Malice at the Palace (The Royal Spyness Series Book 9)

 

I think he went a little pink. He went into a cubby and took a key from the wall. I made a mental note of which hook it came from. I followed him across the foyer and into the lift. Up we went to the third floor. We crossed a landing with a big mirror and modern bentwood bench, then he turned the key in the lock and stood back for me to step into Bobo’s flat. It smelled of stale smoke and stale drink and rotting fruit—rather unpleasant, in fact. It was modern in the extreme—large plate-glass windows looked out onto Park Lane with glimpses of Hyde Park beyond. On the floor was a white rug and the furniture was sleek and low and chrome. There were modern paintings on the walls with great splashes of color. It was also rather untidy. A plate with an orange peel lay on a low table, along with a newspaper and an empty cocktail glass. An ashtray was piled high with cigarette ends. A silver fox wrap was draped over the back of a bentwood chair. Through in the kitchen I could see dishes piled in the sink.

 

“Dear me,” I said. “Does Miss Carrington’s cleaning lady no longer come?”

 

“Not for the last few days, miss,” he said. “She was told not to.”

 

“It’s still Mrs. Parsons, is it?” I asked.

 

“Not Mrs. Parsons. You mean Mrs. Preston.”

 

“Oh yes, of course. Mrs. Preston. Silly of me. Doesn’t she have a key to come when Miss Carrington is away? I’m sure Miss Carrington won’t want to return to this mess.”

 

“Yes, miss. She does have the key to the flat, but she has been told not to come until further notice, so I understand.”

 

“Who told her? Not Bobo, surely?” I looked at him. “I say, she’s not in any trouble, is she? I know that at times . . . well, you know.”

 

“There is some kind of complication, miss,” he said, looking relieved to be telling me. “I won’t deny that the police were here, looking for something. But they wouldn’t tell me what, so I’m no wiser than you.”

 

“I see,” I said. “Well, I promise not to tell anyone you let me in.” I gave him a conspiratorial stare.

 

Luckily the bedroom door was half open so I didn’t have to reveal that I had never been here before. I walked purposefully across the room and pushed the bedroom door fully open. I didn’t want to have to see what might be hanging behind that door. The bed was unmade. A pair of silk stockings lay across it. A pair of frilly knickers lay on the floor. A dress was draped over the dressing table stool. Two things were clear: Bobo was sorely in need of a maid and she had certainly been living in this flat very recently.

 

I went over to the dressing table. Odd pieces of jewelry were lying scattered across it, but no earrings. And nothing else that might be of interest, like a note saying, “Meet me tonight in the park.” In fact one thing that struck me about the whole flat was the absence of anything personal. No photographs of family members or of Bobo with friends. No half-written letters, or letters from others. Just cigarette stubs in an ashtray and a bright red lipstick. I remembered the red gash of her mouth against a white face as she had lain on the cobbles. And I felt a wave of pity. This had been someone who lived for the moment but had no real ties. A bright but lonely life.

 

This thought, of course, led to Darcy. I forced my face to stay serene as I asked, “So tell me, do you know Mr. O’Mara? Isn’t he still one of Bobo’s friends?”

 

He smiled. “Oh yes, Mr. O’Mara. He’s a good sort.”

 

“Have you seen him recently?”

 

“I can’t say I have, miss, but then I go off duty at two and William comes on until ten. So if he came to visit Miss Carrington in the evening I wouldn’t know about it.”

 

And if he’d stayed the night, wouldn’t Frederick have had to let him out in the morning, I wanted to ask, but couldn’t. Instead I sighed and headed back into the sitting room. “The earrings don’t appear to be here,” I said, “and I don’t want to go rummaging through her drawers for them. So thank you again. And if Miss Carrington does come back, please tell her I was here and had to go to the party without her.”

 

“Right you are, miss,” he said and shut the door firmly behind us. We rode down in the lift in silence. As we stepped out into the bright foyer an idea struck me. “I’ve just thought of something,” I said. “If Mrs. Preston isn’t working here at the moment, she’d have free time, wouldn’t she? And I’m moving into a little mews cottage just off Knightsbridge. I’m desperate for someone to come and clean the place for me and she’d be perfect, wouldn’t she?”

 

“I expect she would, miss,” he said.

 

“So do you happen to have her address?” I asked. “I’ll go and see her right away.”