Chapter 16

Nerissa recognized the girl from the photograph in the paper, Kayleigh cried when she saw it, and Abbas Reza tried tocomfort her by saying Danila would surely turn up safe and sound. Shoshana never read newspapers. The barmaid in the Kensington Park Hotel might have recognized her as Mix'scompanion, but she didn't see the photograph. She had gone to Spain to work in a seafront bar on the Costa Blanca. Mix had no need to see it. It was enough for him to know that photographor another would be there. The newspaper had got it from one of Danila's brothers, who handed it over while his stepfather was out.

Mix sat downstairs in the drawing room, studying the Yellow Pages, though he should have been at work an hour before. There were so many messages on his mobile that he had erased the lot without looking at them. Ideally, he should phone all these woodworm specialists and check which one of them was coming, but there were dozens, if not hundreds. He'd made atentative attempt at two of them and had had to hold on solong, pressing this key and that, listening to piped music, thathe gave up. The only thing to do was take a day off, stay hereI ad let the man in himself. Or, rather, not let him in, tell himI his services weren't needed. If the Fordyce woman or the other one insisted on staying, they might have a tussle on the doorstep. He must somehow stop that happening.

He'd have to call head office and tell them he was ill. The doctor would come some time in the afternoon, the woodwormman at any time. This evening he was supposed to begoing for a drink with Ed. Suppose he hadn't agreed to take oldChawcer her tea, he wouldn't have found out about the woodwormman‑ the outcome didn't bear thinking of. It drove him back into the room where Danila lay under the floorboards. T he smell in this extreme heat was worse, awful, like things rotting in the back of a fridge someone had turned off. He felt like breaking a window to let some of it out but he thought of the noise it would make and the fuss it would cause.

As soon as possible he must move the body. Once the woodwormman had been got rid of, the doctor and those women had gone, he would move it and drag it down all fifty‑ two of, those stairs. For the present, he couldn't stay in his own flat, it was too high up, too remote. He had to be sure he'd hear the doorbell when people came, preferably be stationed where he could see them coming. Halfway down the tiled flight he heard a key turn in the front door lock. Old Ma Fordyce or MaWinthrop. It was Fordyce, the one with the long red fingernails. He heard her slowly stumping up the stairs below himand they met outside old Chawcer's bedroom door.

" Good morning. How are you today? "

" Fine, " Mix lied.

" Did you feed the cat? "

" Me? "

" Yes, you, " said Olive Fordyce. " I don't see anyone else around, do you? Please give the poor thing some food at once. " She went into old Chawcer's bedroom.

Talking to me as if I was her servant, thought Mix. Why shouldn't she feed the bloody cat? He was rather afraid of Otto, who gave him almost human stares of loathing, but he went into the kitchen and looked about him for cans of catfood. His mother had been as messy as Chawcer, the reason hewas such a fastidious housekeeper himself, so he had a good idea where to look. A tin decorated with a picture of a catwashing its paws came to light in the back of a cupboard full of sprouting potatoes and onions growing green shoots. He put half into a saucer and left it on the floor beside a large plasticbag stuffed full of moldy loaf ends and bread rolls.

It didn't really matter when the doctor came or if he came at all, except that while he was there Chawcer wouldn't be able to get out of bed and wander about. The important caller was thewoodworm man. Mix pushed a chair covered in fraying browncorduroy up close to the front window where he could sitand keep an eye on the street. He had left his mobile upstairs. Never mind, he could use her phone if he needed it. ThereOlive Fordyce found him half an hour later.

" I don't think Gwen's any better. That cough sounds like pleurisy. Imagine it, in this heat. What are you doing here? "

Mix made no reply. " What's the name of the firm she's got coming to see to the woodworm? "

" Are you asking me? How should I know? Ask her. "

" She's forgotten. "

Olive sat down. For a ministering angel with stairs to climb, she was wearing highly unsuitable shoes, red, pointed, and with two‑ inch heels. Even without looking she could feel her ankles swelling. " She wanted me to go up into that room and see what I thought. She says there's a funny smell. "

If he hadn't been sitting down, Mix thought he would havefallen. His head swam. He managed to say, " The woodworm people will see to that. "

" Well, I must say I don't really want to go up there now. My poor feet feel bad enough as it is, it's always the same in hotI weather. Gwen really ought to have a stairlift. "

There was no answer to be made to this. She got up, having difficulty in balancing. " You'll be here to let the doctor in, won't you? "

Mix wanted to shout something rude at her, but he remembered that, improbable as it was, this woman must be Nerissa's great‑ aunt. " I suppose so, " he salid.

With scorn, he watched her totter down the street. If these old women knew what they looked like! It sounded as if neither she nor the other one would be back today, and that was to his advantage. He'd be in control of the house, who came and went. The woodworm man wouldn't force his way in, the doctor wouldn't want to go upstairs and find out where the smell was coming from. Hold on to that, he told himself, hold on to that. It's only a matter of waiting.

The call came for Nerissa as she was waiting for the taxi to arrive and take her to a shoot at the Dorchester. She had almost given up hope of hearing from him. If a man you've met (or remet) doesn't phone you within forty‑ eight hours, the chances are he won't phone at all. But the invitation he was extending to her was so unlike any she had ever previously received thatshe wondered for a moment if it was a joke.

" My parents and yours and your brother Andrew and his wife are coming to dinner on Saturday and I wondered if you'd like to join us. "

She couldn't ask him if he was serious. The temptation to say no was quite strong but warring with it was the lure of just seeing him, being with him, even if six others were there. She liked his parents and she and Andrew had always been close, he being three years the elder but still the nearest to her in age.

" Nerissa? " Darel said.

She spoke haltingly. " Yes, thank you. I'd‑ I' d love to. "

He gave her the address, miles away in Docklands, somewhere near Old Crane Stairs. Wapping was the station on the East London Line.

" I expect I'll drive, " said Nerissa. " Excuse me, I must go, my cab's come. "

What was the idea, she thought as she got into her taxi. Was he just very old‑ fashioned, or was he afraid of being alone with her? He wasn't gay, was he? Her heart seemed to beat very slowly but loudly. No, he couldn't be. Sheila Jones had talked about some girl friend he used to have. She considered. Perhap she just wanted to test her, see if the way he'd used to think about her was right or if she really had turned out to be different, as he'd said.

A client was with Shoshana, so Kayleigh talked to the police, though she had already told them all she knew. On that Friday Danila had worked at the spa as usual, Kayleigh herself had spoken to her on the phone at three‑ thirty, half an hour before she was due to take over from the Bosnian girl. She had seen her, exchanged a few words, and Danila had gone off home to Oxford Gardens. Of the other tenants in the house, one, a man on the second floor, had seen her come in at four‑ thirty orthereabouts. He had been in the hallway, sorting out his letters from the rest of the post. Danila had said hi to him and goneoff upstairs to her room on the first floor. Abbas Reza hadn'tseen her, though he believed he had heard her leave the house at about seven‑ fifty that evening. If she had a boyfriend he knew nothing about it and nor did Kayleigh. No one had seen her since.

If she were dead, the police believed, her body would have been found by this time. They considered suggestions of a secret lover. But why should she keep a lover hidden? She had nothing to be ashamed of or even discreet about. The only clue, and that tenuous, was that the tenant on the second floor, a man of Chinese origin called Tony Li, had heard Danila and a man talking to each other outside her room one eveninga bout three weeks before she disappeared. He hadn't seen theman, only heard his voice though not the words he spoke.

Waiting with nothing to do, no distractions, nothing to read or listen to or look at, is the slowest of all time‑ wasters. After two hours of it, Mix went upstairs and fetched Crimes of the Forties. Somehow he didn't want to read anything these days but books about Reggie, not magazines, not newspapers‑ definitely not newspapers. Coming back downstairs he heard old Chawcer coughing her lungs up. Otto was in the hallway, washing his face after eating the food Mix had put down. He behaved as ifno one else was there or as if this human male was so insignificant as not to count and certainly not to be considered as interrupting his cleaning routine.

There seemed nothing new in the book, nothing he hadn't, come across before. He knew all about Beresford Brown, an African Caribbean immigrant and new tenant of 10 RillingtonPlace, taking down a partition in the kitchen and finding twobodies pushed into an alcove. By then Reggie was far away, though not far enough to escape eventual arrest. All this was familiar stuff to Mix, but he read this author's version with interest just the same, anxious for details of the process of decaying corpses. It had been December and cold. Fifty years ago, b efore this global warming, even March would have been freezing, and as for August… Just his luck that today it was hotter than Spain, according to the television, as hot as Dubai.

He had read about fifteen pages‑ there were only twentytwo on Reggie‑ when the phone rang. To answer it or not? Might as well. It would be something to do. A man's voice said, " Is Miss Chawcer there, please? " He sounded quite elderly.

" She's not available now, " Mix said, and then quickly, " You're not the woodworm people, are you? "

" I'm afraid not. My name is Stephen Reeves, Dr. Reeves. "

This wasn't the doctor who was expected later but the man old Chawcer had been writing all those letters to. Mix said, " Oh, yes? "

" Would you give her a message? Would you say I'd like to drop in and see her when I'm next in London? "

He gave a phone number, which Mix said he would write down but didn't. There was no paper or pen at hand. She probably knew the number anyway, she was bound to. " I'll tell her, " he said.

Back to the book and the waiting. The illustrations horrified him but they drew his eyes as well. The bodies looked so squalid, like dirty bundles of rags instead of real dead people. Ethel Christie lay under the floorboards in front of the fireplace in the front room. Would Danila look like that when helifted the boards? When someone else lifted them? Ghosts and those early fears seemed absurd, childish, now that he had real danger to worry about. The caption under another picture said Ruth Fuerst's leg bone had been driven into the ground to support a fence post. Reggie's callousness fascinated him. Not many people, surely, would have the willpower and the nerveto use a bit of a dead human being for such a purpose. He would think of that while he was disposing of Danila's body and it would bring him strength. He would think of Reggie'scoolness and his nerve.

By now he was beginning to get hungry but he didn't fancy anything out of old Chawcer's kitchen. He ran up the stairs twoat a time for the first one and a half flights. After that he was so breathless he had to rest, he had to sit down on one of the treads. Staggering up the rest, he went into his flat to hear hisphone ringing and he stood still, wondering whether to answer it or not. The woodworm people wouldn't phone him and nor would the doctor. Might as well leave it. He made a couple of rough sandwiches by laying pre‑ sliced cheese between piecesof pre‑ sliced bread, found a packet of crisps and a muesli bar and went back down to his post at the window.

The two women arrived at the same time. Mix saw one of them step out of a car with a " Doctor" label inside its windscreenand the other alight from a van with a woodgrain pattern allover, Woodrid printed in gold on its side. For some reason heknew plenty would call sexist, he hadn't expected either to be awoman. The doctor was the first to reach the doorstep, a fewpaces ahead of the van driver. She didn't bother much with Mix and spoke brusquely.

" Where is she? "

" In her bedroom, " he said with equal gruffness.

" And where might that be? "

" First floor. First door on the left. "

The doctor had gone past him and the woodworm woman, already had a foot over the threshold.

" We shan't need you after all, " Mix said.

" Youwhat? " She was rather pretty, neatly dressed in a brownuniform with a W on the breast pocket.

" You're not needed. She's ill. Miss Chawcer, I mean. She's ill in bed. She can't talk to you. "

The woman stepped back outside but showed no inclinationto go. " I could still take a look. That's all I need to do for a start, take a look at the infestation. "

" There isn't an infestation, " Mix almost shouted. " I told you, she doesn't want you. Not today. She's ill. Come back nextweek if you want. "

She was saying she didn't want, not if she was going to be spoken to like that, when Mix shut the door in her face. Aftert hat he didn't look out of the window again until he heard the van start up, and when he did look out it was to see Ma Winthrop staggering up the path with carrier bags full of shopping.

She could let herself in, he wasn't going to. And if any of that stuff she was carrying was for old Chawcer's lunch, shecould see to that too. How Queenie " Winthrop guessed he wasin the drawing room he didn't know, but she put her head around the door. She seemed unpleasantly surprised.

" What are you doing there? "

" Letting the doctor in. "

" Oh, yes, I saw her car. Isn't she a sweet woman? "

Mix didn't answer. It had suddenly come to him that he had forgotten to phone the head office. " I'm going up to my own place now, " he said. " I fed the cat. "

Would she go into old Chawcer's bedroom while the doctor was there? Even if she did, even though the woodworm womanhad come and gone, it was far too risky to attempt takingthe body down all those flights of stairs. His only chance was in the night. He would have liked to get out into the garden and look around the place, find the best burial site, see if there was a shed or some sort of outbuilding in which to lay thebody while he dug. Because of projecting roofs and bays, itw as impossible to see more than the end of the garden from his flat.

Phone the head office while they were all in that bedroom, get it over. Later on he could attempt going outside. The receptionist who answered didn't wait for him to say who he wanted to speak to.

" Jack wants to talk to you now. " Jack was Mr. Fleisch, the departmental manager. " He really wanted to talk to you like first thing this morning. I'll put him on. "

Mix scarcely had a chance to get a word in edgewise. " Arey ou ill? You must be seriously sick to miss four home visits, seven urgent phone calls, and three text messages. Half of west London is out gunning for you. Is it mental or physical? I'd say mental, wouldn't you? That why sending you to the medicdoes fuck‑ all for you. You are up shit creek, my lad. "

" What can I say? Maybe it is mental. Maybe it's depression. I'll have to snap out of it, I know I will. "

" Too right. Spot on. Meantime, while you're doing yours napping‑ out, Mr. Pearson wants to see you first thing tomorrowmornmg. "

" I'll be there, " said Mix.

" You'd better. "

Things must be serious if he was summoned to the chief executive's presence. A sacking matter, or at best a last‑ chance matter. To hell with it, he couldn't worry about that now. If he got the body out from under the floor and out into the garden after dark, he would never manage to dig a deep grave and put her in it in a single night. Anyway, he'd be fit for nothing in the morning. He was once more in the room where she lay, nauseous from the strengthening stench but contemplating lifting the floorboard now, when he heard Queenie " Winthrop's loud, fluting voice yelling at him from the first floor.

" Mr. Cellini, Mr. Cellini, are you there? Can you hear me? Can you come down a minute? "

He'd have to or she'd come up. You could smell the smell atthe top of the stairs now. " Okay, I'm coming. "

He shut the door and went down the tiled flight and thenext one. Ma " Winthrop looked flushed and excited. " Gwendolen has pneumonia. I can't say I'm surprised. Dr. Smithers is downstairs now, phoning for an ambulance to take her to hospital. "

Mix seemed to feel his heart leap in his chest. She was going away! He'd be alone in the house, maybe for a week. He had to ask.

" How long for? "

" Doctor doesn't know. A few days, certainly. " She addressed him as if he were fourteen years old. " Now you'll be responsiblefor the place while she's away and we're relying on you. Don't disappoint us. "