‘You should leave him,’ her lunch companion said.
Jack Dartford, five years her junior, was a darkly handsome man with a moustache and an easy smile, dressed in a double-fronted blazer and cravat. He was looking at her with concern. From the moment they had met, he had noticed something strained about her. Even the way she was sitting now seemed nervous, defensive, one hand stroking the other arm. She had not taken off her sunglasses. He wondered if she had a black eye.
‘He’d kill me,’ she replied. She smiled curiously. ‘Actually, he did try to kill me in a way – after our last row.’
‘You’re not serious!’
‘Don’t worry, Jack. He didn’t hurt me. It was all bluster. He knows something’s up. All those telephone calls, days off in London, the letters … I told you not to write to me.’
‘Does he read them?’
‘No. But he’s not stupid. And he talks to the postman. Every time I’ve received a handwritten letter from London, he’s probably heard about it. Anyway, it all came to the fore over dinner last night. He more or less accused me of seeing someone else.’
‘You didn’t tell him about me!’
‘Afraid he’ll come after you with a horsewhip? I wouldn’t put it past him. But no, Jack, I didn’t tell him about you.’
‘Did he hurt you?’
‘No.’ She took off her sunglasses. She looked tired but there were no bruises around her eyes. ‘It was just unpleasant. It’s always unpleasant where Magnus is concerned.’
‘Why won’t you leave him?’
‘Because I have no money. You have to understand that Magnus has a vindictive streak the size of the Panama Canal. If I tried to walk out on him, he’d surround himself with lawyers. He’d make sure that I left Pye Hall with nothing more than the clothes I was wearing.’
‘I have money.’
‘I don’t think so, darling. Certainly not enough.’
It was true. Dartford worked in the money market, which in the true sense wasn’t really work at all. He dabbled. He made investments. But recently he’d had an unlucky streak and he very much hoped that Frances Pye had no idea how close he was to rock bottom. He couldn’t afford to marry her. He couldn’t afford to run away with her. The way things were going, he could barely afford lunch.
‘How was the South of France?’ he asked, changing the subject. That was where they had met, playing tennis together.
‘It was boring. I’d have much preferred it if you’d been there.’
‘I’m sure. Did you get in any tennis?’
‘Not really. To be honest, I was quite glad to leave. We got a letter in the middle of the week. A woman at Pye Hall had tripped on a wire, fallen down the stairs and broken her neck.’
‘My God! Was Freddy there?’
‘No. He was staying with friends down in Hastings. He’s still there, as a matter of fact. He doesn’t seem to want to come home.’
‘I don’t blame him. So who was she?’
‘The housekeeper. A woman called Mary Blakiston. She’d been with us for years and she’s going to be almost impossible to replace. And that wasn’t the end of it. When we finally got back last Saturday we discovered we’d been burgled.’
‘No!’
‘I’m telling you. It was the groundsman’s fault – at least, that’s what the police think. He’d smashed a pane of glass at the back of the house. He had to do it, to let the doctor in.’
‘Why did you need a doctor?’
‘Pay attention, Jack. It was for the dead woman. Brent, the groundsman, had seen her through the window, just lying there. He called the doctor and the two of them broke into the house to see if they could help. Well, obviously there wasn’t anything they could do. But after that, he just left the door with its broken pane. He didn’t even bother to get it boarded up. It was an open invitation to burglars and the burglars accepted it, thank you very much.’
‘Did you lose very much?’
‘Not personally, no. Magnus keeps most of his valuables in a safe and they couldn’t open that. But they marauded through the place. Did quite a bit of damage. Pulled open drawers and scattered the contents – that sort of thing. It took all of Sunday and yesterday to clear it up.’ She reached out with the cigarette and Dartford slid an ashtray in front of her. ‘I’d left some jewellery beside the bed and I lost that. It makes you feel uneasy, thinking you’ve had strangers in the bedroom.’
‘I’ll say.’
‘And Magnus lost his precious treasure trove. He wasn’t at all happy about that.’
‘What treasure was that?’
‘It’s Roman, mainly silver. It’s been in the family for generations, ever since they dug it up on their land. It came from some sort of burial site. There were rings, armlets, some decorative boxes, coins. We had it in a display case in the dining room. Of course, he’d never had it insured even though it was meant to be worth a fortune. Well, it’s a bit late now …’
‘Were the police helpful?’
‘Of course not. We had some chap come over from Bath. He sniffed around, wasted a lot of fingerprint powder, asked impertinent questions and then disappeared. Completely useless.’
The waiter arrived with the glass of wine. Dartford had been drinking Campari and soda. He ordered another. ‘It’s a shame it wasn’t Magnus,’ he remarked, once the waiter had gone.
‘What do you mean?’
‘The lady who fell down the stairs. It’s a shame it wasn’t him.’
‘That’s a dreadful thing to say.’
‘I’m only saying what you’re thinking, darling. I know you well enough. I assume you’d inherit the whole caboodle if Magnus popped his clogs.’
Frances blew out cigarette smoke and looked curiously at her companion. ‘As a matter of fact, the house and the grounds would all go to Freddy. There’s some sort of entail on the estate. It’s been that way for generations.’
‘But you’d be all right.’
‘Oh yes. And of course, I’d get a lifetime interest in Pye Hall. The only thing I couldn’t do is sell the place. But it’s not going to happen. Magnus is in perfect health, certainly for his age.’
‘Yes, Frances. But a big house like that. A wire stretched out across the stairs. You never know what might happen. Maybe those burglars of yours could return and finish him off.’