Skeleton-in-Waiting by Peter Dickinson Page B

call a couple of them about something quite different and mention, as if in passing, that HRH hadn’t been very impressed by the Director. That would be quite a big gun to fire at the bastard and Louise was eager to do so, but Carrie gradually whittled her fury away not by saying that the man didn’t deserve it but with the old real-world arguments which Louise knew perfectly well—he would have his own power-base: it was still too early in his contract to try and shift him; he’d got good contacts among the tricky Sahel governments; and so on. By the time that the car slid in through the main gate of Hampton Court, Carrie had toned Louise’s fury down to manageable disappointment, to be expressed by Joan sending the man only a formal File E letter of thanks. Carrie would ask a few questions, but later. Don’t meddle if you can help it, Father always said. (He was a meddler himself, but then he couldn’t help it.)
    â€œThey never seem to get any further,” said Louise, gazing out at the corner of the canvas-covered scaffolding that veiled the state apartments. “How long is it since the fire?”
    â€œThree years? Or four is it? Builders are always the same. Doesn’t matter if it’s putting a new loo in a basement flat or rebuilding a palace. They just come and put their mark on a job by knocking a hole in a wall or something. That means no one else can have it and they can go off and finish all the other jobs they’d promised they’d get done the year before last.”
    â€œWe went round it while it was still swilling with water from the hoses. It was ghastly.”
    â€œI just hope Lady Surbiton doesn’t go smoking in bed.”
    â€œOh, they don’t think the old dear was smoking. She was reading in bed with a candle on her chest.”
    â€œDead mediaeval. I reckon this must be it.”
    The guard who manned the barrier across the entrance to the private apartments was waiting outside his booth, despite the cold. He swung the pole up with one hand while saluting with the other. The Rolls sighed to a halt. Evans came round and opened the door. Another guard was already saluting by the dark little doorway with the brass plates beside it. I’m going to have a lot less fuss next time I come, thought Louise. The guard ushered them into a murky lobby and rattled the lift-gate open. When he made as if to accompany them up Louise stopped him. The lift, grimy oak with battered brass fittings, doddered up.
    â€œIt makes me feel like a wood-worm,” said Carrie. “Or a death watch beetle or something. You know, tunnelling through all this timber.”
    â€œFather says that when they were clearing up after the fire they found two residents no one knew existed. They’d just been living here for ever, like spiders in cracks. I think it’s just one of Father’s stories.”
    â€œSurprising Lady Surbiton didn’t want to go on living at KP.”
    â€œThere was a pretty little cottage she could have had, but she was determined to move right out. She can be surprisingly obstinate, under that softness. She said she’d go and live in a hotel till we found her something. It wasn’t any problem, actually—there’s a lot of apartments empty here. Father’s having a battle with Mr Ridley, who can’t see why he shouldn’t privatise them.”
    The lift stopped at a dark lobby, the winter light through a small diamond-pane window barely enhanced by that from an iron ceiling-lantern. The door opposite the lift had a brass plate with a name on it, illegible from polishing, like a name on a tombstone. The plate on the door to the left was covered by a card with “Surbiton” lettered onto it in a large, childish hand. A woman was already standing there, leaning on an ebony stick and ringing the bell. She paid no attention at all to the arrival of the lift. The door opened.
    â€œMy dear …” said