The Mermaid Garden(14)
“Sounds painful, all them little needles. Don’t think I could bear it. I have a very low pain threshold. Giving birth nearly did me in. If I hadn’t been given epidurals for all my children, I would have died.”
Marina stiffened. “I had better wander over now. Would you give Clementine’s room a good clean this morning?”
“I saw her driving down the lane. Doesn’t look very well this morning. I didn’t even get a smile.”
“Neither did I, Bertha.”
“Doesn’t cost much to smile.”
“It does if you’re as hungover as she is. Don’t forget her room, will you?”
“I’ll do my best.” She got up slowly, one hand in the small of her back, and lumbered over to the dishwasher, where she began to load the plates halfheartedly.
Marina put the postcard in her pocket and made her way across the gravel to the hotel. Bertha checked that she was well and truly gone before switching on the kettle and sitting down again, extracting the Daily Mail from her handbag and settling into a gripping article about a kitten that was flushed down the lavatory and survived.
Jennifer and Rose were at the reception desk talking to Jake when Marina entered. Unlike his sister, Jake was a sunny young man with a ready smile and easy charm. Tall like his father, he was classically good-looking, with clear blue eyes and a long, straight nose. What undermined his appeal was the lack of character in his face. There was little to distinguish it from other generically handsome Englishmen who had experienced nothing in their lives but pleasure.
He greeted his stepmother jovially, and she couldn’t help but smile back at him. “I should be angry with you.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I should have told you I was going to take a detour to Thurlestone. But I never expected to stay so long.”
“So, what did you discover about the robber?”
“Besides the fact that he leaves a thank-you note?”
“That’s his signature, is it?”
“I think he’s rather relishing being called Baffles, the Gentleman Thief. I suppose he’s got a fixation with Raffles, the character from that old movie. You know, the one David Niven starred in.”
“It was originally a novel by E. W. Hornung, brother-in-law to Arthur Conan Doyle, the creator of Sherlock Holmes. Grey told me. He’s good with books. Well, Baffles had better watch out. It’ll be his downfall. They always get too pleased with themselves.”
“You’re probably right. At the moment, though, they’re baffled.” He laughed at his pun. “He clearly knows the hotels and stately homes intimately, but no one can work out how.”
“I’m not a detective, but even I can see that he must pose as a guest.”
“Perhaps. But how do guests have access to all the other rooms?”
“He climbs out of the window and jumps from sill to sill, like a cat.” She smiled at the thought of Harvey reciting “Macavity.”
“Or he’s a serviceman who works for hotels—a gas man or carpet cleaner.”
“They’ll catch him sooner or later,” she added hopefully. “These people never get away with it.”
“He should quit while he’s ahead.”
“If he’s leaving little notes, it’s because he’s enjoying himself. He’s on a roll.”
Jake shook his head. “He’ll trip up, mark my words. He’ll get too cocky and do something stupid.”
“Let’s hope so, sooner rather than later.”
Jake followed her into the hall. “So, I hear your interviews didn’t go so well yesterday.”
“I’m very demoralized.” She dropped her shoulders and smiled pathetically.
“Dad tells me you have an Argentine coming this morning.”
“Rafa Santoro. Sounds like a fancy brand of dog biscuits.”
“Let’s hope he’s less flaky than a biscuit.”
“I just hope he’s a normal painter. I’m not asking for anyone special. I don’t want eccentric—there are enough of those around here already!”
“Speaking of which, Mr. Potter needs to speak to you. Something about sweet peas.”
“Later.” She looked at her watch. “I’ll just go and chat up the old brigadier before the Biscuit gets here. I’ll be in the dining room, if he’s early. Show him into my study and don’t tell me if he’s odd. I can’t cope with odd this morning.”
The brigadier sat at his usual table at the end of the dining room, beside the window. He was dressed in a three-piece tweed suit and pale yellow tie, drinking tea and reading The Times, chuckling loudly at the absurdity of the world. The room was blessed with tall ceilings and giant windows that gave onto the magnificent cedar tree so that the morning sun flooded the room with brilliance and lit up his head like a halo. When he saw Marina, he staggered to his feet, in spite of her repeatedly telling him not to, and greeted her cheerfully in a stentorian tone.