Sir Nigel having set an appointment at noon, Geraldine suggested that after their various wanderings they should meet for lunch at one at the Talbot, just opposite the cathedral. “Alec, if you wouldn’t mind driving the Vauxhall, there will be plenty of room for everyone.”
“I’ll take my hire car,” said Raymond brusquely. “Smethwick, the driver, has been sitting about for three days doing nothing at my expense. And that’s just since I came here. I’ve had the same man since I arrived in England. A cushy job he’s had of it.”
As no one else seemed about to volunteer, Frank offered to go with him. Alec frowned. Daisy wondered if he was worried that they might kill each other en route. If so, she didn’t know what she could do to stop them, but she was about to suggest keeping them company when Geraldine said, “In that case, Truscott can drive the Vauxhall. So why don’t you go with Raymond, Alec?”
She thus relieved Daisy of the responsibility of keeping the men from one another’s throats as far as Worcester. Though Daisy still couldn’t see the cheerful, easygoing Frank Crowley as a murderer, his having brought Ben all the way to England at considerable expense showed him to have more determination than was apparent.
The Vauxhall and the Daimler duly came round to the portico to pick everyone up. Geraldine told the chauffeurs to take them to the Edgar Tower, the fourteenth-century gatehouse to the cathedral close.
When they arrived, she instructed her guests to visit the cathedral first, in the school matron voice that was as effective as the dowager’s grande dame voice, as Daisy was amused to note. Even Laurette trailed through the gate with the group.
The ancient building inspired awe in Raymond and Frank, and even in Vincent and Laurette, though they were more accustomed to historical surroundings. In Daisy, familiarity inspired not contempt, but comfort. She had grown up visiting the cathedral quite frequently, for christenings, weddings, and funerals, and for the Three Choirs Festival. Her favourite spot was the sepulchre of Bad King John, whose sinister reputation had fascinated her as a child.
She had a job to do now. She had to spread people out so that the others wouldn’t notice when Alec went off to see the chief constable. Though Geraldine having an appointment in Worcester would arouse no curiosity, the same could not be said of Alec.
If someone was up to something—which wasn’t entirely clear—their suspicions might be awakened. Before they left Hampstead, Martha had been asked not to mention that Alec was a copper. However, the Fairacres servants knew, so the chances were that all the guests knew by now.
In which case, they had a pretty poor opinion of his competence, or they wouldn’t be trying whatever they were trying.
Having thoroughly confused herself, Daisy suggested that the men might like to climb the tower or visit the eleventh-century crypt.
“I’m afraid I’m avoiding steps when I can,” said Vincent, waving the walking stick he was still dependent on.
“Oh yes. You might like to inspect the effigy of King John.”
“King John!” Laurette muttered scornfully.
“I thought you and I would go and admire the stained glass in the lady chapel—Victorian but beautiful—so that we can tell Geraldine we did,” she whispered to the disgruntled woman. “Then we’ll go shopping, I promise.”
The sun shone in through the delicately colourful east window of the lady chapel. Laurette made it plain that she’d much rather be looking through the windows of the best department store in town. She took out her compact and, peering into the small round mirror, powdered her nose.
Daisy delayed her as long as was humanly possible. When they returned to the nave, none of the men was in sight. Hoping Alec had managed to slip away unnoticed, Daisy wished she could, too.
An hour or so later, she and Laurette were walking briskly back along The Tything amidst a crowd of bustling shoppers, many bearing baskets, some pushing prams or accompanied by small children. Laurette complained about the Worcester shops’ lack of any clothes worthy of purchase.
Shopping with her had been a revelation to Daisy. Lucy always dressed in the height of fashion; attaining it was a long drawn-out process that bored Daisy to tears, involving models and seamstresses and milliners and much discussion of everything but cost. Laurette, on the other hand, swept through the ready-to-wear racks with an inerrant eye for what would both suit her and fit her, at a reasonable price. Her aim was not fashion but a businesslike chic.
That was the way to do it, Daisy thought. Now all she needed was the inerrant eye.…
Not that she had any way to judge Laurette’s claim of inerrancy, as she hadn’t actually bought any clothes, just sighed for the shops of London and Paris.