Mrs Pargeter 03; Mrs Pargeter’s Package

∨ Mrs Pargeter’s Package ∧

Twenty-Three

Mrs Pargeter spent a quiet morning, pottering round Agios Nikitas. She told Maria at breakfast that she was going on a trip to see a little more of the island. A hire-car was coming to pick her up after lunch to take her to Corfu Town for some shopping. She would stay in a hotel there, and the next day have a hire-car to take her to see the natural beauties of Paleokastritsa on the west coast. Another night in the hotel in Corfu Town, then back to Agios Nikitas.

Oh, Maria said in dismay, Mrs Pargeter should have booked the hire-car through the Hotel Nausica. The rates would have been much cheaper than through Spiro. He always put a big mark-up on everything.

Mrs Pargeter said, oh how silly of her, she would remember that another time. Then she asked if Maria would mind having her photograph taken in front of the hotel. Even better, would her father and mother and the rest of the family come out and have their photographs taken in front of the hotel? Mrs Pargeter knew she wasn’t leaving yet, but she really did want photographs of them all as souvenirs, and it was the kind of thing she might easily forget.

All the family members were delighted to have their photographs taken.

Then, pausing only to drop by the minimarket and buy a large white cotton hat and large pair of sunglasses (both of which she kept hidden in a carrier-bag), Mrs Pargeter went across to have a drink at Spiro’s. It was early for retsina, so she asked Yianni for a Sprite.

Linda from South Woodham Ferrers was at the taverna, trying unsuccessfully to get Craig, who had had a stomach upset the night before, to eat some yoghurt. Keith was working out on his calculator how much more the anti-diarrhoea medicine cost on Corfu than it did in South Woodham Ferrers. From time to time he wondered, out loud, how things were going back at the office.

The Secretary with Short Bleached Hair and the Secretary with Long Bleached Hair were sulking in the shade of Spiro’s awning, sipping Nescafe. They had been to a discotheque in Ipsos the night before, where they had both fancied the same plasterer from Bradford. He had flirted and danced with each sufficiently to start them quarrelling, and then compounded that felony by going off at the end of the evening with a hairdresser from Luton who – adding insult to injury – had a perfect tan.

The two secretaries’ sunburn had now reached a threshold of unsightliness and pain which had forced them to spend a day in the shade, but the previous night’s row still festered and they kept snapping at each other.

At a table near the taverna door sat Spiro, Georgio and Sergeant Karaskakis, together, surprisingly, with Theodosia, who had been granted a rare moment’s respite from the kitchen. Georgio was keeping a distant eye on Ginnie, who sat at a nearby table, patiently listening to more gripes from Mr and Mrs Safari Suit. The couple were wearing different clothes that day. Slightly greener in colour. Still safari suits, of course.

Spiro wandered over amiably to chat to Mrs Pargeter. He hoped she was getting over the dreadful shock of her friend’s death. It was terrible that anyone should do such a thing to themselves, wasn’t it?

Oh yes, Mrs Pargeter agreed, terrible.

Still, Spiro continued reassuringly, soon everything would be sorted out. The dead woman’s daughter had arrived to complete the formalities, did Mrs Pargeter know that?

Yes, yes, she said, she had met Conchita the night before.

How terrible, said Spiro, for a young girl to have her mother do such a thing to herself, wasn’t it?

Oh yes, Mrs Pargeter agreed, terrible.

Having fielded these commiserations, she then outlined to Spiro the plans for her trip to see a little more of the island.

Oh, he said in dismay, Mrs Pargeter should have booked the hire-car through Spiro. The rates would have been much cheaper than through the Hotel Nausica. They always put a big mark-up on everything.

Mrs Pargeter said, oh how silly of her, she would remember that another time. Then she asked if Spiro would mind having his photograph taken in front of the taverna. Even better, would Yianni and Theodosia and Georgio mind having their photographs taken in front of the taverna? Mrs Pargeter knew she wasn’t leaving yet, but she really did want photographs of all of them as souvenirs, and it was the kind of thing she might easily forget.

Spiro and his staff were delighted to have their photographs taken.

The first one Mrs Pargeter took of Spiro she wasn’t satisfied with, because her hand slipped just as she was pressing the button, but he was very happy to pose again. So were all of them, except for Theodosia, who seemed to be shy of the camera. But her brother snapped a command at her in Greek and, though still clearly unwilling, she submitted to being photographed.

Mrs Pargeter even asked Sergeant Karaskakis if she could take a snap of him. He was positively delighted to be so honoured, and could not keep a leer of triumph out of his face as the shutter clicked.

Back at the Hotel Nausica, Mrs Pargeter picked up from Reception the expected padded envelope, which had been delivered by motorcycle courier, and sat down to eat an early lunch. In the course of this, a second padded envelope was delivered for her. After lunch she went upstairs to pack her flightbag for her trip ‘to see a little more of the island’.

She was waiting outside the Hotel Nausica in a rather bulky cotton print dress and straw hat when, on the dot of two o’clock, the hire-car arrived. (It had been arranged by Larry Lambeth from a firm in Corfu Town.)

The driver was uncommunicative, which suited Mrs Pargeter well, but she did not risk opening either of the envelopes while she was in his car. Though he was from a different part of the island, she didn’t rule out the possibility of information homing straight back to Agios Nikitas.

The journey along the switchback coast road was dusty, but not unpleasant. As instructed, the driver deposited her in Corfu Town at the north end of the Esplanade. He asked for no money; Larry Lambeth had sorted that out.

There was no play that afternoon on Corfu’s famous but eternally incongruous cricket pitch. The sun was baking, and Mrs Pargeter felt drawn towards the shade of the Liston, a Parisian-style colonnade of street cafes, where tourists lounged lethargically.

But her instructions did not include stopping for a cold drink, so she moved sedately through the sunlight towards the Palace of St Michael and St George.

A car slid alongside her. The door opened. She got in the back.

“Well done,” said Larry Lambeth.

Safely inside the car, she changed her straw hat for the new white cotton one and put on the new sunglasses. Then she unbuttoned the bright dress and slipped it off to reveal a sober, anonymous beige one beneath.

“Quite a relief to have that off,” she sighed. “Hot weather for two dresses.”

Larry Lambeth chuckled.

Mrs Pargeter finally turned her attention to the two padded envelopes. The first one contained a first class airline ticket. Olympic Airways. Five o’clock scheduled flight for that afternoon. Corfu to London Heathrow. Clipped to the ticket was a ‘With Compliments’ slip headed ‘HRH Travel’.

She turned her attention to the second envelope. “So who am I, Larry?” she asked.

“You have a look, Mrs P.”

It was a perfect job. A British passport in the name of ‘Mrs Joan Frimley Wainwright’, a ‘Housewife’ whose place of birth had been ‘Norwich’. The date of birth tallied for Mrs Pargeter, as did the height. And the photograph looked astonishingly like the passport’s new holder.

“Where did you get it from, Larry?”

He shrugged. “Saw her on the beach at Kalami this morning. Right size, right age. Mind you, she was a real old biddy, hadn’t got your style at all, Mrs P.”

Mrs Pargeter’s compassion was aroused. “But won’t she be terribly upset to lose her passport?”

“Happens all the time,” said Larry callously. “She’ll survive.”

Mrs Pargeter gave another look to what really did seem to be a picture of herself. “How on earth did you fix the photograph, Larry? And how on earth did you do it so quickly?”

He grinned proudly. “Fact is, we all have our professional secrets, don’t we, Mrs P.?”

♦

Mrs Pargeter looked around anxiously at Corfu Airport, but there was no sign of the Customs officer who looked so like Sergeant Karaskakis.

There were no problems about checking in luggage, as she only had her flightbag.

There were no problems at Passport Control.

There were no problems with the flight. It left on time.

In fact, there were no problems at all.

But, in spite of that, as she sat in her first class seat, serviced by solicitous stewardesses, Mrs Pargeter was ill at ease.

The passport for Mrs Joan Frimley Wainwright in her handbag felt as if it was on fire. Soon the flames would burst out and everyone would have their attention drawn to the forgery.

Mrs Pargeter felt dreadful.

It was the first time in her life, you see, that she had ever broken the law.