Mrs Pargeter 05; Mrs Pargeter’s Plot

∨ Mrs Pargeter’s Plot ∧

Twenty-One

Clickety Clark ushered his sitter fulsomely out on to the pavement of the discreet Mayfair square. As he did so, Gary’s limousine, which had been cruising round the block to avoid a shoal of predatory traffic wardens, slid smoothly up towards them.

“Don’t worry, Lady Entwistle,” the photographer oozed, “I’ll be in touch as soon as I’ve got a set of contacts I’m happy with. Then we can go through them and decide where my magic can be worked to best effect, eh?”

“Well, I’m not after too much magic, Clix,” she giggled coyly. “Don’t want to run the risk of people not being able to recognize it’s me.”

“No danger of that at all. It’ll definitely be you, but a you that looks as good as you possibly can. And everyone who comes to your house will be able to see a photograph of someone looking their absolute best.”

“What, you mean – and compare it unfavourably with the original?”

“No, no.” The photographer came in quickly to soothe her, but stopped when he caught the twinkle in her eye.

“Only joking, Clix.”

“Ah. Yes. Right.”

“Well, I’ll wait to hear from you.” Mrs Pargeter stepped towards the limousine. Clickety Clark moved forward to open the back door for her.

“Yes, Lady Entwistle, fine.” He moved his head closer to hers as she was about to get inside. “And, with regard to the other matter… the, er, ‘investment opportunity’, I’ll have to make a few enquiries, but hopefully, by the time We meet up to look at the contacts, I’ll be able to fill you in a bit more on that.”

“You couldn’t fill me in a little bit more now, could you?” she asked hopefully. “Just tell me what sort of area of investment we’re talking about?”

The photographer shook his head. “At the appropriate time,” he said with a wink.

Mrs Pargeter resigned herself to not getting more information at that stage. She wasn’t too upset. Her Lady Entwistle act had definitely engaged Clickety Clark’s interest in her as a potential investor. He was hooked.

She got into the limousine and he closed the door after her. “Right you are,” she said imperiously.

The uniformed chauffeur put the vehicle into gear. “Very good, milady,” said Gary, who, needless to say, was in on the deception.

Lady Entwistle gave the photographer a regal wave as the limousine slid forward. Her last view of Clickety Clark was of a lined face almost bisected by a sycophantic smile.

The minute she was out of sight, however, the smile dropped sharply from his lips and a hard shrewd light came into his eye. Mrs Pargeter was too far away to see him nod to the driver of a parked blue Jaguar on the other side of the road.

The man’s dark glasses turned up from the paper he was pretending to read, and he caught the photographer’s eye. Clickety Clark gave a little jerk of his head towards the departing limousine. The driver nodded and started the engine. His car began to follow Gary’s.

Mrs Pargeter was unsuspicious of surveillance, so she did not look round to see who was driving the Jaguar a few cars behind. She probably wouldn’t have recognized the man in his dark glasses, anyway.

Had he taken them off, though, she might have been able to identify a face she had seen twice – once in a photograph on Truffler Mason’s desk, and once on the screen of Ricky Van Hoeg’s computer.

The man was Blunt.