Cold, Lone and Still (Mrs. Bradley) Read online

  “A typical male reaction, of course, selfish, possessive, hidebound, and utterly understandable. I wonder whether she expected to be a sleeping partner or an active partner in your business?”

  “Well, that’s where Sandy and I are not in agreement. I say she would only be a sleeping partner drawing her small share of the profits and staying out of the office. I say that she will take no part in making decisions or even meeting any of our authors. They show up from time to time and take us out to lunch or we take them out to lunch—that kind of thing. Sometimes they come to raise hell about their contracts and try to sick us on to get to grips with their publishers, but it’s all in the day’s work and I don’t intend Hera to be a part of it.”

  “How does your partner see her role, then?”

  “Sandy says women are never satisfied unless they’ve got a finger in the pie. I’m bound to admit that in Hera’s case he may be right.”

  “Difficult for you. Shall we proceed?”

  So I suffered her to put me under what she called “light hypnosis” and all that I remembered afterwards was the sound of her beautiful voice reciting poems from Peacock Pie before I came under the influence. What magic formula she used, once she had me under control, I have no idea. When I came to, we had tea, at which we were joined by Laura, and I drove back to London feeling calm and refreshed. I slept that night, and for many nights, without, so far as I can remember, dreaming at all. It was only after waking in the mornings that I wondered what I had told Dame Beatrice.

  “So you didn’t talk about the bodies,” said Sandy.

  “I have no recollection of what we talked about. If the body on Rannoch Moor had been a figment of my imagination, I might still be worried, but what I found was a real man. I mistook him for Carbridge, that’s all. I had given my head quite a bash, you know. There was only one thing about the interview which worried me a little. Well, not worried me exactly, but made me feel a bit of a fool.”

  “Dame Beatrice’s diagnosis about hysteria, I suppose.”

  “Yes. Previously I had connected hysteria only with nervous females.”

  “What about shell-shock? If she had used that word to describe your condition, you wouldn’t have minded. Now I’ll tell you something else. You’ve been under stress for some time. I noticed it before you ever went on that Scottish jaunt, and now these two encounters of yours with murdered men have triggered off something which has been dormant for months. Why didn’t you tell Dame Beatrice what is really worrying you?—or you could tell me. We’re both safe enough as the repositories of guilty secrets.”

  “But I haven’t got any guilty secrets, dammit! All the same, I’m not too sure now that I ought to have agreed to hypnosis. I mean, it makes one so vulnerable.”

  “Think nothing of it. She would never make any capital of anything she learned that way; no doctor would. The point is—has her treatment worked?”

  “Like a charm, so far.”

  “Well, then, what are you worried about?”

  “I’ll tell you. Now that Bull has been cleared—”

  “Oh, but he hasn’t, you know. I thought the head beak made that abundantly clear. Bull has been put back into circulation, but only while Bingley gets more evidence. If what you tell me about Bingley is a correct assessment, he’s not the man to let go while he’s got his teeth into a suspect. You know that, as well as I do. You’ve said as much.”

  “There’s something Bingley doesn’t know, unless somebody has tipped him off. I’ve been waiting and dreading the day when it comes out that I had a row with Carbridge at Crianlarich.”

  “Well, you told me you had one with Todd, and he’s still alive.”

  “Yes.”

  “Could anybody else in the party have known about the quarrels?”

  “Not unless Carbridge himself had talked. Unfortunately, he was the sort of gregarious babbler who very easily might have done. Oh, I suppose Perth knew—and possibly the Minches.”

  “If anybody knew and had blabbed to Bingley, you would have heard about it long before this, but no wonder you’ve been worried. No wonder, either, that it was Carbridge you thought you had found on Rannoch Moor. I understand everything now. Let’s talk about something else. I’ve got my problems, too, you know. This business of you and Hera. She’s been on to me again about joining the firm and having a partnership. I still don’t like the idea, Comrie. I don’t want any takeover bids and Hera is a very determined woman.”

  “She won’t kick in enough capital to make her anything but a very junior partner. We could do with a bit more money, couldn’t we?”

  “Well, yes, but in this case I’m sure the interest we should have to pay in the form of her making a takeover bid would be too high. Would you mind very much if I turned her offer down very determinedly indeed? We’ve stalled, up to the present, but I’m willing to bear the brunt of telling her firmly that there’s nothing doing. I quite see that it would be very embarrassing for you if you had to slip her the news.”

  “We’ll stick together over this. I am altogether of your point of view, although I shall have to involve you to some extent, of course.”

  “Help yourself. It won’t break this camel’s back if you load me up.”

  “After all, I don’t want her running round in this office, and that for more reasons than one. For one thing, as I’ve told her, I want her home when I get there after a hard day’s work. I’ve always said so to her.”

  I envisaged a stormy interview but, although she set her lips and tilted that obstinate chin, she took my arguments calmly.

  “You may think differently when we are married, if ever we are,” she said. “I believe you’ve cooled off.”

  “I’m only waiting for you to fix the date,” I told her.

  “I’ve got commitments for the autumn, but some time in the New Year ought to be all right. And don’t worry about me and your agency. I knew, before we went to Scotland, that Sandy would talk you over.”

  “Nothing of the sort! You know very well that I want a wife, not a business partner. That’s the size of it.”

  “I could be both, but never mind.”

  I gave Sandy the news that I was to be married in the New Year and that I had been firm about the partnership.

  “How did she take it?” he asked.

  “Fairly lamb-like. She’s disappointed, of course, but she has accepted the situation with more grace than I thought she would. She said she knew what our decision would be.”

  “Since when?”

  “Since before she and I went on that tour—or so she said. She must have had the partnership in mind for months.”

  “Oh, well, now she will have a good many weeks to get used to the idea that she is not joining the firm. Nothing like a bit of a cooling-off time to resolve these little difficulties. Women are far more reasonable and amenable than men over business arrangements. By the time you’re married, everything will be all right.”

  I was not too sure that either “reasonable” or “amenable” applied to Hera, but I did not argue. She had agreed with our decision, that was all that mattered—and she had given me a tentative date for our wedding. I noticed that she and Sandy had both mentioned “cooling off,” but I dismissed the doubts I had begun to feel when I visited the Stone House and which, I admit, I had experienced while I was in Scotland; and I felt grateful to Hera for having so far accepted our refusal to take her into partnership. I even began to read the advertisements of houses for sale in the more desirable commuter districts. I had no intention that Hera and my children should live in London and, in any case, I did not want her too near the office. She had formed a habit of “dropping in” when she was not otherwise engaged, and this I intended to do my best to check when we were married.

  However, even this inconvenient habit she ceased entirely after our talk. We met for dinner most evenings, sometimes at my flat—where my housekeeper was quite pleased to cater for two instead of one, especially as we had an arrangement that I sh
ould pay her a little extra on these occasions, and that she should get off early and leave the washing-up until the morning. Sometimes I dined with Hera, who did her own delicious cooking when she was at home. Mostly, however, we went out for the meal and then spent the rest of the evening, and occasionally the night, together, either at her place or mine. All my qualms about marrying her vanished and about three happy weeks went by with no unpleasant surprises and no evil dreams. Bingley, of course, was still about, but even he and his suspicions troubled me no longer.

  11

  Mugdock Wood or Thereabouts

  This interval of comparative peace gave me a chance of settling down to work again. I enjoyed my job and had always got on well not only with Sandy but with our office staff, so that everything connected with the agency always went smoothly except for an occasional breeze created by a dissatisfied author. These rufflings of the waters we had learned to encounter without trepidation, for they soon blew over and normal conditions were restored.

  We had not, so far, worked the agency up to the stage where we could decline to represent an author until he had had at least one publication to his credit, but we had several good old faithfuls whose work we could always sell and Sandy had begun to talk hopefully of going over to America to canvass the possibilities of starting a branch of our business in the States.

  What sometimes caused me a little disquiet was Hera’s changed behaviour and attitude towards me. I was not surprised any longer by her calm acceptance of our veto on a partnership for her. I guessed that she was biding her time until a new opportunity presented itself for a further onslaught on our defences. Sandy thought the same.

  “She has taken it much too well,” he said, “for a woman who does not like to be thwarted. I hope she is all right—not sickening for anything or considering going into a nunnery or becoming a missionary or anything of that sort?”

  “If so, she doesn’t mention it. As for her health, she could not possibly be more blooming. She is lively and entertaining, has an excellent appetite, and says she sleeps well.”

  “Says?”

  “She thinks we ought to pack that sort of thing up now until we are married. I’m in full agreement, so I have only her word for how well she sleeps.”

  “It didn’t seem to suit you too well on your Scottish tour.”

  “It was different then. We were together all day and every day, so it seemed strange to part at night. Under present circumstances, I’m all in favour of holding off until after the wedding.”

  He eyed me and said, “Hm! Fancy that, now!”

  “Meaning what?”

  “Just hoping that abstinence, like absence, makes the heart grow fonder.”

  “She is much more companionable, less censorious, and certainly more beautiful than I’ve ever known her.”

  “Bless you, my innocent boy!”

  “Meaning what?” I asked for the second time.

  “Devious creatures, the females of the species. Speaking probably out of turn, but as an old friend and well-wisher, don’t you wonder what she’s up to?”

  “I know what she’s up to, and you and I have both given voice to it. It’s the lull before the storm. She hasn’t given up hope of storming this little fortress of ours. You don’t need to warn me about that. I’m quite ready for the bombardment when it comes. No, what worries me is the bloom on her cheeks and the light in her eyes.”

  “That’s what I meant,” he said. “Watch out and don’t forget my holiday is due very soon. I shan’t be on hand to espouse your cause once I go on furlough.”

  It was my turn to hold the fort while Sandy went on holiday. Even before I met Hera, one of the disadvantages of the agency had been that he and I could never take our holidays together as we had always done in the halcyon days at college. A week before he was due to take his three weeks’ leave I enquired what his plans were, for it was unlike him not to have mentioned them earlier. Usually he was full of enthusiasm and Hera and I knew weeks beforehand where he had decided to go and what he proposed to do when he got there.

  “My holiday?” he said, when I mentioned it. “Oh, I’m going to walk the West Highland Way. You might lend me that rucksack of yours. No point in my buying one, is there?”

  So I lent him the rucksack, my ashplant, my electric torch, my whistle, and my maps and saw him off at Euston. I would have lent him my anorak and my nailed boots had they fitted him, but he is a big fellow with very wide shoulders and large feet. I was astonished when he told me that he was planning to walk The Way. His taste was for the exotic and he was, so far as he could afford to be, a sybarite, revelling in first-class cabins on cruises, luxury hotels on the French Riviera, and beaches in the Bahamas. He lived quietly, almost frugally, all the year and then broke into a cascade of fireworks on holiday.

  I suppose I looked as astonished as I felt, for he said defensively that I had made The Way sound very attractive, that he had some extra poundage of which he was determined to rid himself, and that a man needed to commune with nature from time to time if he wanted to retain possession of his immortal soul.

  “So what’s the real reason?” I asked. He laughed.

  “You disbelieving old so-and-so!” he said; but he offered no answer to the question.

  When I told Hera, she said, “We’ve whetted his curiosity, that’s all. What a pity I’ve got to be in Paris next week. I could have come and helped you in the office. If it weren’t for Sandy, you would take me into partnership, wouldn’t you?”

  It was the first I had heard of the Paris trip, but I blessed it. I had no mind to allow her to get her foot in at the office, so I did not answer her question. I was uneasy, however, for her remark indicated that she had not given up hope of being taken into partnership and I still envisaged stormy seas ahead.

  “Oh, Sandy only expects to take a week, or very little longer, on the walk,” I said. “Then he’ll pop back here for a couple of days to pack for Stockholm.”

  “What on earth does he want with Stockholm? I thought he never went on holiday further north than Funchal or Cannes.”

  “There’s a book fair. Some of our authors are represented, so he thinks one of us ought to show up. When do you set off for Paris?”

  “Tomorrow. You and Sandy will be busy if he’s going on Wednesday, so don’t come and see me off. There will be a party of us, all women except for Maurice, and you can’t stand him.”

  Sandy had never written to me when he was on holiday, so I was very much surprised to get a letter in a large envelope with his unmistakable superscription on it, particularly as I should be seeing him again so soon. He had arranged to drop in at the office the day after he got back from Scotland and pick up some papers to take with him to Stockholm. He had gone off on the Wednesday and the letter came on the following Wednesday morning. It contained some very startling news which I might have found incredible except for my own experiences north of the Border and subsequently in London. He wrote:

  This is in the form of a diary, as I want a record of my experiences. You might lock it away somewhere when you’ve read it. I shall have been discharged from hospital and on my way home. Not to worry and don’t tell Hera. No harm done and no bones broken and shall be joining you soon after you get this.

  Wednesday. An easy train journey north by way of Warrington, Wigan, Preston, Lancashire, and Carlisle. Put up at Renfrew for the night. Good room and good dinner. Hotel full, but much coming and going, as everybody very much a bird of passage. Met up with Mellish after dinner and we had a drink together. He goes on to Perth tomorrow. You remember him from college, I expect.

  Thursday. Took a bus to Milngavie to start the walk. As I went to get on board in Buchanan Street, some careless oaf nearly shoved me underneath the bus. No idea who it was, as quite a mob got on. Irritated by the conductor, who said, when he collected my fare, “Ane o’ these days ye’ll dae yoursel’ a mischief gin ye’re sae precipitous.” It was like being rebuked by an elder of the kirk. In fact, I bet that
’s what he is on Sundays. However, I know better than to argue with anybody in uniform in a foreign country, so I accepted my change and said nothing.

  Began the walk in fine, clear weather and was soon descending through woods—silver birch mostly—to the banks of a river called the Allander Water. The track followed the stream for a bit. You and Hera missed some very pleasant walking by joining The Way at Drymen instead of doing the whole stint.

  Up hill and away from the stream after that and got on to a piece of moorland which is one of Glasgow’s playgrounds.

  Crossed the ridge and then had easy walking along a track which your guidebook informs me was once the drive up to a stately home. I went through more woods and came upon lots and lots of wild flowers. Am no botanist, but recognised yellow tormentil, heath bedstraw, and scabious, but there were lots of others. Up to that point I had connected Scotland only with heather, harebells, and cottongrass.

  After the numbers of people who had been on the path of moorland—really a wild sort of park—I seemed to have the woods to myself. Sat down with my back to one of the thickets and took your guidebook out of your rucksack to bone up on The Way. Talk about history repeating itself! I was reading the piece about the history of smugglers taking cover behind thickets in this very Mugdock Wood and having a bloody set-to with excisemen and soldiers when it damn well happened to me! Somebody must have been in that thicket behind me and must have crept out with the intention of belting me over the head. Luckily I heard a warning sound and I was able to wrench myself to one side, so most of the blow struck my arm and shoulder—though it did open up a nasty cut above my right eye.

  Whether the motive was robbery—and I can think of only one other—I don’t know. If it was robbery, my assailant could have had no time to steal anything and not much chance anyway, because all my money was in a safety belt underneath my shirt and there was nothing much in the rucksack except a spare shirt and socks, soft shoes, and some emergency rations. Of course I only know what I’ve been told since, but it appears that a party consisting of a doctor, his wife, and two grown-up sons found me almost at once. I suppose the mugger heard them and made off. Fortunately, also, they were local people and knew that a nearby track led to the main road. To cut the story short, especially as I have it only by hearsay, I found myself in hospital with the devil of a headache and a very stiff arm and shoulder, but apparently nothing worse.