s a bit about him in The Guardian. It says he is not available for comment. The reporter says there is a mystery as to why he let George Southern take his place in The Mikado. He was not to be found at home or at the home of his ex-wife, Olivia.”

  “Let me see that,” said Agatha sharply. Toni handed the newspaper to Agatha, open at the article. Agatha quickly read it. John’s ex-wife lived in Oxford. Agatha raised her eyebrows. He had a son. Olivia was quoted as having said that she had not seen her husband for four years. Any communication was done through her lawyer.

  Why had he not told her about his ex-wife and son? But then, she had not told him about her first marriage, which had dramatically ended in murder. She conjured up a picture of John’s beauty. Oh, what prestige to have a husband who looked like that!

  “Thanks,” she said gruffly and turned to the other newspapers. “Here’s something interesting in The Times, Toni. That blacksmith was the one who sharpened the sword. I’d like another word with him when all the fuss dies down. I won’t be able to get near anyone at the moment until the press go away again.”

  “Do you want me to try to see John Hale?” asked Toni.

  “No!” said Agatha sharply. “But what we could do is try to see Gareth Craven. I’d like to know what you make of him. If there are too many press around his door, we’ll leave it.”

  The temporary thaw was over and piles of dingy slush were piled up on either side of the roads. The sky was dark grey and more snow was forecast. Agatha drove both of them to Winter Parva. She was wearing a body stocking for the first time. She had enjoyed looking at her slim figure in the mirror that morning but now her skin under the body stocking was beginning to itch and she felt uncomfortable and constricted.

  Satellite dishes, cables and television vans littered the main street of Winter Parva. There were very few journalists in sight. “They’re probably in the pub somewhere,” said Agatha.

  “This early?” said Toni.

  “It’s bang on eleven o’clock,” remarked Agatha. “The witching hour for all of the media. Here we are at Gareth’s place and not a reporter in sight. Let’s see what he has to say for himself.”

  They rang the bell. “Go away!” shouted a voice from inside.

  Agatha bent down and called through the letterbox. “It’s me. Agatha.”

  There came the sound of the door being unlocked. Gareth opened it and said urgently, “Come in. I thought you were the press.”

  Agatha introduced Toni. “You are much too beautiful to be a detective,” beamed Gareth.

  “Why, thank you,” said Agatha sarcastically. “The latest I’ve heard from the newspapers is that George Southern had that sword sharpened by the blacksmith.”

  “That’s right. The silly man was fooling around with it.”

  “But what did the man who played the part of the Lord High Executioner have to say about it?”

  “Colin Blain. It seems he was in on the joke. They meant people to get a fright afterwards. He said he never thought the girls would look at it on the stage. We’re going to open again next week and I’m glad to say that we’re fully booked until the end of the run. We’ll be able to make up our losses.”

  “But won’t some members of the cast be too frightened?” asked Toni.

  “No. They’re all elated at the thought of big audiences and press coverage,” said Gareth.

  “May I use your bathroom?” asked Agatha.

  “Up the stairs on the left.”

  Agatha hurried up to the bathroom, went in and locked the door. She stripped off, removed the body stocking and stuffed it into her capacious handbag and had a luxurious scratch before putting her clothes on again.

  She arrived back downstairs in time to hear Toni saying, “I cannot understand what made your leading man give up his place to George Southern.”

  “Neither can I,” said Gareth. “Particularly as everyone believes John is sweet on Gwen.”

  “Well, he’ll be able to marry her now,” commented Toni, suddenly aware of a gimlet stare from Agatha and wondering what she had done wrong.

  But she went on, “Was George Southern in the way of playing practical jokes?”

  “I’m afraid so. Some of them could be quite cruel.”

  “Such as?” asked Agatha.

  “Oh, stupid things. In the ladies’ toilet at the town hall, he put cling film over the lavatory pans. He put pepper into the powder bowl so Pixie Turner had a violent fit of sneezing and all her make-up had to be done again. Things like that. Pixie threatened to kill him. But then we all did at one time or another.”

  “My money’s on the blacksmith,” said Agatha. “Anyone been charged with anything?”

  “Colin Blain has been charged with carrying a dangerous weapon. But at the moment, it’s John who is the prime suspect.”

  “Why?” asked Agatha.

  “Well, George would never have got the part otherwise and played that trick which obviously annoyed someone so much that they murdered him.”

  “But I don’t see how that makes John Hale guilty. He’s been married and is no doubt paying alimony on a teacher’s salary,” said Toni. “Maybe George Southern paid him something.”

  Agatha began to wish
she had not brought Toni. She did not want her romantic dreams of being married to a gorgeous man dimmed by suspicion.

  Gareth interrupted her thoughts by asking, “As a detective, you do have a license?”

  “Never needed one,” said Agatha.

  “You will soon,” said Gareth. “You will need to be licensed by the Security Agency Authority and go on a training course.”

  “But I don’t need a training course,” exclaimed Agatha. “I have a great track record.”

  “It’s soon to be the law,” said Toni.

  “And how on earth is the work of the agency supposed to be done while we’re all on training courses,” complained Agatha.

  “I’m sure we’ll cope somehow,” said Toni. “I read about it. It’s because they claim there are a lot of rogue agencies tapping into phones and paying for access to bank accounts. The press don’t know why they should have been singled out for criminal prosecution when some detective agencies were guilty of phone hacking as well.”

  Agatha turned her mind back to the case. “Gareth,” she urged, “think hard. It’s maybe someone in the theatre. If anyone is mad and vicious enough to plan and execute these murders, you must have some idea.”

  “I haven’t,” said Gareth. “Amateur companies are often full of inflated egos and quarrels do start, but I cannot think of someone so full of hate.”

  They could get nothing interesting out of him and eventually took their leave.

  Outside, Winter Parva was living up to its name. It was a bitterly cold day. An icy wind had sprung up.

  “What now?” asked Toni.

  “I’m afraid all we can do at the moment,” said Agatha, “is go back to the office and work on all our other cases until the interest in this one dies down. Then we’ll come back and check out everyone again.”

  * * *

  Agatha was relieved that evening to find that Charles had decided not to stay. She got a phone call from her former employee, Roy Silver, saying he hoped to be down at the week-end, but Agatha put him off. What if her date with John could lead to something? She told Roy to wait until the following week-end.

  The following day, she found it hard to concentrate on her work.

  More snow was forecast so she had brought a small suitcase with a change of clothes into the office. She dreamt that it would snow hard and John would be obliged to put her up for the night.

  By five o’clock it had started to snow hard. She told her staff to go home. But Toni and Simon remained. Toni said she had notes to type up and Simon was waiting hopefully for her to finish so he could invite her for a drink.

  By six o’clock, Agatha said impatiently, “Do go home. I’m going to lock up.”

  “Be leaving shortly,” said Toni.

  “Just go now!” ordered Agatha.

  What an infuriating length of time it seemed to take Toni to close down her computer and put on her coat. At last she and Simon went off and Agatha was free to change her clothes and put on fresh make-up. She looked out at the falling snow and decided gloomily that she would need to wear serviceable boots. But she put a pair of red suede shoes with low heels in her bag. She decided her silk scarlet blouse with the low neckline worn over a black flared skirt was pretty enough, but it would need to be buried under a thick cardigan.

  When she finally left the office, she found to her dismay that it was snowing hard and that her car seemed almost buried. Agatha took out a brush and cleared the snow. Fortunately, hers was about the only car on the road as she battled her way to John’s apartment, which was in an old building near the theatre.

  She pressed the bell marked HALE, and when the buzzer sounded walked in and up the stairs with a feeling of excitement that mounted every step she took.

  John’s flat was on the second floor and he was waiting by the open door when she arrived.

  “Welcome,” he said. “Let me take your coat and hat.”

  Agatha pulled off her fur hat, hoping her hair hadn’t been too flattened by it. Then her coat, cardigan and boots. She took out the red shoes and slipped them on.

  It was only when John ushered her into the living room that she realised the place was cold. The living room was small. A dining table had been set by the window. Bookshelves lined the walls. It was like a library. In the centre of the room was a small sofa and one armchair.

  Agatha shivered. “Don’t you have any heating?” she asked.

  John was wearing a thick blue sweater the colour of his eyes. “I find it pretty warm,” he said. “Let me get you your cardigan.”

  “I’d rather have some heat,” said Agatha stubbornly, not wanting to eclipse the glory of her silk blouse.

  He went to a thermostat in the wall and turned it up. A dusty old radiator against a space in one wall which was not covered in books let out a series of cracks as it heated up.

  “I meant to bring you some wine,” said Agatha, “but with this awful weather, I forgot.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” said John, although he had been hoping she would bring some wine. “Gin?”

  “Yes, please,” said Agatha. He disappeared into the kitchen and returned shortly with a glass of gin and tonic. “I’m afraid I haven’t any ice.”

  The gin and tonic was warm. Agatha thought he must keep the drinks next to the cooker.

  “I’ll just go and fix dinner,” said John, going back into the kitchen. Agatha had a swig of gin and looked around. Apart from the kitchen door, there were two other doors leading off the living room. Agatha got to her feet and quietly opened one door. It was a small office with a desk, a computer and a typing chair. Agatha remembered Toni’s speculation that George Southern might have paid John to take his place. She suddenly wondered if he kept his bank statements in his desk.

  She heard the ping of a microwave coming from the kitchen and hurriedly closed the door and retreated to the living room.

  “Dinner’s ready!” called John. “Take a seat at the table.”

  Agatha did as she was told. She shook out a paper napkin. There was a bottle of red wine on the table without a label.

  John came in, bearing two plates of lasagne. He slid a plate in front of Agatha and then sat down opposite her. “You must try this wine,” he said. “A friend brought it back from Bulgaria.” He poured her a glass. Agatha finished her gin and cautiously took a sip of the wine. It was awful, sour and harsh.

  After a forkful of the lasagne, Agatha, whom Charles had dubbed Queen of the Microwave, recognised it as being the cheapest variety anyone could buy.

  They discussed the case, Agatha not learning anything new.

  When the lasagne was finished, he smiled into Agatha’s eyes. “Do you ever feel like settling down?” he asked.

  “And stop detecting?”

  “Oh, no. We’ve all got to work. I meant, do you ever feel you would like to get married?”

  “Often,” said Agatha. “But only if I meet the right person.”

  He took her hand in a warm clasp. “I am sure you will.”

  Damn Toni, thought Agatha. He’s either mean or strapped for cash.

  “Is there any coffee?” she asked.

  “Of course.” He released her hand.

  When he went into the kitchen, Agatha darted into his office. There were some unopened letters on his desk. On top was one from the Midlands & Cotswold Bank. She hurriedly stuffed it down inside her knickers.

  When John reappeared with a tray bearing two cups of coffee, a bottle of milk and a bag of sugar, Agatha was back at her seat at the table.

  He might have made more of an effort, she thought. From now on, I’m going to serve milk in a jug and sugar in a bowl.

  “I take mine black,” she said. “Oh, may I use your bathroom?”

  “Of course.” He pointed to the door next to the office door. “Go through there. It’s off the bedroom.”

  Agatha, once she was in the bathroom, fished the bank letter out of her knickers and sat down on the lid of the pan. The envelope flap had not been st
uck down properly. She eased the flap open. It was a bank statement. Her heart plummeted. A week before George had taken on John’s role in The Mikado, there was a deposit of one thousand pounds. Before that, he had only had two hundred pounds in his account.

  She carefully sealed it up again. Somehow, she had to manage to replace it.

  It dawned on her that John was probably wooing her for her money. And to think she had planned to spend the night.

  She flushed the toilet and ran the taps before leaving the bathroom and returning to the living room.

  John said, “As beautiful as ever, Agatha.”

  “Do you think I might have another cup of coffee?” asked Agatha. “I’ve let this one get cold.”

  “Sure. Won’t be long.”

  Agatha waited until he had gone, tiptoed into the office, fished out the bank statement, smoothed the envelope and put it on his desk. She got back to her seat just in time.

  “There you are,” said John. “I took a look out of the kitchen window. It’s blowing quite a blizzard. I’m afraid you are going to have to stay the night.”

  If only it weren’t true, thought Agatha, but I think he wants a rich wife.

  “I am sorry,” she said. “That Bulgarian wine must have upset my stomach. I have to go to the bathroom again.”

  Once in the bathroom, she took out her phone and called Charles on his mobile. When he answered, she whispered urgently, “I’m at John Hale’s. Flat five, Twelve Mircester Road. You’ve got to get me out of here!”

  “Okay,” said Charles. “You’re lucky I’m in Mircester.”

  * * *

  Charles was having dinner with friends. “I’m sorry,” he announced. “My aunt’s ill. Got to go.”

  “You’ll never get home in this weather,” said his hostess.

  “I can but try,” said Charles. “Duty calls.”

  Agatha and John had moved to the sofa. He was sitting so close to her that his thigh was pressed against hers. Agatha’s hormones were doing a war dance while her low self-esteem was telling them to lie down.

  “I feel we have a lot in common,” said John. “When shall we go to bed … darling?”