Mrs. Pargeter's Plot by Simon Brett Page B

was from the door and what her chances of escape were. They didn’t appear to be good. The man was huge. His arms looked long enough to reach out and snatch her from the other side of the room.
    Another of the Greene’s Hotel Regency telephones stood on a small table, tantalizingly close. But even if she could reach it, there was no chance the thug would give her time to dial for help.
    He moved one ponderous, threatening step towards her. ‘We’ve never met before, have we, Mrs Pargeter?’
    â€˜No.’ Her confidence and resilience were beginning to trickle back. ‘Never had that pleasure.’
    â€˜No.’ He nodded slowly. ‘I tend to keep myself to myself, as a rule. Though of course I did have quite a lot of dealings with your late husband . . .’
    â€˜So I gather.’
    â€˜It has to be said . . .’ he continued slowly, ‘that Mr Pargeter and me did not always see eye to eye about everything . . .’
    â€˜Yes, I’d gathered that too.’
    He advanced another step. Mrs Pargeter wilted in the face of his overpowering presence, but managed to hold her ground.
    â€˜No, Mr Pargeter and I did have our disagreements. He didn’t always like the way I conducted business.’
    Mrs Pargeter couldn’t stop a defiant response coming out. ‘My husband always did have very high standards.’
    Fossilface O’Donahue gave another ruminative nod. Somehow the slowness of his approach, the evenness of his tone, made him seem more rather than less menacing. When the violence came, Mrs Pargeter feared, it would be sudden and entirely devastating.
    â€˜Yes, I suppose that would be the way he saw it.’ The man sighed. ‘I’ve just come out after a twelve-year stretch, you know, Mrs Pargeter.’
    â€˜Really? And where was that?’ she asked affably.
    â€˜Parkhurst the bulk of it. Then they give me the last year in a Cat. C nick. Erlestoke. You know it?’
    â€˜I’ve heard of it. Never actually been there.’ There was something incongruous about this cocktail party chit-chat.
    â€˜Been to Parkhurst?’
    â€˜Never been there either, as it happens.’
    â€˜No. Rough nick, Parkhurst. No place for a lady . . .’
    â€˜Right.’
    â€˜Or indeed for a very sensitive sort of man. I’m not a very sensitive sort of man. Never have been.’
    â€˜No, I rather got that impression.’
    â€˜
Though
,’ he said, with a sudden surge of volume, ‘there are some things that I’m very sensitive about.’
    â€˜I’m sure there are. I think that’s true of most of us,’ Mrs Pargeter babbled.
    â€˜For instance, I’m very sensitive about criticism . . .’
    â€˜None of us like being criticized.’
    â€˜And I’m also very sensitive about justice.’
    â€˜Oh, well, that’s good news. We’re very fortunate that the British legal system is one of the best in—’
    â€˜I’m not talking about the British legal system, I’m talking about justice! Tit for tat, eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth, know what I mean?’
    â€˜Oh yes, I certainly do.’ Mrs Pargeter’s mind was racing. What were the chances of Hedgeclipper Clinton suddenly coming upstairs to check that she was all right? Pretty minimal, she reckoned. The last thought that would occur to him was that his assailant was still inside Greene’s Hotel. No, he’d still be ringing round his other associates, trying to see if any of them had got a lead on the whereabouts of the newly released Fossilface O’Donahue.
    She wondered if it was worth trying another scream. Didn’t seem much point, really. The first two had prompted no reaction from the other guests. And there was always the danger that a scream for help might further enrage her adversary, and make him speed up his schedule of violence. No, all she could do was wait –