The Killing of Olga Klimt (11 page)

‘Not Billy. Billy said Deirdre had all the allure of a cold hip bath. He’s seen her somewhere, at some matinee, I think. She was pointed out to him.’

‘Billy?’ Lord Collingwood’s left eyebrow went up. ‘Is that your new beau? So he does exist! Hoorah!’

She pursed her lips slightly. ‘Did you think he was a figment of my imagination?’

‘I did wonder! You know I only want what’s best for you! Such a relief! Jolly glad to know you are moving on, my dear.’

‘What did you want to see me about, Rupert?’

He looked at her with mock solemnity. ‘Well, Joanie, you promised to do something for me? You haven’t forgotten, have you, my dear?’

‘Oh
that
. Of course I haven’t forgotten. I said I would help you, didn’t I? You don’t have to worry. You know I always do what I say. Who is this mysterious friend anyway?’

‘He’s an old fool,’ Lord Collingwood said with a sigh. ‘But he’s done me several tremendous favours, so I feel under an obligation of sorts. I know the whole thing’s rather awkward, but I didn’t have the heart to say no, my dear.’

‘Who
is
he?’

‘He’d rather he remained anonymous, if you don’t mind. I’ve been sworn to secrecy.’

Joan Selwyn tried to hide her exasperation. ‘It’s such an incredible story. Are you sure he wasn’t making it up?’

‘I don’t see why he should want to send us on a wild goose chase, do you?’

‘He may have some sinister motive.’

‘No, no. I am convinced his request is entirely bona fide. He is an old fool. Ah there’s the waiter, at long last! Service in London is no longer what it used to be. What would you like, my dear?’

‘Just a cup of coffee. No, nothing to eat.’

‘I’ll have some scrambled eggs on toast. Feel ravenous. Hardly touched a thing this morning! Deirdre, on the other hand, kept stuffing herself with kedgeree. She generates
such
tension, you wouldn’t believe it.’ Lord Collingwood shook his head. ‘She didn’t want me to go out. If she could have her own way, she would keep me under lock and key!’

Fenella Frayle rose abruptly from her desk. Walking across her study, she locked her door. She then went up to a cupboard in the corner and producing a brand-new bottle of brandy, poured herself a glass. She took a resolute sip, then another.

She shut her eyes.

This is so unlike me, she thought as she raised the glass to her lips for the third time.

She could hear the children singing ‘An Impossible Dream’.

To fight the unbeatable foe
–

The unbeatable foe was of course Aunt Clo-Clo. Aunt Clo-Clo had been on the phone to Fenella about half an hour earlier – once again ranting and raving – it had been worse than usual, actually –

‘I am giving you till Halloween to clear out. That’s my final word. A letter from my solicitors is on the way.’

Fenella shut her eyes. She was certainly capable of killing Aunt Clo-Clo. Was she capable of killing Olga Klimt? No one could kill a perfect stranger, could they? Not unless they were mad. But she wasn’t mad. She was the most sensible, the most rational person who ever walked the earth! But imagine – just
imagine
– for argument’s sake – she did kill Olga Klimt – what guarantee was there that Charles Eresby would reciprocate?

Fenella took another sip of brandy. No guarantee at all. Chances were that the biscuit heir had forgotten all about his plan by now. But the killing of Olga Klimt might spur him on. It
might
.

I could blackmail him, Fenella thought. He wouldn’t like it if I told the police we’d agreed to exchange murders. I could actually say that he’d
paid
me to kill his girlfriend. The heir to the Eresby biscuit millions wouldn’t want the publicity, would he?

She laughed. It wouldn’t work! All he’d need to do was deny the allegation. It would be her word against his. The whole thing was quite absurd!

She took another sip. He had sounded extremely serious and matter of fact. He had asked her where Aunt Clo-Clo lived, how old she was, what her habits were, whether she had an established routine. He had sounded as though he meant business …

‘I do your murder, you do mine. We establish good, solid alibis for the murders that benefit us – we go away – thousands of miles away – the Amazonian Jungle – Acapulco – the police would never get us –’

Yes, he had sounded as though he meant business.

She kept her eyes firmly shut. It occurred to her that the present moment was perfect for the killing of Olga Klimt since Charles Eresby was at a private clinic, with doctors and nurses
watching over him like hawks round the clock. She might never get another chance as good as this! He didn’t have to go to as far as Acapulco. When Olga’s body was found,
he would have the perfect alibi
.

The murder took place later that same day.

Olga Klimt received the call on her landline at half past four in the afternoon. It was a stranger who spoke to her. It was a very pleasant kind of voice, cultivated, very English. The only odd thing was that she couldn’t quite say if it was a man or a woman …

‘Is that Olga? I am a friend of Charlie’s. He asked me to call you. He needs to see you. It’s rather urgent, in a way, but there is nothing to worry about. Could you go to the clinic at once?’

The caller rang off before she could ask any questions.

Olga panicked, she couldn’t help herself. She immediately rang Charlie but his phone was permanently engaged. He couldn’t be that ill then, she reflected, if he was on his phone? Unless someone else was using his phone?

Both the message and the way the person had spoken were very strange, now that she came to think about it. She wondered if it was Mr Bedaux who had phoned her. Mr Bedaux was a good mimic. What if Mr Bedaux was trying to get her outside Philomel Cottage for some reason?

No, nonsense. She couldn’t stay in the house. She must go and see Charlie. It was getting dark but she had nothing to fear, really. All she needed to do was walk to the end of the
cul-de-sac and then she would be out in the busy main road, where there were people, traffic, lights. She could run, run like the wind …

She put on her coat. Her hands were shaking slightly. She was scared of Mr Bedaux, of course she was. But he seemed to have disappeared! She hadn’t seen him since that day at the clinic, actually, and Charlie had phoned her earlier on and said he had been unable to get in touch with Bedaux. Well, that was a good thing – wasn’t it? Though, it was also very strange. At one time Mr Bedaux had been phoning her several times a day, asking her how she was, where she was, what she was doing, who she was with, what dress she was wearing …

There was something sinister about his silence. It suggested that Mr Bedaux somehow
knew
that she had confessed everything to Charlie. The thought caused Olga to shiver.

No, she
must
go! She picked up her bag and walked resolutely across the hall. She opened the front door and stood on the threshold. Not too cold. Looked like rain.

She glanced around. There was no one in sight. That green refuse bin. She imagined it had moved! No, she was being silly. She didn’t really expect Mr Bedaux to jump out of it! She laughed nervously.

She turned and inserted the key in the lock …

There was something wrong with the key – it refused to turn or perhaps it was her – she was nervous – she’d heard a noise – plaintive wailing – the kitten was mewing in the hall, scratching the door –

Her hands were shaking really badly now. What was wrong with the key?

The knife had been carefully sharpened and it entered the girl’s back without any resistance.

She didn’t so much as utter a sound, only a kind of a gasp.

She pitched forward and fell.

There wasn’t much blood but some of it seeped into her luminously blonde hair.

‘What seems to be the problem now?’ The Nanny Everett nurse stood at the end of the bed, regarding him with her faintly censorious expression.

‘I can’t get my girlfriend. She isn’t answering her mobile.’ Charles Eresby glanced at the clock on the wall. It was quarter to six.

‘No need to get into a state,’ the nurse said comfortably. ‘Perhaps she is on the Tube. No network if you are on the Tube. You should know that.’

‘Maybe she is on the Tube, yes.’

He didn’t know why he felt so anxious.

He had had a call earlier on. Someone from his bank had phoned him and kept talking to him for a very long time. Now that he thought about it there had been something wrong about that call. The person’s voice had sounded muffled – as though he didn’t want to be recognised?

I mustn’t get paranoid, Charlie thought. His heart was beating rapidly. It must be the coffee, he decided. He was drinking too much coffee. That was it.

‘Would that be the young lady who paid you a visit the other day? The fair-haired young lady?’

‘Yes, that’s her.’ He had no intention of discussing Olga with the Nanny Everett nurse.

‘Were you expecting her?’

‘No. Not really. Not tonight. She said she would come tomorrow morning. I – I just wanted to talk to her.’ Charles Eresby looked down at his mobile phone and once more he pressed Olga’s number.

He held the mobile to his ear.
Please, leave a message
.

‘It will be the six o’clock news soon,’ said the nurse. ‘Would you like me to turn on the TV?’

‘No, thank you.’

‘Would you like a drink? A cup of tea?’

‘No, nothing, thank you. I have a bit of a headache, actually.’ Charles Eresby lay back on his bed and shut his eyes.

‘You won’t be able to go to sleep later on if you start snoozing now,’ she warned him.

She clearly didn’t see she was being a nuisance. If he had had a Pierrot, he would have thrown it at her!

Eventually he heard her leave the room. He knew she meant well but she could be annoying … He mustn’t be ungrateful … They had been taking very good care of him here … No, he didn’t feel like going back to Sloane Square … and to Bedaux … There was no question of his keeping Bedaux … If Bedaux tried to bother Olga in any way, he would call the police … He hoped Olga’s silence didn’t have anything to do with Bedaux … He had no need of a valet … Ridiculous idea, when one came to think of it … ‘George V valet’ … That was private code for death, if Charlie remembered correctly, the invention of some controversial politician, now dead. No, not for death exactly, rather, for fear of dying while asleep and being found by a servant the following morning … How morbid that was!

No more valets, Charlie thought.

‘Sorry, sir, but there is a message for you.’

Charlie opened his eyes.

It was the young nurse with the silly snub-nosed face. She was standing by the door.

‘What message?’

‘Someone phoned – they left a number for you to call – they said it was very urgent.’ Coming up to the bed, she handed him a slip of paper.

Charles Eresby stared down at the number. It was a mobile phone number he didn’t recognise. For some reason, he didn’t quite know why, he didn’t like the look of it. ‘Didn’t the caller leave a name?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Man or woman?’

‘Can’t say, sir. I thought it was a gentleman at first but I am not sure. I think it was someone who knew you were here, with us, but they didn’t know your mobile number.’

He nodded. ‘That makes sense. Thank you, nurse.’

The door closed behind her.

He dialled the number.

His call was answered almost at once.

‘Hallo?’ Charlie said. ‘Hallo? Who is that?’

There was a silence but he could hear someone’s laboured breathing.

‘Hallo? You left a message – It’s Charles Eresby speaking –’

‘Olga Klimt is dead,’ a voice said. ‘Exactly as you wanted it. Now it’s your turn. You’ll need to do your part of the deal.’

Sobs racked his body and tears streamed down his face.

He sat in the back of a cab. He was wearing his silk pyjamas, monogrammed dressing gown and slippers. He didn't really care if the driver saw his tears or not. He had rushed out of his room, unheeding of the alarmed noises Nanny Everett and the other nurse were making. He had expected some kind of opposition as he had run out of the main entrance, but no one had attempted to stop him.

Olga, Olga, Olga
. He kept whispering her name.

His heart was beating violently. It's my fault, he thought. I did order her killing. He'd remembered. It had all come back to him. He had been in a befuddled state when he made his proposition. He had been drunk. That awful sweet sherry! Like drinking liquid Demerara sugar! He had wanted Olga dead. It had been his idea. But who would have thought that that fat lump would take it seriously? He couldn't even remember her name! He had sensed something in her, similar vibes, a similar aura, whatever it was. Perhaps would-be killers possessed some kind of radar?

Miss Frayle, that was her name. Yes. Miss Frayle had gone and killed Olga. She was mad, must be!
I never meant it
, he whispered. I never meant it. I was extremely upset – not myself! Please, Olga, forgive me!

It couldn't have been a prank call, could it? No. Something about the caller's voice had struck him as chillingly genuine. What was it?
Controlled panic
. Yes. Her voice had sounded harsh with suppressed hysteria …

Someone less like a hired assassin he could not imagine – Miss Frayle had oozed stolid common sense – but now she seemed to expect him to do her murder! She wanted him to kill her aunt. He remembered the aunt's name because of its sheer absurdity –
Aunt Cluck-Cluck
– something like that.

He remembered his exact words. He had said he would kill the aunt – but Miss Frayle had to kill Olga first.

Oh Lord. Oh, Lord. He buried his face in his hands …

His mobile phone rang. Automatically he put it to his ear.

It was Mummy. He didn't want to speak to Mummy. He sobbed.

‘Charlie? What's the matter, darling?' Deirdre Collingwood asked.

‘Olga – Olga is dead.' At once he regretted saying it. No one should know Olga was dead! He turned off the phone.