such an incredible story. Are you sure he wasn’t making it up?’
‘I don’t see why he should want to send us on a wild goose chase, do you?’
‘He may have some sinister motive.’
‘No, no. I am convinced his request is entirely bona fide. He is an old fool. Ah there’s the waiter, at long last! Service in London is no longer what it used to be. What would you like, my dear?’
‘Just a cup of coffee. No, nothing to eat.’
‘I’ll have some scrambled eggs on toast. Feel ravenous. Hardly touched a thing this morning! Deirdre, on the other hand, kept stuffing herself with kedgeree. She generates such tension, you wouldn’t believe it.’ Lord Collingwood shook his head. ‘She didn’t want me to go out. If she could have her own way, she would keep me under lock and key!’
Fenella Frayle rose abruptly from her desk. Walking across her study, she locked her door. She then went up to a cupboard in the corner and producing a brand-new bottle of brandy, poured herself a glass. She took a resolute sip, then another.
She shut her eyes.
This is so unlike me, she thought as she raised the glass to her lips for the third time.
She could hear the children singing ‘An Impossible Dream’.
To fight the unbeatable foe –
The unbeatable foe was of course Aunt Clo-Clo. Aunt Clo-Clo had been on the phone to Fenella about half an hour earlier – once again ranting and raving – it had been worse than usual, actually –
‘I am giving you till Halloween to clear out. That’s my final word. A letter from my solicitors is on the way.’
Fenella shut her eyes. She was certainly capable of killing Aunt Clo-Clo. Was she capable of killing Olga Klimt? No one could kill a perfect stranger, could they? Not unless they were mad. But she wasn’t mad. She was the most sensible, the most rational person who ever walked the earth! But imagine – just imagine – for argument’s sake – she did kill Olga Klimt – what guarantee was there that Charles Eresby would reciprocate?
Fenella took another sip of brandy. No guarantee at all. Chances were that the biscuit heir had forgotten all about his plan by now. But the killing of Olga Klimt might spur him on. It might .
I could blackmail him, Fenella thought. He wouldn’t like it if I told the police we’d agreed to exchange murders. I could actually say that he’d paid me to kill his girlfriend. The heir to the Eresby biscuit millions wouldn’t want the publicity, would he?
She laughed. It wouldn’t work! All he’d need to do was deny the allegation. It would be her word against his. The whole thing was quite absurd!
She took another sip. He had sounded extremely serious and matter of fact. He had asked her where Aunt Clo-Clo lived, how old she was, what her habits were, whether she had an established routine. He had sounded as though he meant business …
‘I do your murder, you do mine. We establish good, solid alibis for the murders that benefit us – we go away – thousands of miles away – the Amazonian Jungle – Acapulco – the police would never get us –’
Yes, he had sounded as though he meant business.
She kept her eyes firmly shut. It occurred to her that the present moment was perfect for the killing of Olga Klimt since Charles Eresby was at a private clinic, with doctors and nurseswatching over him like hawks round the clock. She might never get another chance as good as this! He didn’t have to go to as far as Acapulco. When Olga’s body was found, he would have the perfect alibi .
14
THE PERFECT MURDER (2)
The murder took place later that same day.
Olga Klimt received the call on her landline at half past four in the afternoon. It was a stranger who spoke to her. It was a very pleasant kind of voice, cultivated, very English. The only odd thing was that she couldn’t quite say if it was a man or a woman …
‘Is that Olga? I am a friend of Charlie’s. He asked me to call you. He needs to see you. It’s rather urgent, in a
‘I don’t see why he should want to send us on a wild goose chase, do you?’
‘He may have some sinister motive.’
‘No, no. I am convinced his request is entirely bona fide. He is an old fool. Ah there’s the waiter, at long last! Service in London is no longer what it used to be. What would you like, my dear?’
‘Just a cup of coffee. No, nothing to eat.’
‘I’ll have some scrambled eggs on toast. Feel ravenous. Hardly touched a thing this morning! Deirdre, on the other hand, kept stuffing herself with kedgeree. She generates such tension, you wouldn’t believe it.’ Lord Collingwood shook his head. ‘She didn’t want me to go out. If she could have her own way, she would keep me under lock and key!’
Fenella Frayle rose abruptly from her desk. Walking across her study, she locked her door. She then went up to a cupboard in the corner and producing a brand-new bottle of brandy, poured herself a glass. She took a resolute sip, then another.
She shut her eyes.
This is so unlike me, she thought as she raised the glass to her lips for the third time.
She could hear the children singing ‘An Impossible Dream’.
To fight the unbeatable foe –
The unbeatable foe was of course Aunt Clo-Clo. Aunt Clo-Clo had been on the phone to Fenella about half an hour earlier – once again ranting and raving – it had been worse than usual, actually –
‘I am giving you till Halloween to clear out. That’s my final word. A letter from my solicitors is on the way.’
Fenella shut her eyes. She was certainly capable of killing Aunt Clo-Clo. Was she capable of killing Olga Klimt? No one could kill a perfect stranger, could they? Not unless they were mad. But she wasn’t mad. She was the most sensible, the most rational person who ever walked the earth! But imagine – just imagine – for argument’s sake – she did kill Olga Klimt – what guarantee was there that Charles Eresby would reciprocate?
Fenella took another sip of brandy. No guarantee at all. Chances were that the biscuit heir had forgotten all about his plan by now. But the killing of Olga Klimt might spur him on. It might .
I could blackmail him, Fenella thought. He wouldn’t like it if I told the police we’d agreed to exchange murders. I could actually say that he’d paid me to kill his girlfriend. The heir to the Eresby biscuit millions wouldn’t want the publicity, would he?
She laughed. It wouldn’t work! All he’d need to do was deny the allegation. It would be her word against his. The whole thing was quite absurd!
She took another sip. He had sounded extremely serious and matter of fact. He had asked her where Aunt Clo-Clo lived, how old she was, what her habits were, whether she had an established routine. He had sounded as though he meant business …
‘I do your murder, you do mine. We establish good, solid alibis for the murders that benefit us – we go away – thousands of miles away – the Amazonian Jungle – Acapulco – the police would never get us –’
Yes, he had sounded as though he meant business.
She kept her eyes firmly shut. It occurred to her that the present moment was perfect for the killing of Olga Klimt since Charles Eresby was at a private clinic, with doctors and nurseswatching over him like hawks round the clock. She might never get another chance as good as this! He didn’t have to go to as far as Acapulco. When Olga’s body was found, he would have the perfect alibi .
14
THE PERFECT MURDER (2)
The murder took place later that same day.
Olga Klimt received the call on her landline at half past four in the afternoon. It was a stranger who spoke to her. It was a very pleasant kind of voice, cultivated, very English. The only odd thing was that she couldn’t quite say if it was a man or a woman …
‘Is that Olga? I am a friend of Charlie’s. He asked me to call you. He needs to see you. It’s rather urgent, in a
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