Wasn’t it?
It was horrid to talk about doing away with Hector as if he were just as expendable as Barry. The two couldn’t be compared. Barry had degenerated dangerously. He’d started to get violent. There would have been no escape. But Hector offered no threat whatsoever. He’d done nothing despicable that Rose had heard of. In fact he appeared rather charming. His worst fault, it seemed, was that he talked too much about his work — hardly a capital crime. Antonia was bored with him. She wanted to be rid of him, but there was a catch. She also wanted his money, to keep on living like a countess. Not a nice reason for killing anyone.
That, in Rose’s eyes, would be a very wicked murder. Of course it was nonsense. It had to be.
She had an unpleasant shock on Friday. The doorbell rang at lunchtime and when she answered it she saw two children with the lifeless body of an adult man between them. They were trying with difficulty to support him at the armpits. His head hung over his chest and his knees had buckled under him. He was dressed in a grey trilby, shirt, trousers and boots. The elder child grabbed the head and jerked it upright.
‘Penny for the Guy, miss.’
The face was a crudely drawn mask. The body was stuffed.
‘Bonfire Night.’
‘Isn’t it rather early for that? It’s still October.’
They were the Irish children from two doors along. They stood staring at her.
‘I’ll see what I’ve got in my purse. Did you make him yourselves?’
‘Yes, miss.’
‘He doesn’t look very warm, dressed like that, in just a shirt. Wait a minute. I’ve got an idea.’
She returned presently with Barry’s demob jacket, the garment Ronald had been caught in the act of trying on. ‘See if this fits.’
‘That’s too good for the Guy, miss.’
‘I’ve no use for it. Look, it suits him.’ She laughed. ‘And here’s a tie. He’ll look smart in a tie.’
In Barry’s jacket and RAF tie, he looked distinctly smarter.
Antonia phoned on Saturday morning and suggested they met at the restaurant at eight.
‘Reggiori’s, in Euston Road, practically opposite St Pancras, darling. It’s my regular haunt, red plush and brass, suits me down to the ground, terribly decadent, but the food is as good as you’ll get anywhere. Can you make it, or would you like me to collect you?’
‘That won’t be necessary.’
‘Reggiori’s at eight, then.’
‘Antonia...’
‘What, darling?’
‘Will Hector be there?’
‘God, yes. I haven’t bumped him off yet.’
The fine silk stirred against her skin as she moved. She’d made French knickers and a slip and trimmed them with the lace. To complete the ensemble, she was wearing the one pair of nylons she owned. Over it all, she had the severe black suit with the false shirt front she’d worn for the inquest. And her soon-to-be-discarded tweed coat.
She left the house about twenty to eight with the intention of walking along to Vauxhall Bridge Road and finding a taxi. First, her attention was caught by the road safety poster opposite. Something else had been added to it. She crossed the street. They’d carefully coloured the widow’s face, giving her lipstick, rouge and mascara. The eyes were now light blue. The falling tear had been blocked out entirely. If not a merry widow, she was certainly less bleak than before.
Rose smiled at her.
16
Reggiori’s must have been a cleaner’s nightmare. Ornate fittings in abundance: the original gas jets, hat pegs, doorknobs, hand rails and bar furniture. More brass than the Royal Philharmonic. Red plush settees, wall mirrors, mosaic floor, ornamental tiles, potted ferns and silver cruets.
Antonia waved from a table against the wall and Hector stood up and helped Rose into her chair. Whatever it was on his hair smelt expensive. She smiled her thanks. The guarded look he gave her in return was difficult to understand. He’d been so open the last time they had met.
After they’d ordered, Antonia asked about the funeral and Rose told her how Rex Ballard, Peter Bliss and the others had driven down from Kettlesham Heath. ‘I wasn’t too happy about them coming at first, but as it turned out they helped me get through the day.’
Ridges of tension showed in Antonia’s cheek. ‘You didn’t mention my name?’
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘Did they?’
‘No.’
The lines softened and disappeared. ‘I expect they were shocked about Barry.’
‘Rex could hardly take it in.’
‘I bet he wasn’t lost for words, though.’
Rose smiled. ‘No.’
The wine waiter arrived and Hector asked whether Rose cared for Italian wine. She made the mistake of asking if wine wasn’t rather extravagant and got ticked off by Antonia.
‘The war’s over now. You’ve got to get out of that scrimp-and-save mentality.’
‘People in your circumstances can. It’s not so easy for the rest of us.’
‘Oh, send me to the guillotine, darling. I don’t know how the poor live.’
Hector turned from ordering the wine and showed that he had missed the point entirely. ‘I think in this country they don’t use the guillotine.’ He made a ‘V’ shape between thumb and forefinger of his right hand and pressed it hard into the angle of his neck and jaw, at the same time pulling an imaginery lever with his left hand. He ended the performance by giving a doglike stare at Rose that made her feel extremely uneasy.
She took a sip of water and tried to think of some other topic, but Antonia was unaffected.
‘I see that our ex-RAF colleague went to the scaffold this morning.’
‘Oh?’
‘Neville Heath.’
Rose tensed. Hector made a vibrating sound with his lips but it didn’t discourage Antonia.
‘According to the Star, he took leave of the world in style. They asked for his last request and he said he’d like a whisky. When it was handed to him and everyone was waiting he said, “I think I’ll make that a double.” Nice sense of humour.’
Rose said, ‘I can’t admire a man who did the things he did. Can we change the subject?’
‘If you like, darling. What shall we talk about — carburettors? No, Hector, it’s meant to be a joke, like the double whisky.’
Hector didn’t talk about carburettors. He told them he’d spent another good day at the Victoria & Albert Museum, where his refrigerator was being demonstrated at the Britain Can Make It exhibition. Crowds had formed every day around the stand and there was tremendous interest from retailers.
‘How thrilling for you! I must come and see it.’
His chestnut eyes suddenly shone again. ‘You tell me when. I can get you in complimentary.’
Antonia studied her fingernails. ‘Don’t get carried away, Rosie. Just about everything in that tinpot exhibition is marked “For export only”, including his precious fridge.’
Hector glared at her.
The minestrone made a timely arrival. Rose took a first spoonful, watched by Antonia.
‘Good?’
‘This wasn’t out of a tin.’
‘Did your parents come up for the funeral?’
‘Yes. They asked me to go home with them.’
‘Why? Do they need looking after?’
‘They were thinking of me.’
‘You’re lucky. They must be fond of you. My mother’s impossible. Even Hector can’t stand her.’