A Slightly Bitter Taste Read online

  “What does she want to diet for?”

  “She doesn’t. But she likes the baths and the massage and the skin treatment and all that goes with it. Makes a habit of going there every two or three months.”

  “Sounds as if she has a very hard life,” Quinn said.

  They went into the entrance and Carole touched the bellpush once. When the soft double chime died away, she said, “I’ll bet you’re starving.”

  “Well, yes, I am kind of peckish. My stomach’s forgiven me for the way I treated it last night.”

  She pressed the bell again. She said, “Must be somebody at home …”

  After her third attempt she gave Quinn a wry smile. He said, “You could be wrong.”

  “No, don’t get worried. Wherever they are they’ll be back soon. They know I’m coming. Let’s see if the car’s there.”

  They walked to the garage and Carole pulled back one of the sliding doors. Quinn saw a maroon Rover 2000, a littered workbench, and an assortment of tools hanging on the rear wall. The boot of the car was not properly shut.

  He said, “I can hear a radio playing somewhere in the house … so they may not have gone out after all. Try the bell again.”

  Carole walked back ahead of him. With more than a hint of impatience she pressed the bellpush several times, listened for a moment, and then used her knuckles on the door.

  She said, “Come on, for goodness’ sake! You must’ve heard that … Oh, at last.”

  The distant music of the radio had stopped. Footsteps trotted downstairs … over a stretch of bare floor … across a rug … on wooden flooring again … another rug … Then the door opened.

  He was of average height with a gingery flamboyant moustache, pale blue eyes and fair hair touched with silver at the sides. His nose and his eyes had the look of the habitual drinker. At one time he must have been a good-looking man but now his features were puffy and he had a double roll of loose flesh under his chin.

  With a bemused expression he stared at Carole as though unable to recognise her. Then he fumbled at his unbuttoned collar, realised he wasn’t wearing a tie, and smiled weakly.

  Like a man pulling himself together he cleared his throat and said, “Hallo, Carole. This is a nice surprise. I wasn’t expecting you — at least, not quite so early.”

  Carole said, “Half past seven isn’t early.”

  “Is that the time?”

  He looked down at his left wrist and discovered he wasn’t wearing a watch, either. In an apologetic voice, he said, “I’ve been having a nap and must’ve overslept. Had a busy morning … between this and that. Thought I’d put my feet up. Nothing to beat it on a hot day like this …”

  His voice tailed off as though he had just remembered something. He glanced at Quinn, turned to Carole again, and asked, “Don’t you think you ought to introduce me to your friend?”

  She said, “I haven’t had a chance yet. This is Mr. Quinn … Michael Parry. Adele told me I should bring someone next time I came and … by the way, where is Adele?”

  Parry shook hands with Quinn and told him he was more than welcome. “… Any friend of Carole is a friend of ours. Better come in, old man, and have a drink. You’ve got a thirsty look in your eye.”

  They went inside. The wide entrance doors led directly into a room that filled most of the ground floor — a room with a wrought-iron staircase spiralling up to the floor above and a central hearth over which hung a cone-shaped canopy of beaten brass. There were half a dozen arm-chairs and a couple of long settees and lots of loose rugs.

  An open-plan divider with shelves of books and ornaments partly split the room in two. One half formed a dining section with a circular table ringed by chairs which fitted snugly into it like the petals of a tulip. In the nearer wall there was a serving-hatch and door leading into the kitchen.

  Across a corner in the other half stood a well-appointed bar of bamboo and glass. Parry walked over and leaned his back against it and said, “What’ll you have, boys and girls? You name it, we got it.”

  “It’s food we want, more than drink,” Carole said. “Have you eaten?”

  “Eaten? Yes, I had a very good lunch.”

  He went behind the bar and brought out several bottles from underneath and stood them on the glass top. He said, “Don’t worry about food. There’s plenty in the fridge — chicken and tongue and ham and coleslaw and salad and lots of other things. But first have a drink. Sharpens the old appetite.”

  “If I must, I’ll have a tomato juice.”

  “No sooner said than done. What about the boy friend?”

  Quinn said, “Whisky and pep for me, please. After last night I’d better keep my stomach placated.”

  Parry put out three glasses. Then he looked at Quinn and asked, “What happened last night? Special occasion?”

  “Well, yes, you might call it that. First time I’ve ever had a skinful at a party I wasn’t invited to.”

  “No kidding?” Parry threw back his head and laughed with all his teeth showing. It was a synthetic laugh. It meant nothing.

  When he had switched it off, he said, “You are a bit of a lad, aren’t you?”

  With clumsy fingers he used an opener on the bottle of tomato juice. The crinkle top sprang off and rolled along the floor into a corner.

  He grumbled “Damn …” as he bent down and groped for it. When he stood up again, Quinn noticed that his hands were shaking.

  Carole took her glass from him, murmured, “Thanks …” and then asked, “Are there just the three of us?”

  “Yes. Why?”

  “What about Adele? Isn’t she joining us for a drink?”

  When he had poured out a generous whisky for Quinn and screwed the stopper on again, Parry looked at her. He said, “Didn’t I tell you? She’s at Wood Lake. I’m picking her up in Blandford very shortly. Her bus is due in about twenty past eight. Soon’s I’ve had a spot of brandy and washed the sleep out of my eyes I’ll be off.”

  Carole asked, “Anyone else coming for the weekend?”

  “Maybe Irene and Neil. I’m not sure.”

  He pushed Quinn’s glass across the top of the bar and put a bottle of peppermint cordial down beside it. He said, “Help yourself, old boy … oh, and if you two are hungry take whatever you want from the fridge. You know where things are, Carole, so don’t stand on ceremony. Irene and Neil can join you when they arrive.”

  “Aren’t you having anything before you meet the bus?”

  “No time, dear girl. Must be in Blandford before the seven twenty-five from Salisbury gets there or little wifie will think I’ve forgotten her … and that would never do.”

  He was fussing with the brandy bottle as he asked, “What’s the hour?”

  Quinn said, “Just turned twenty-five minutes to eight … Your good health.”

  “And yours … cheers.” Very carefully he poured no more than a tablespoonful of brandy into a crystal goblet, swilled it round, and then raised the glass to his lips.

  As he tilted back his head he gave Quinn a wink and added, “Welcome … While you’re here make yourself thoroughly at home.”

  Quinn said, “Thanks. I’ll do my best.”

  The brandy went down in one quick gulp. Parry smacked his lips and asked, “What do you do for a living, old boy? Same racket as Carole here?”

  “No, I’m on a newspaper.”

  “Are you, by jove? Which one?”

  “The Morning Post.”

  “Editorial?”

  “Yes. Mostly crime stuff.”

  “Is that so?”

  Parry put down his glass and came round to the front of the bar. With a throaty chuckle, he said, “Well met, my friend. I’m a writer, too. Not in your field, of course. Nothing to do with journalism. Straight novels. I’m working on a new one right now.”

  Quinn asked, “Do you write under your own name?”

  “Oh, sure. But I don’t suppose you’ve read anything of mine. Haven’t produced a best-seller yet. One o
f these days … maybe. Who knows?”

  He walked towards the staircase, turned to smile at both of them, and went on, “Talking about names, I remember where I’ve come across yours before. Saw it in the Morning Post. You’re the bloke who writes Quinn’s Column on Crime, aren’t you?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Jolly good stuff, too. We must have a natter about it later. But meantime you’ll have to excuse me. If I’m not there to meet the bus the little woman’ll tear off a proper strip.”

  As he went up the stairs he looked back again and told Carole, “Take care of the boy friend, sweetheart, and see he gets plenty to eat. Remember your Shakespeare.”

  He trotted up a few steps, glanced round once more, and gave them a wave. Then he went on up out of sight.

  A door opened and closed on the floor above. Quinn looked at Carole and asked, “What’s he talking about? Why Shakespeare?”

  She revolved her glass of tomato juice between both hands as though she needed time to think. At last, she said, “I wonder how often I’ve heard him say that same damn’ silly thing. I’ll swear it’s the only quotation he knows.”

  “Which quotation?”

  “From Julius Caesar: Yond’ Cassius has a lean and hungry look.”

  Quinn said, “Shakespeare’s the great stand-by of the literary phoneys … especially when they’re in their cups, if I may coin a phrase. To me our host seems half cut.”

  “Oh, he’s been drinking, all right. Whenever Adele’s away he spends all his afternoons in the Bird-in-Hand.” Carole shook her head. “I’ve no doubt he came rolling home the worse for wear, threw himself down on a bed, and hoped he’d sleep it off before he had to go and collect her.”

  “Lucky we roused him or she’d have been stranded in Blandford.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time. She’s had to take a taxi more than once when she’s come back from Wood Lake.”

  “Where is the place?”

  “It’s a few miles from Woking, near Chobham. She goes by bus from Blandford to Salisbury, takes the train to Woking, and phones the people at Wood Lake when she gets there. They send a car for her.”

  “Sounds like a lot of chopping and changing. With all the money you say she’s got why doesn’t she go in her own car?”

  Carole put down the untouched tomato juice. She said, “I’m glad you asked that when Adele wasn’t around. It might’ve been embarrassing.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, you see, she used to drive … but one day there was an accident near Chobham and a man was killed. Although the coroner stated no blame could be attached to her she hasn’t driven since.”

  “Once you lose your nerve there’s not much you can do about it,” Quinn said. He finished his whisky. “Do you think we might eat now before those other people arrive?”

  “Of course. I’m sorry you’ve had to wait so long. Mind eating in the kitchen?”

  Quinn said, “I don’t mind if you feed me in the garage … so long as I get fed.”

  On the floor above, footsteps clumped here and there hurriedly. As Carole opened the kitchen door, Michael Parry came downstairs.

  He gave them a hasty wave and called out, “Enjoy yourselves. The house is all yours. Back soon.” Then he rushed outside.

  While Carole was setting the table, Quinn listened to the noise of a car reversing out of the garage. He heard its brakes squeal … the grunt of a mishandled gearbox … the roar of the engine as the car shot off in a flying start, its wheels skittering on the gravel.

  When he could no longer hear the car, Quinn said, “I hope your friend Michael doesn’t meet someone in the same condition on the same stretch of road at the same time. Has he ever been had up for drunk driving?”

  “No, but that’s more by good luck than anything else. One of these days it’s bound to happen — if he doesn’t kill himself first. Would you like chicken or tongue or cold ham with your salad?”

  Quinn said, “Yes, please.”

  She laughed. She said, “I don’t suppose you’d say no to a bottle of iced lager? There’s some in the fridge.”

  “I wouldn’t say no to two bottles.”

  “Evidently you’ve recovered from last night.”

  “Oh, yes. It always affects me like this. Drinking gives me an appetite and eating makes me thirsty and when I’m thirsty I like to drink and when I’ve had a few drinks I get hungry and so on … ad infinitum, ad alcoholicus anonymous. It’s called the cycle of nature.”

  Carole said, “You talk more nonsense than anyone I’ve ever met.”

  “Sure. But the difference between me and all the others is that I know it’s nonsense.”

  She shut the fridge door and pulled a chair up to the table. She said, “That’s one of the few intelligent things I’ve heard you say … but don’t let it go to your head. Sit down and eat before you overstrain yourself …”

  When he had taken the edge off his appetite, Quinn asked, “Who are the people he mentioned were coming — this Irene and Neil?”

  “Oh, they’re family — Irene and Neil Ford. She’s Adele’s sister-in-law. Her husband’s got a shop in Ringwood — about thirty miles from here. They come for the week-end every month or so.”

  “What kind of people are they?”

  “Not what I’d call the ebullient type. She’s one of those negative women who sap your vitality. I always say that when she goes into an empty room there’s less in it than there was before.”

  “Sounds as if we’re going to have a rip-roaring time,” Quinn said. “Is he the same?”

  “No, compared with her he’s quite lively. The only fault I find with him is that he’s got a roving eye.”

  “In general?”

  “I can’t say how he behaves at home but I don’t like the sly look he keeps giving me. Makes me afraid he’ll do something one day that’ll cause unpleasantness all round.”

  As she began clearing away the dishes, Carole added, “No risk of him making a fool of himself this weekend, of course — not with you around.”

  “What have I got to do with it?”

  “Well, he’ll think you’re a special friend of mine.”

  “And two of us know I’m not,” Quinn said.

  She looked at him steadily, her lower lip held between her teeth. Then she said, “How could you be? Friendship is like good wine. It takes years to mature.”

  Quinn said, “That should be a Thought for To-day on my calendar.”

  He had an urge to get up and leave. No one had ever treated him like this before. One moment he would have sworn she liked him; the next, she had shut him out in the cold. All the time there was a barrier between them.

  This playing hot and cold was the kind of thing he could never tolerate. If there had been any form of transport to get him to the nearest bus stop he would have told her what she could do with her week-end in the country.

  But the thought of lugging his bag from Elm Lodge down to the village … and taking the chance that buses ran from there to Blandford … and looking pretty stupid if they didn’t …

  He knew in spite of everything that Carole wouldn’t refuse to run him wherever he wanted to go. The galling thing was that she wouldn’t persuade him to stay. If he wished to leave it would be up to him.

  Either way he’d be left a fool. He should never have accepted her invitation. If he had known she meant to use him as a shield between herself and someone else she couldn’t forget …

  Carole said, “I’ve never liked to pretend. Anything that’s worth having you’ve got to work for. Friendship’s one of them. No reason why you and I can’t be friendly — but that’s as far as we can go after knowing each other for only a few hours.”

  “Let us then be grateful for small blessings,” Quinn said. “Including Mister Neil Ford with the roving eye. But for him I wouldn’t have been asked to spend the week-end at a charming country house.”

  She carried the dishes over to the sink and stacked them neatly on the drainin
g board. Then she turned round and gave Quinn a frosty look.

  She said, “You’re behaving like a spoiled brat. I didn’t invite you because I needed someone to protect my virtue. Adele’s all right — if she weren’t I wouldn’t come to Castle Lammering at all — but the others can be pretty deadly. I just thought you might be more entertaining.”

  Quinn said, “Thanks for using ‘might be.’ That’s what I call damning with faint praise.”

  “Oh, now you’re being tiresome. You know perfectly well what I mean. And if you think I’m going to lean over backwards to placate your feeling of inferiority then you’re very much mistaken. I like you as much as I could like anybody after knowing him for only five or six hours — including a semi-conscious hour or so last night — but that’s all.”

  “Take it or leave it,” Quinn said.

  “Yes.” She shrugged. “That’s exactly the position. So what are you going to do?”

  He knew it might be a mistake but he still thought she was cute. He said, “I’ll take it. Can’t see I’ve got anything to lose by staying on until —”

  The door-bell chimed. Carole said, “That’ll be the Fords. Don’t let them suspect you were enticed here by a confidence trick.”

  Quinn said, “Now who’s behaving like a spoiled brat? If you really want to know, I’m glad I’m here.”

  She gave him a wicked smile. She said, “Then you’d better tell your face.”

  The bell chimed again while she was on her way to the front door. A man’s voice asked, “Anyone at home?”

  Quinn followed her as far as the kitchen doorway. He remained there while she let the Fords in.

  They were not quite what he had expected. Neil Ford was a round-faced man with grey hair, grey eyes and a pinkish complexion. He had plump hands and a mouth like a woman and he looked as though he spent too much of his time indoors.

  Irene Ford was fair, thin, negative. She had a transparent skin, an air of self-effacement. While Quinn was being introduced to her she smiled nervously and gave a little giggle before she said how d’you do.

  He didn’t like the cold touch of her fingers. Neil Ford’s clammy hand felt equally unpleasant. But his manner was sociable enough until he learned that Quinn was Carole’s guest. After that he more or less ignored him.