A Traitor to Memory

She frowned, then tossed the dog end of her fag into the street, where it landed in a puddle at the kerb. The volumes one didn't know about men, she thought.

The Sixty Plus Club was a modest building that sat on one side of a car park in Albert Road, and when they entered, Barbara and Lynley were immediately greeted by a large-toothed woman with red hair who was dressed in a diaphanous flowery affair more suitable for a sunny garden party than for the grey November day outside. She displayed her fearsome oral pearls at them and introduced herself as Georgia Ramsbottom, club secretary, “by unanimous vote for the fifth consecutive year.” Could she assist them? With a parent, perhaps, who might be reluctant to enquire about the club's amenities? A mother recently widowed? A father trying to come to terms with the passing of a beloved spouse? “Sometimes our pensioners”—one of whom she obviously did not consider herself to be, despite the shiny and taut facial flesh that spoke of her efforts to retard the ageing process—“drag their feet a bit when it comes to making life changes, don't they?”

“Not only pensioners,” Lynley said pleasantly as he produced his warrant card and introduced himself and Barbara.

“Oh. Goodness me. Sorry. I naturally assumed …” Georgia Ramsbottom lowered her voice. “Police? I don't know that I can assist you. I'm only elected, you see.”

“Five consecutive years,” Barbara noted helpfully. “Cheers.”

“Is there something …? But then, you'll want to talk to our Director, won't you. She's not in yet today—I can't think why except to say Eugenie often has pressing business to attend to elsewhere—but I can ring her at home if you wouldn't mind waiting in the games room?”

She indicated the door through which she herself had come to greet them. Beyond it at small tables, foursomes sat playing cards, twosomes sat playing chess or draughts, and a onesome played Patience with very little of it, if his muttered “Bugger it” was anything to go by. She herself took a step towards a closed office on whose door the word Director was stenciled on a translucent window. She said, “I'll just pop in her office and phone her.”

Lynley said, “You're speaking about Mrs. Davies, I take it?”

“Eugenie Davies. Yes, of course. She's generally here save for the periods she spends at one of her nursing homes. Very good, is our Eugenie. Very generous. A perfect example of …” She seemed at a loss to complete her metaphor, so she changed gears with, “But if you're looking for her, then you already know …? I mean about her reputation for good works? Because otherwise …”

“I'm afraid she's dead,” Lynley said.

“Dead,” Georgia Ramsbottom repeated after a moment during which she stared at them in incomprehension. “Eugenie? Eugenie Davies? Dead?”

“Yes. Last night. In London.”

“London? Was she …? What on earth happened? Oh my God, does Teddy know?” Georgia's eyes flicked to the doorway through which Lynley and Barbara had come. Her face said that she was inclined to dash out to bear the bad tidings to Major Wiley posthaste. “He and Eugenie,” she said rapidly and in a low voice as if the card-players in the nearby room might attend to something other than their games. “They were … Well, of course, neither of them ever came out and said directly, but that was Eugenie all over, wasn't it? Very discreet. She wasn't one to divulge the intimate details of her life to just anyone. But one could see when they were together that Ted was besotted with her. And I, for one, was thrilled for them both because although Ted and I were an item ourselves when he first came to Henley, I'd concluded that he wasn't quite right for me, and when I passed him on to Eugenie, I couldn't have been happier that they just seemed to click. Chemistry. That certain something between them that he and I just never had. You know how it is.” She showed her teeth again. “Poor darling Ted. Poor dear man. Such a pleasure, he is. Such a favourite here in the club.”

“He knows about Mrs. Davies,” Lynley said. “We've spoken to him.”

“Poor man. First his wife. Now this. My God.” She sighed. “Goodness. I shall have to let everyone know.”

Barbara wondered fleetingly exactly how much the woman was going to enjoy the employment.

“If we may have access to her office …” Lynley indicated the room with a nod.

Georgia Ramsbottom said, “Oh, yes. Oh, of course. It shouldn't be locked. It isn't usually. The phone's in there and if Eugenie's not here and it rings, someone must answer. Naturally. Because some of our members have spouses in nursing homes and a ringing phone could easily mean …” Her voice trailed off meaningfully. She turned the knob and swung the door open, waving Barbara and Lynley inside. She said, “If you wouldn't mind my asking …”