‘Well, this is an unexpected pleasure. What are you doing here?’ He leaned across to kiss her cheek.
She withdrew her face out of range. ‘Making one final attempt to track you down.’
‘You were looking for me?’
‘For the last twenty-four hours.’
‘Sorry. I was sent to Birmingham. A conference. I got back at eleven last night.’
‘You could have picked up a phone’.
The voice from the front interjected, ‘Where to, please?’
She clicked her tongue impatiently. ‘I suppose you’re ravenous for breakfast now.’
The driver switched on his engine. ‘There’s a place at the top of North End Road. It ain’t the Savoy, but you’ll never taste a better bacon and egg.’
Later, after they’d put this recommendation to the test, Antonia conceded that the driver hadn’t been far wrong. Her pleasure in the meal was much assisted by a full apology from Vic.
She forgave him, and more. ‘I’m coming to stay with you some time in the next week or so.’
‘To stay?’
‘Yes, won’t it be divine? Our first whole night together. Then our second and our third and—’
‘What’s Hector going to say about this?’
‘I haven’t spoken to him yet. He won’t be any trouble.’
Vic glanced around the small café. Some traders from the market in wide-boy overcoats with heavily padded shoulders were in for breakfast. No one seemed to be listening.
‘Antonia, I’d like to know more about this. Are you up to something?’
‘Of course I’m up to something. I want to marry you and go to America.’
‘Yes, but I don’t want some bastard with a flash-camera bursting into my flat and taking pictures of you and me in bed.’
She laughed. ‘How did you get that dopey idea?’
‘That’s the way people arrange it these days.’
‘Arrange what?’
‘Divorce.’
‘Sweetie, how many times do I have to tell you divorce is out of the question? Forget about men with cameras.’
He sighed. ‘I don’t understand it.’
She lodged her foot against his. ‘Don’t try. Simply enjoy it while you’ve got the chance.’
Mr Smart, the insurance agent, was on the doorstep again, in the act of raising his trilby as Rose opened the door. His nose and ears were pillarbox red.
‘Good day, Mrs Bell. Bright but cold. Ice about.’
‘You’d better come in.’
He placed his hat and bicycle pump on the hallstand and removed his clips. ‘How are you settling down?’
‘I’m managing the best I can. Would you care for a cup of tea?’
‘That sounds agreeable.’
‘If you don’t mind the kitchen, it’s warmer in there.’
He stood rubbing his hands by the boiler. The teacloths from yesterday’s wash-up were draped from the struts attached to the flue.
Rose reached for the matches and lit the gas under the kettle. ‘What have you got — more forms for me to fill in?’
‘I require no more than a signature this time. The funeral was yesterday, I believe.’
‘Yes.’
‘I dare say you’re glad it’s over.’
She detected an undercurrent of disapproval in the voice.
‘It kept me busy. I was grateful for that.’
‘Stopped your mind from dwelling on things.’
‘True.’
‘Are you able to get any sleep at all?’
She gave him a long, cool look. ‘While we’re waiting for the kettle, Mr Smart, don’t you think we should get down to business?’
‘As you wish. This is what you are waiting for, I think.’ He took a brown envelope from his pocket and placed it ostentatiously on the kitchen table. ‘Your cheque for five thousand pounds.’
She resisted the polite impulse to say thank you. Why should she? Nor did she snatch up the envelope and rip it open. She put out cups and saucers and went to the larder for milk.
‘I shall require your signature on the receipt.’
‘Naturally.’ She noticed her Coronation biscuit tin taking up room at the front of the larder and remembered what it contained. ‘A piece of cake?’
Mr Smart unexpectedly laughed, and there wasn’t any humour in the laugh. ‘Tell me, is that an offer of something to eat — or self-congratulation?’
She felt the blood drain from her face. ‘What exactly do you mean?’
He gave a superior smile. ‘A piece of cake. One of those cheerful phrases the RAF has given the language. Is that what all this has been, Mrs Bell? A piece of cake?’
She clenched her teeth. She thought, I’ve been through a police interrogation, an inquest and a funeral. Am I to be tripped by this pipsqueak insurance man? He’s only guessing. He can’t be certain. She prised the lid off the tin and held her mother’s trench cake in front of him.
He selected a slice. There was a sneer on his face, as if the act of handing over the cheque had absolved him of the need to curry favour. ‘Strictly between ourselves, I’ve come across some queer things in the insurance business, but this is one of the queerest. The very day your husband is due to surrender his policy, he’s killed in an accident. Astonishing. You can hardly blame my company for wanting to make sure of the facts. We put the case in the hands of our best investigators. They find that the only person who stands to benefit — no sugar, if that’s my cup — has a watertight alibi. Sorry, I shouldn’t use the word “alibi”. It implies that an offence was committed and we know it wasn’t, don’t we? The coroner was satisfied, his jury were satisfied and our investigators were unable to prove that anything irregular had happened.’
So it was supposition. He knew nothing about Antonia.
‘Then I suggest, Mr Smart, that you stop imagining things.’ Rose pushed the tea towards him. She reached for her handbag and took out her fountain pen. ‘Do you have that receipt?’
‘In the envelope.’
He finished his tea and left without touching the cake.
Some time after midnight Hector stopped work in his office downstairs and came to bed. He undressed in the dark, padding about in his shirt-tails so as not to disturb Antonia.
He didn’t disturb her because she was still awake. She lay in silence in her own bed with her eyes open, waiting. The plan of action she was shortly to outline to Hector required his total concentration. She wanted him passive, in bed, where he had no choice except to listen. He had to be made to understand that his part in the plan was not only necessary, but inescapable.
She waited two or three minutes after he’d climbed into bed.
‘Hec.’
‘Mm?’
‘What did you think of Rose?’
‘Who?’
‘My pretty little friend from the WAAF.’
‘Rosie Bell? Nice girl. Why ask me?’
‘I’ve decided to kill her.’
The bedsprings screeched. ‘You gone mad?’
‘I knew you’d say that. Listen, will you? It’s the perfect answer to our problem. We invite her here to cook for you while I’m away.’
‘You’re going to kill her?’
‘Pipe down and listen. I said I’m going away for a few days.’
‘Going away? Where?’
‘I’ll come to that. I won’t really be away. Not far, anyway. I’ve arranged to stay somewhere near. We give Rose the key and she lets herself in to make you a pie or something. I saw the way she looked at you when you asked if she could cook. She’ll do it for you. I’ll be hiding in the house. I surprise her and knock her out with chloroform. Then I smother her with a cushion. No blood. No mess.’
‘Antonia, this is raving mad, you know.’
‘No, it isn’t, and I’ll tell you why. I’ve managed to get hold of a blank death certificate.’
‘A doctor’s certificate?’