pirate—’
‘—and his fearsome crew,’ said Sari. ‘Which is what they remain to this day, including my dear husband, the unregretted Aldo.’
‘Oh,’ said Charlesworth, more and more disturbed by all this gratuitous flippancy; and indeed not too sure that the lady—let alone his own sergeant—was not having him on. He suggested: ‘I take it that you are no longer married to him?’
‘No, that lasted about one minute. So we can drop him and his titles and go back to the number you first thought of. My name and address? My name is Sari Morne and this is my address and that is not my car.’
‘But your real name—before marriage, I mean—?’
‘Maria Bloggs,’ said Sari. She repeated: ‘And this is my address and that is not my car.’
‘So you explained to me earlier. Could we go through it all again please, now that things have—calmed down.’
‘I’m sorry if I was slightly hysterical at first.’
‘This was all a total shock and surprise to you?’
‘As my chum has just remarked,’ said Sari, ‘not exactly a daily occurrence.’
Almost as though to reassure himself, Charlesworth looked at the traces of the tears that had ravaged that beautiful face. An extraordinary girl. Everyone else had made a dive for the decanter and duly showed signs of it, but not she. Arriving within a few minutes of their ‘phone call, he had watched her shudderingly pulling herself together, by slow degrees forcing herself to this resolute, this almost cynical display of tranquillity, even of levity. ‘Well—now, once again, from the beginning.’
They had been over it, all of them, though sketchily, several times already. ‘You drove down to Wren’s Hill—why?’
‘To see myself in this picture I made four years ago. I told you.’
‘You went alone?’
‘One doesn’t want one’s Eight Best Friends around, all saying how marvellous one was and thinking how one has gone off since.’ She concentrated on lighting the next cigarette from the one she was smoking.
‘And while there you spoke to the deceased?’
‘I passed a few remarks, as the deceased herself would certainly have expressed it. She’d been a dresser at the studio when I was working here and in Italy. I hadn’t seen her since.’
‘But you knew her quite well at the time?’
‘No, I didn’t. She was a horrid little thing, even then. But there she was, so I said hallo.’
‘Just hallo?’
‘Well, yes. She told me she’d given up the job and was living with her pore old mother, tried to touch me for a fiver, I gave her a quid and walked away, and that was about the lot.’
‘She asked for money?’
‘Unlike her more recent appearance, that would be an everyday occurrence.’
‘Did anyone overhear this conversation?’
‘People came and bought tickets but I don’t suppose they tickly listened. It was hardly a riveting exchange.’
‘Did anything else occur at the cinema?’
‘No. Well, I banged into a man and said sorry and he said sorry and then I sat through the film and came away by a side entrance, not particularly desiring to bang into Miss Feather as well.’
‘And you didn’t see her again?’
‘No, nor anyone else. At least not to speak to,’ said Sari carefully.
‘But you did see somebody?’
‘I saw somebody following me,’ said Sari, ‘when I was driving home. But there’s no use telling you that. I told you before and you didn’t believe me and I’m sure you won’t now.’
‘In what way, following you?’
‘In a very dangerous way, following me.’
‘But who would this be?’
‘I don’t know. But I should imagine the Red Mafia, with Aldo at their head, or rather prodding them on from a safe place in the rear.’
‘Something to do with your marriage, then?’
‘It began about that time,’ said Sari. (In Rome: making the picture on location in Rome—those odd, sharp-shouldered, olive-complexioned men always around every corner, dodging out of sight... Someone in the
‘—and his fearsome crew,’ said Sari. ‘Which is what they remain to this day, including my dear husband, the unregretted Aldo.’
‘Oh,’ said Charlesworth, more and more disturbed by all this gratuitous flippancy; and indeed not too sure that the lady—let alone his own sergeant—was not having him on. He suggested: ‘I take it that you are no longer married to him?’
‘No, that lasted about one minute. So we can drop him and his titles and go back to the number you first thought of. My name and address? My name is Sari Morne and this is my address and that is not my car.’
‘But your real name—before marriage, I mean—?’
‘Maria Bloggs,’ said Sari. She repeated: ‘And this is my address and that is not my car.’
‘So you explained to me earlier. Could we go through it all again please, now that things have—calmed down.’
‘I’m sorry if I was slightly hysterical at first.’
‘This was all a total shock and surprise to you?’
‘As my chum has just remarked,’ said Sari, ‘not exactly a daily occurrence.’
Almost as though to reassure himself, Charlesworth looked at the traces of the tears that had ravaged that beautiful face. An extraordinary girl. Everyone else had made a dive for the decanter and duly showed signs of it, but not she. Arriving within a few minutes of their ‘phone call, he had watched her shudderingly pulling herself together, by slow degrees forcing herself to this resolute, this almost cynical display of tranquillity, even of levity. ‘Well—now, once again, from the beginning.’
They had been over it, all of them, though sketchily, several times already. ‘You drove down to Wren’s Hill—why?’
‘To see myself in this picture I made four years ago. I told you.’
‘You went alone?’
‘One doesn’t want one’s Eight Best Friends around, all saying how marvellous one was and thinking how one has gone off since.’ She concentrated on lighting the next cigarette from the one she was smoking.
‘And while there you spoke to the deceased?’
‘I passed a few remarks, as the deceased herself would certainly have expressed it. She’d been a dresser at the studio when I was working here and in Italy. I hadn’t seen her since.’
‘But you knew her quite well at the time?’
‘No, I didn’t. She was a horrid little thing, even then. But there she was, so I said hallo.’
‘Just hallo?’
‘Well, yes. She told me she’d given up the job and was living with her pore old mother, tried to touch me for a fiver, I gave her a quid and walked away, and that was about the lot.’
‘She asked for money?’
‘Unlike her more recent appearance, that would be an everyday occurrence.’
‘Did anyone overhear this conversation?’
‘People came and bought tickets but I don’t suppose they tickly listened. It was hardly a riveting exchange.’
‘Did anything else occur at the cinema?’
‘No. Well, I banged into a man and said sorry and he said sorry and then I sat through the film and came away by a side entrance, not particularly desiring to bang into Miss Feather as well.’
‘And you didn’t see her again?’
‘No, nor anyone else. At least not to speak to,’ said Sari carefully.
‘But you did see somebody?’
‘I saw somebody following me,’ said Sari, ‘when I was driving home. But there’s no use telling you that. I told you before and you didn’t believe me and I’m sure you won’t now.’
‘In what way, following you?’
‘In a very dangerous way, following me.’
‘But who would this be?’
‘I don’t know. But I should imagine the Red Mafia, with Aldo at their head, or rather prodding them on from a safe place in the rear.’
‘Something to do with your marriage, then?’
‘It began about that time,’ said Sari. (In Rome: making the picture on location in Rome—those odd, sharp-shouldered, olive-complexioned men always around every corner, dodging out of sight... Someone in the
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