The Bee's Kiss(81)
The kitchen appeared to be below the dining room and its chimney, a piece of metal piping, rose through the floorboards and conducted the spicy vapours outside into the street. Joe’s dish of minestrone and hunk of peasant bread came creaking up in a small lift through another hole in the floor.
He was so delighted with the experience, he almost missed Bill.
Whoops and shrieks from the street drew his attention. The footballing boys had gathered in welcome around the tall figure of Armitage as he entered the court.
Joe got to his feet, preparing to dash outside and hail the sergeant, but he hesitated, watching the scene develop, apprehensive and puzzled. A ball had been produced and the sergeant was making his way, dribbling with the skill of a professional down the alleyway. This was obviously a weekly occurrence. Bill scored a goal by hitting the lamppost squarely in the middle then they all moved into a circle and performed feats of sleight of foot that amazed Joe. Bill did another solo turn, weaving nimbly around the bollards that closed off the alley, the ball never more than an inch from his feet. After ten minutes of this Armitage called goodbye and walked away down the alley, fending off the raucous pleas to do it all over again.
Joe didn’t bother to watch where the sergeant went. It hardly mattered now.
Hastily, he paid for his soup, pronouncing it the equal of anything he’d had at Pagani’s, left a large tip and walked, deep in thought, back to the taxi rank on Oxford Street.
Time he was in Surrey.
Chapter Twenty-One
Lydia Benton hurried to greet her brother with a warm hug when he came down to breakfast on Thursday.
‘Goodness, Joe! It’s like hugging a hat-stand! However did you get so skinny? Come and have some porridge. And tell me you’ll stay a week! It’ll take that long at least to put some flesh back on your bones. Now . . . talk to me quickly. I reckon we have ten minutes before the girls come down from the nursery and Marcus gets back in from the stables. So – tell me what you’re planning.’
Joe outlined his intentions and Lydia listened, shaking her head with disapproval.
‘But are they expecting you?’
‘I certainly hope not! Something will have gone very wrong with my plans if they are.’
‘You ought at least to telephone them first and ask if it’s convenient to motor over. You can’t go about the county barging into people’s houses unannounced. This isn’t Chelsea, you know! Try the smoked haddock.’
‘I’ve no intention of giving warning. That’s the whole point. The family will all be at St Martin’s for the funeral. And if they’re expecting to see me there, they’ll be disappointed. I’ve asked Ralph Cottingham to go in my stead to represent the Met. I’ve had a hunting accident. I’ve been in a coma for two days and you’ve been worried about me, Lydia.’
‘I don’t know these Joliffe people but this is a small county and we’re bound to have friends or acquaintances in common. It’s quite bad enough having a little brother who’s a CID officer but if he also invades my neighbours’ houses when they’re known to be away from home – well! – my calling list will drop off pretty sharply!’
Lydia made a decision. ‘I’m coming with you. A respectable older sister standing by you on the doorstep will lend you a bit of protective cover. You can say I’d promised to call on this Orlando’s whatever-she-is. Mel? And we’ll be very surprised to hear that the family is up in London . . . “Great heavens!” we’ll exclaim. “Was it really Thursday, the funeral? Could have sworn it was tomorrow . . .” No. It’s not going to work, is it? You’ll just have to get a warrant.’
‘Can’t be done, I’m afraid. Officially the case is closed.’
‘Well, that’s it then. Give up the idea. If they’ve got a halfway decent butler, he’ll send you packing. And phone the police.’
‘They have an excellent butler but he has a weak spot.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Lydia sighed with irritation and poured out more coffee.
‘Reid the butler struck me as being rather fond of Orlando’s eldest. A ruffian called Dorcas. She’s older than your two, wild and unpredictable but a taking little thing. I think she can wind Reid around her little finger. She’s my entrée. I’ll bet you anything she won’t have gone to the funeral.’ Joe shuddered. ‘They wouldn’t want to let her anywhere near douce St Martin’s.’
‘And you can count on this child for a welcome, can you?’
‘Oh, yes, I think so. She’s rather in favour of us. Would have stood a better chance if I’d had my handsome sergeant with me though. But I shall come bearing gifts. Gifts in rather a spiffing box from Harrods. If I fetch up at the front door delivering this for Miss Dorcas I can’t see Reid sending me away.’