“Has my husband ever put through a call to a woman in London?” she asked Blott.
“His secretary,” said Blott. Lady Maud shook her head. Sir Giles’ secretary wasn’t the sort of woman who would take kindly to the suggestion that she should tie her employer to a bed and beat him and in any case she was happily married.
“Anyone else?”
“No.”
“Has he ever mentioned a woman in any of his conversations on the phone?”
Blott tried to remember. “No, I don’t think so.”
“In that case, Blott,” she said, “you and I are going to London tomorrow.”
Blott gazed at her in astonishment. “To London?” He had never been to London.
“To London. We shall be away for a few days.”
“But what shall I wear?” said Blott.
“A suit of course.”
“I haven’t got one,” said Blott.
“Well then,” said Lady Maud, “we had better go into Worford and get you one. And while we’re about it we’ll get a camera as well. I’ll pick you up in ten minutes.”
She went back into the house and put the photographs into an envelope and hid it behind a set of Jorrocks on the bookshelf. It might be worth paying Mr Dundridge a visit while she was in Worford.
Chapter 18
But Dundridge was not to be found in Worford. “He’s out,” said the girl at the Regional Planning Board.
“Where?” said Lady Maud.
“Inspecting the site,” said the girl.
“Well, kindly tell him when he comes back that I have some sights I would like him to inspect.”
The girl looked at her. “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” she said nastily. Lady Maud suppressed the reaction to tell the little hussy exactly what she did mean.
“Tell Mr Dundridge that I have a number of photographs in which I feel sure he will take a particular interest. You had better write it down before you forget it. Tell him that. He knows where he can find me.”
She went back to the outfitters where Blott was trying on a salmon-pink suit of Harris Tweed. “If you think I’m going to be seen with you in London in that revolting article of menswear, you’ve got another think coming,” she snorted. She ran an eye over a number of less conspicuous suits and finally selected a dark grey pinstripe. “That’ll do.” By the time they left the shop Blott was fitted out with shirts, socks, underwear and ties. They called at a shoe shop and bought a pair of black shoes.
“And now all we need is a camera,” said Lady Maud as they stowed Blott’s new clothes in the back of the Land-Rover. They went into a camera shop.
“I want a camera with an excellent lens,” she told the assistant, “one that can be operated by a complete idiot.”
“You need an automatic camera,” said the man.
“No, she doesn’t,” said Blott who resented being called a complete idiot in front of strangers. “She means a Leica.”
“A Leica?” said the man. “But that’s not a camera for a novice. That’s a…”
“Blott,” said Lady Maud, taking him out onto the pavement, “do you mean to say that you know how to take photographs?”
“In the Luft… before the war I was trained in photography. I was…”
Lady Maud beamed at him. “Oh Blott,” she said, “you’re a godsend. An absolute godsend. Go and buy whatever you need to take good clear photographs.”
“What of?” asked Blott. Lady Maud hesitated. Oh well, he would have to know sooner or later. She took the plunge. “Him in bed with another woman.”
“Him?”
“Yes.”
It was Blott’s turn to beam now. “We’ll need flash and a wide-angle lens.” They went back into the shop and came out with a second-hand Leica, an enlarger, a developing tank, an electronic flash, and everything they needed. As they drove back to Handyman Hall Blott was in his seventh heaven.
Dundridge, on the other hand, was in the other place. The girl at the switchboard had phoned him as soon as Lady Maud had left.
“Lady Maud’s been,” she told him. “She left a message for you.”
“Oh yes,” said Dundridge. “I hope you didn’t tell her where I was.”
“No, I didn’t,” said the girl. “She’s a horrid old bag isn’t she? I wouldn’t wish her on my worst enemy.”
“You can say that again,” Dundridge agreed. “What was the message?”
“She said ‘Tell Mr Dundridge that I have a number of photographs in which I feel sure he will take a particular interest’. She made me write it down. Hullo, are you still there? Mr Dundridge. Hullo. Hullo. Mr Dundridge, are you there?” But there was no reply. She put the phone down.
In his flat Dundridge sat in a state of shock. He still clutched the phone but he was no longer listening. His thoughts were concentrated on one terrible fact, Lady Maud had those ghastly photographs. She could destroy him. There was nothing he could do about it. She would use them if the motorway went ahead and there was absolutely no way he could stop it now. The fucking bitch had arranged the whole thing. First the photographs, then the bribe, and finally the attempt to murder him. The woman was insane. There could be no doubt about it now. Dundridge put down the phone and tried desperately to think what to do. He couldn’t even go to the police. In the first place they would never believe him. Lady Maud was a Justice of the Peace, a respected figure in the community and what had that Miss Boles told him? “We’ll know if you tell the police. We’ve had customers in the police.” And in any case he had no proof that she was involved. Only the word of the girl at the Planning Board and Lady Maud would claim she had been talking about photographs of the Hall or something like that. He needed proof but above all he needed legal advice. A good lawyer.
He picked up the telephone directory and looked in the yellow pages under Solicitors. “Ganglion, Turnbull and Shrine.” Dundridge dialled and asked to speak to Mr Ganglion. Mr Ganglion would see him in the morning at ten o’clock. Dundridge spent the evening and most of the night pacing his room in an agony of doubt and suspense. Several times he picked up the phone to call Lady Maud only to put it down again. There was nothing he could say to her that would have the slightest effect and he dreaded what she would have to say to him. Towards dawn he fell into a restless sleep and awoke exhausted at seven.
At Handyman Hall Lady Maud and Blott slept fitfully too; Blott because he was kept awake by the rumble of lorries through the arch; Lady Maud because she was superintending the whole operation and explaining where she wanted things put.
“Your men can sleep in the servants’ quarters,” she told the manager. “I shall be away for a week. Here is the key to the back door.”
When she finally got to bed in the early hours Handyman Hall had assumed the aspect of a construction camp. Concrete mixers, posts, lorries, fencing wire, bags of cement and gravel were arranged in the park and work had already begun by the light of lamps and a portable generator.
She lay in bed listening to the voices and the rumble of the machines and was well satisfied. When money was no object you could still get things done quickly even in England. “Money no object,” she thought and smiled to herself at the oddity of the phrase. She would have to do something about money before very long. She would think about it in the morning.
At seven she was up and had breakfasted. Through the window of the kitchen she was pleased to note that several concrete posts had already been installed and that a strange machine that looked like a giant corkscrew was boring holes for some more. She went along to the study and spent an hour going through Sir Giles’ filing-cabinets. She paid particular attention to a file marked Investments and took down the details of his shareholdings and the correspondence with his stockbroker. Then she went carefully through his personal correspondence, but there was no indication to be found there of any mistress with a penchant for whips and handcuffs.
At nine she signed the contract and went up to her room to pack and at ten she and Blott, now dressed in his pinstripe suit and wearing a blue polka-dot tie, drove off in the Land-Rover for Hereford and the train to London. Behind them in the study the phone was off the stand. There would be no phone calls to Handyman Hall from Sir Giles.