Here Lies Gloria Mundy

13

The Revenant

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He shook his head and said, ‘There isn’t any more to tell.’

‘Of course there is. Chapter and verse, man, chapter and verse!’

‘I’m no good at that sort of thing. It’s your department to fill in the padding, not mine.’

‘All right, I’ll help you out. What were you doing in Trends? I thought they catered exclusively — and I can say that again when I think of their prices — exclusively for the sex which we prize above rubies.’

‘That’s right. Kate had dragged me there so that I could buy her a couple of evening dresses.’

‘Ah, now we’re off. Begin at the beginning. This sounds like good stuff and I may be able to get some copy out of it.’

‘No naming any names, then. Yes, well, Kate and I go out quite a bit and she came to the conclusion, as women are all too apt to do, that she had nothing fit to wear. I suggested that I should supply her with funds and that she should take a woman friend with her and chase round the shops, but, as usual, she insisted on taking me along and we went to Trends. There I saw Gloria’s ghost.’

‘Trends wouldn’t allow ghosts in their exclusive emporium. I suppose you thought you recognised the hair.’

‘As a matter of fact, no. This girl was entirely black-haired and was wearing a black frock and she had a dead-white face.’

‘Well, there you are, then. She was a real girl, not a ghost and certainly not Gloria.’

McMaster took up his drink, looked at it and put it down again. ‘It was Gloria and she was a ghost. Look, Corin, in the old days I wined and dined Gloria, I took her to ballet and the theatre, I went to Paris with her — God knows what it did to my money, but I told you about that, I expect — and I slept with her. I couldn’t possibly be mistaken. Besides, although people can change their hair and their complexion and a man can grow a beard or shave one off, there is one thing neither man nor woman can alter, and that is the colour of their eyes and the way those eyes are set in the head. I know you can do a lot with eyeshadow and theatrical make-up, but you can’t really disguise the basics. Gloria had cats’ eyes, green as green glass and utterly without humour, kindness or pity. This ghost had those eyes.’

‘A chance likeness, that’s all. But even if you’re right’ — I remembered the story of the dead girl’s hair which got scorched but not burnt, whereas her face was so scorched and blackened as to be not only a thing of horror but unrecognisable as a human countenance, and I began to feel a thrill of excitement — ‘even if you’re right,’ I repeated, ‘it was no ghost that you saw. It must have been Gloria in the flesh.’

‘No,’ he said obstinately, ‘it was her ghost. I can prove it. It disappeared.’

‘Disappeared? You mean it recognised you and melted into thin air?’

‘It amounted to that. We went to the part of the shop which Kate wanted to look in and this black-haired, black-clad, white-faced thing appeared from nowhere — ’

‘No, from a fitting-room or from behind a rack of clothes. I know these dress shops.’

McMaster ignored this.

‘I couldn’t believe my eyes. I really thought at first it was Gloria in the flesh,’ he said. ‘Well, I didn’t want any Auld Lang Syne stuff with Kate there, so I turned my back and began to look at some dresses, and I heard Gloria’s ghost say the usual ‘Can I help you, madam?’ or something of that sort, and I knew it was a disembodied voice, not a human one.’

‘But, my dear chap, they tell me ghosts can’t speak unless you address them first, and even then they don’t always bother to answer. Seriously, though, this girl didn’t look like Gloria and didn’t sound like Gloria, so what?’

‘All right, have it your way. All I know is that, when I half turned to have another peep, a tall, buxom blonde was with Kate and there was no sign of Gloria at all. What do you make of that?’

‘Easy,’ I said. ‘These days you give an impression of opulence beyond that of the Great Cham himself. The blonde was the senior assistant in that department and wasn’t going to let a lucrative sale, with its nice fat commission, get away from her. Kissing goes by seniority in these establishments and the top girls pull their rank, same like everywhere else. The blonde must have gone through the secret motions which meant “Hop it; this is my pigeon for the plucking”, and the girl you mistook for Gloria sank without trace. Probably just slipped behind a rack of long dresses.’

‘It sounds all right when you put it like that, but it isn’t all right. If it wasn’t Gloria’s ghost, it was Gloria herself, as I thought at first, and that, as we know, is unthinkable.’

I told him that I was beginning to consider it not so unthinkable after all. What had Wotton and I had to go on, when, separately, we had identified that very dead creature? Nothing but hair of two colours and the declaration from two unrelated and, one would suppose, disinterested sources that Gloria had been seen inside the old house after she was supposed to have left Beeches Lawn many hours previously. I reminded him that, upon his arrival there, Gloria had not been in the house, certainly, but that he himself had seen her in the grounds.

‘Quite likely she had been hanging around hoping that one of you would come out and offer her a lift to the station, so there was nothing much in that,’ he said. ‘It only proves that she was still alive at that time.’

‘Well, if you saw her in Trends, she was still alive then, too,’ I said, ‘but don’t you think it was some other girl who had eyes and a figure similar to those of Gloria? You had read of Gloria’s death, you had reminded yourself of your previous association with her and, in other words, she was very much in the forefront of your mind. Add to that the fact that you had Kate with you and you were going to buy clothes for her. Did you ever buy clothes for Gloria?’

‘Yes, of course, and was nearly beggared by Trends’ prices, although, as an employee, she got a discount and I was never present.’ He looked hopefully at me. ‘So it wasn’t a ghost. All the same — ’

‘All the same, it wasn’t Gloria either. Besides, from what little I saw of her at Beeches Lawn, her two-coloured hair was her only claim to distinction and I don’t believe she would have sacrificed it. Snap out of it, old man.’

‘You make out a good case,’ he said, ‘but — well, I dunno.’

We had another drink before he left. I could tell that I had not convinced him, but I remembered him from the old days as an obstinate fellow who, once he got an idea into his head, retained it against all opposition or argument. All the same, his ‘I wined and dined Gloria, I took her to ballet and the theatre, I went to Paris with her… I slept with her’ showed me that his association with her had lasted longer and had been much closer than I had suspected.

I was sufficiently intrigued to carry the matter further. I was at a loose end for a little while. The brochures were finished, I had been extremely well-paid and I was not quite ready to get back to my writing, so, having both time and money on my hands, I thought it might be a graceful act to buy Celia and Anthony a little present and send it with a note of my gratitude for their hospitality. It would also give me a chance to check McMaster’s story.

On the ground floor at Trends I found a very nice set of apostle spoons and decided that this would be appropriate. The packaging of them was elegant and distinctive, so, armed with the box, I took the lift to the floor where the female fashions were displayed, dangled the package as a guarantee of my bona fides and was taken in charge by a young creature with almost silver hair. The package, however, had been spotted by McMaster’s magnificent blonde, who came swanning up and immediately superseded the youngster.

‘I wonder,’ I said, ‘whether I could have the young lady who served me the last time I was in here? She proved very helpful.’

‘Oh, yes?’

‘She was a thin girl with black hair and a very white make-up. Green-eyed, I think, and full of helpful suggestions.’

‘Oh, yes?’

‘Could I have her again? I’m pretty hopeless at choosing things for my wife and this is to be a surprise.’

‘Oh, yes? Well, I am afraid the assistant you require is no longer with us.’

‘Oh, dear! I was relying on her as to size.’

‘Size?’

‘Well, you see, yes. She was just about the same height and size as my wife, so I thought I would get her to try on a few things, as it were, to give me some idea.’

‘I am sorry. That assistant left us the day before yesterday. Perhaps — ’ She made an imperious gesture and the silver-haired siren came up again. I smiled and shook my head.

‘Nothing for it but to bring my wife along,’ I said. ‘Rather does in the surprise aspect, but there it is.’

‘I am sorry we cannot help you.’

‘There is always a next time. Thanks very much. Hope I haven’t been a bother.’

‘Not at all. Good morning.’ She spotted a customer and glided away. I found myself left with Silverhair.

‘I’m looking for a girl named Gloria,’ I said. ‘I’m really a plain-clothes police officer and — ’

‘So that’s why she skipped! All I know is that she lived somewhere Culvert Green way. In a hostel of some sort, I think, but I never went there. Police! Coo! I should never have thought it. She seemed such a nice sort of girl. Domremy was her surname, very posh, and she was always ladylike, and never any nasty snide remarks about the other girls. We thought she left because she had an argument with Lady Muck. Police! Well, really!’

I took it that she referred to the magnificent blonde under the title of Lady Muck.

‘So Gloria had a dust-up with the supervisor or whatever she’s called,’ I said. ‘You are sure her name was Gloria?’

‘Of course I am. Sorry, a customer. Excuse me, please.’

The lead she had given me seemed too promising to ignore. I decided that I would try my luck at Culvert Green. It seemed certain now that Anthony and I had wrongly identified the corpse. My first thought was to telephone Dame Beatrice, but, although I hesitated outside the first public callbox I came to after I had left the shop, I changed my mind. It would be something really to report if I could say that I had actually tracked down Gloria and that she was alive after all.

It then occurred to me that the proper procedure would be to telephone the police, but I soon dismissed that idea, too. All that I could tell them was that an assistant saleswoman at Trends in London had been recognised as Gloria Mundy, that she had left in a hurry and that, although she had disguised herself to some extent, she had kept the name Gloria, had been of the required build and had been seen some weeks after her supposed death.

If I told the police all this, though, they would need to contact McMaster and, if he decided, after all, to stick to his ghost story, the police undoubtedly would ignore both of us — if, indeed, they did not doubt our sanity or decide that we were trying to perpetrate a hoax at their expense.

I had lunch at a restaurant and took a bus to Culvert Green. It is a pleasant suburb out on the Kent border not all that far from Blackheath. There were streets of small shops, but along the main road the houses had been built as large, middle-class, Victorian family dwellings with front gardens which were far enough from gate to doorway to give some privacy from the curiosity of passers-by.

Most of the houses had basements with their own steep, narrow steps leading to the servants’ entrances and flights of broad stone steps leading up to the front doors. Above the basements the houses rose in three storeys; they had large bay windows on the first floor, large Georgian-type windows on the floor above this, and much smaller, rather mean-looking windows on the top floor.

Some of the houses had been turned into flats, others had become business premises and their owners had taken down the street wall and gates (from which, in any case, the iron railings had been removed during the war) and had concreted what had been the front lawns and turned them into parking-spaces for the workers’ and management’s cars.

The other three houses past which I walked were a YWCA hostel, a hall of residence for college students and a more imposing mansion than either. This was a guest house called the Clovelly Private Hotel.

From what I had heard of Gloria I thought that this was more likely to be her choice than a YWCA hostel, so I mounted the steps and went in through an open front door which led into a small vestibule. Beyond this were swing doors. I pushed in and on my left there was the reception desk and behind it at a small table a woman and a girl of about nineteen were having a cup of tea.

They did not appear to have noticed my entrance, in spite of the fact that one of the swing doors had given a slight moan, so I coughed to attract attention. The older woman looked up.

‘Sorry,’ she said, ‘no vacancies. Residents only, and we’re full.’

‘I don’t need accommodation. I am looking for my sister and the place where she worked gave me this address. I am from the Argentine.’ (I suppose my subconscious mind brought this country uppermost, since I had been told that Coberley had had business interests there.) ‘So we have not met for years and she may be married by now. The name is M—’ I was about to say Mundy, but caught the word back and substituted ‘Malvern’.

‘No guest of that name here.’

‘She wrote to me that she was engaged to a man named Domremy. Would a Mrs Domremy mean anything to you? As I remember my sister, she was very slightly built and had red hair and a pale complexion. Sometimes she dyed part of her hair black, sometimes all of it was black.’

The woman shook her head, but the girl, who was still seated in the background, said, ‘It couldn’t be, could it?’

‘Couldn’t be what?’ asked the woman.

‘You know. That case in the papers. It said she had red hair one side of her head and black the other.’

‘Of course it couldn’t be her. We don’t get ourselves mixed up with murder and that kind of thing.’ She turned to me again. ‘We don’t know anything about a Miss Malvern or a Mrs Whatever name you said.’ She turned her back on me and went back to her cup of tea.

‘One moment,’ I said peremptorily.

‘Well?’

‘I am a police officer. If you know anything whatever about the woman with the red and black hair and do not disclose it, you will be hindering me in the execution of my duty, and that is an indictable offence.’

If either of them had asked me for my credentials at this point, I should have been stymied, but fortunately neither of them thought of it, any more than the girl in Trends had done. The older woman came back to the counter.

‘She was here, perhaps, if we’re talking about the same person,’ she said, ‘but please don’t ever mention it, us not wanting the reporters and the notoriety, and her hair was always dark while she was here. She called herself Parkstone and we never saw her with anything but dark-brown hair, not really black.’

‘Parkstone?’ What imp of mischief had been at work here, I wondered. ‘When did she leave?’

‘Oh, that would have been a fortnight ago.’

‘Do you know where she worked?’

‘Oh, yes, she worked at Trends in the West End.’

‘Did she ever have visitors?’

‘Not that I know of. I shouldn’t think her sort would have wanted them if the police wanted her. No wonder she left here, if you were on her track.’

‘Did she leave anything behind?’

‘Oh, no. We’re fully furnished, so she only took her clothes with her. There was nothing else. Look, we can’t help you, so you’ll keep us out of the papers, won’t you? This place is my livelihood, you see, mine and my daughter’s.’ She indicated the girl at the table.

‘We are very discreet,’ I said. ‘I shan’t need to trouble you again, I’m sure. Did this Miss Parkstone leave a forwarding address for letters?’

‘Oh, no, nothing of that sort. She would have left it with the post-office, I expect.’

I had no idea what to do next. I seemed to have come to a dead end almost as soon as I had started. I walked somewhat disconsolately to the bus stop, but while I stood there I thought of one more thing which I could do, although, in my chastened state of mind, I did not think anything would come of it. I left the bus stop and walked down a side street to the post-office, not really believing for a moment that Gloria would have left an address there if she was on the run, as now seemed more than likely.

It was one of those places which combines postal business with keeping a little shop. This one sold stationery, birthday cards, sello-tape, string, paperbacks, pencils and pencil-sharpeners, paperclips, india-rubbers and other oddments, so I made a few purchases and then went to the post-office counter and bought some stamps.

‘I want to send birthday cards to my nieces,’ I said, ‘but they seem to have moved from their hotel. Would you have a forwarding address for Parkstone, Mundy and Domremy?’

The name Mundy appeared to mean nothing to the elderly woman behind the wire mesh. Perhaps she did not read the papers.

‘We have one for Parkstone,’ she said. ‘Where did your niece live? We don’t usually give people’s addresses to strangers.’

‘Until fairly recently she was staying at the Clovelly Private Hotel near here.’

‘Oh, that’s all right, then. You can’t be a stranger. I’ll write it down for you.’

I began to see how con-men make a living. I took the bit of paper she handed me, thanked her, bought a ball of string and some fancy wrapping paper from the girl who had already served me, added these to my other small purchases and then bought a carrier bag. My camouflage, I decided, had been foolproof. I tucked away the precious piece of paper and went back to the bus stop.

That evening I wrote to Dame Beatrice to tell her what McMaster had told me and to give her an account of my experiences in Culvert Green. I posted it so that it would go off by the first collection next morning. Then I looked at the piece of paper the woman at the post-office had given me. It bore the address of a house in the little town of Chaynorth in Sussex.

I knew Chaynorth pretty well. One of McMaster’s hotels was just outside it, so I had explored it and all the countryside round it when I was working on the brochures. I promised myself a pleasant day out when I went to make enquiries about the nomadic Parkstone, Domremy and Gloria Mundy.