‘Lemonade? Will you have lemonade?’ Orlando offered.
‘Gladly,’ said Joe and the girl he assumed to be ‘something beginning with M’ began to pour and hand out glasses.
‘Thank you, Miss, er . . .’ he said and introduced himself and his officers.
‘Mel,’ she said. ‘Short for Melisande. Muse and bottle-washer. I’ll leave you to it. If you want to speak to me you’ll find me in the caravan. Help yourselves if you want more lemonade. There was some fruit cake a minute ago but the kids have scoffed it,’ she said cheerfully and wandered off.
They settled cross-legged in the grass, Westhorpe perching uncomfortably on a fallen log. Dorcas, with a few rude words and harsh phrases, herded the rest of the children together and swept them off into the orchard.
‘Condolences I don’t need if you were thinking of offering them, Commander,’ Orlando began bluntly. ‘I’m shocked by my sister’s death, of course, but you should understand that I was never fond of her and she resented and, I do believe, hated me. Nevertheless, I’m unhappy that she should have met such an untimely, dreadful and unnecessary end. She had much to achieve in her life still and I am aware that the country is poorer for her passing. Battered to death by a burglar, I understand? A terrible way to go!’
‘She went down fighting at least, sir,’ said Armitage. ‘A spirited lady.’
‘Ah. Yes. That would be the way of it with Bea. She was always a splendid fighter,’ said Orlando easily.
‘Will you tell us, Mr Jagow-Joliffe, where you were last evening? Were you at home? The sergeant will take notes.’
‘No. I wasn’t at home. As a matter of fact, I was in London. At the Ritz. Family party on. Uncle’s birthday. We’d both been invited. Naturally, I didn’t travel up to Town with Bea – we avoided each other’s company. I took the train and then a taxi. Still got the ticket stubs if you want to see them.’ His smile was innocent, open and totally disarming.
Joe shot a look at Armitage and Westhorpe who silently shook their heads.
‘Would you like to reconsider your answer?’ Joe asked mildly. ‘Since we have it on good authority that you were not present at the celebrations in the small dining room of the Ritz.’
‘Hey? What the hell’s going on?’ said Orlando in sudden alarm. ‘What does it matter where I was? What’s this “authority” you speak of?’
‘Two police witnesses, sir.’
‘Police? In the Ritz? What would they be doing in the Ritz? And what possible business can it be of yours whether I was there or at the North Pole? Why aren’t you off chasing the burglar responsible instead of wasting your time down here?’
‘There is serious doubt that she was killed by an intruder. We have reason to believe that it is more likely that she was killed by one of her own circle of family and friends. We are establishing the precise whereabouts of all these people at the relevant time.’
Armitage leaned forward. ‘I was on duty at the Ritz party throughout the evening, sir, and I have to say I didn’t clap eyes on you all evening.’
Orlando held up his hands in surrender. ‘Good God! There were rumours that something had happened to the force since the war but this is impressive! Very well. But keep your voices down, will you?’ He lowered his own voice and continued after a furtive glance at the caravan. ‘I was in London. I did go up by train but you’re right – I didn’t go anywhere near the awful shindig at the Ritz. I don’t actually possess a dinner jacket any more and wouldn’t have been let in without one. I used the invitation as a cover for a dash to London. I stayed overnight with a friend.’
‘A male friend?’ asked Armitage.
‘Yes, a male friend . . . and a female friend . . . lots of friends in fact. I spent a drunken evening with some other artists. We started in the Fitzroy Tavern, went on to the Mont Olympe restaurant in Charlotte Street and then a nightclub. After that I don’t remember much. I know I woke up next morning in a strange room and in the bed of a woman I’ll swear I’ve never met before and don’t want to see ever again. Still . . . no one looks their best at five in the morning which is when I crept out and made my way back to the station. I had to wait ages for a train and I was back here by lunchtime. I say . . . you don’t need to tell Mel any of this, do you? Not something she’d want to hear in her present condition. She’d be furious. She’s got the devil of a temper. Goes with her red hair, I suppose. I always paint her as half woman, half tigress! Tawny, you know. She coincided with an urge I had last year to paint in Fauvist shades. Last time she caught me out she set my canvases on fire. Next time it’ll be me that goes up in flames, she’s promised me that.’