Before I could thank him, a gong sounded behind us.
‘The first performance of the night will begin in five minutes,’ announced a waiter. ‘Guests attending, please make your way to the Opal Room.’
Despite Charlie’s heads-up on La Cage’s mobile protocol, I’d intended to show Harry’s picture to as many people as I could before getting thrown out. It was a plan that would have to be put on ice for a while, as there was an immediate surge towards the door spearheaded by the guy in the wheelchair.
‘Are you going in?’ I asked Charlie.
‘You bet,’ he said, ‘although I need to catch up with someone for a couple of minutes. Any chance you can save me a seat?’
‘No problem,’ I told him.
The chairs in the Opal Room were arranged in a semicircle as though we were the audience for a business presentation. In front of us was a large frame supporting two sturdy crosspieces. At the end of each strut was a leather cuff. The interior designer had gone for a Moroccan effect, using diaphanous wall hangings and oriental rugs. Meagre light came from a chandelier operating on a glow-worm voltage. Adding to the atmosphere was the sweetness of incense, and the sound of a mournful oboe.
Conversational buzz died down, prompted by an increase in the volume of the music. A door opened and three women entered. Two brunettes were wearing thigh-length boots over stockings held up by suspenders. Between them was a naked blonde. They made their way to the front, with Blondie putting up the occasional token struggle. Whenever she did, one of her escorts would slap her face and call her a worthless slut. By the time they had her buckled on to the cross it felt as though gravity in the room had multiplied several times over.
After more verbal abuse one of the escorts produced a paddle and brought it down on to her victim’s behind with a satisfying splat. A shriek earned her another two strokes. Then the second escort got in on the act. Her crop didn’t sound anything like as dramatic, but the girl’s yells had a more urgent quality when the leather tip bit into the parabolic flesh of her beautiful bottom.
The spectacle lasted five minutes, during which time Charlie slipped into the room and took his place next to me. By this time, the girl’s crimson buttocks were latticed with blood. I was both relieved and disappointed in equal measure. The trio trooped back through the door, the brunettes continuing to keep the blonde under close control. The lights went up and the oboe music was replaced by something poppy and upbeat. People began chatting and getting to their feet.
‘What did you think?’ Charlie asked.
‘Quite a show,’ I said. ‘Are they all like that?’
‘Sometimes there’s breath play and other variations, although I’m more of a spanking man myself.’
It was as though we were discussing the merits of German cars, or the state of our golf handicaps. ‘Does it ever go too far?’ I asked.
‘As long as there’s a safe word, everything’s fine.’
By now we were alone in the room, apart from one other person. Standing in the doorway was the guy I’d bunged the monkey to. He couldn’t have looked more pissed off if the banknotes had been photocopied.
‘Michael wants a word,’ Charlie said. ‘You really shouldn’t have shown me that girl’s picture, you know. Terrible faux pas.’
‘You told him?’
‘I told someone. Still, I’m sure she’ll understand, what with you being a new bod.’
Before I could ask who ‘she’ was, Charlie patted me on the back and walked past Michael. He closed the door behind him. I considered bolting through the door the girls had used to make their exit, but what was the point? All Michael would do was throw me out. The last thing La Cage wanted was bad publicity.
‘Obviously I didn’t make myself clear,’ he said. ‘And now we’re both in trouble. Although you’re in a bit more than me.’
‘If you’re talking about the phone, I had no idea it was against club rules. But now I do, I’m more than happy to . . .’
Michael put his finger against his lips in a sign that I should shut the fuck up. ‘There is one bonus, though,’ he said.
‘What’s that?’
‘You get to see the second floor.’
NINETEEN
We stepped out of the service lift into a passage carpeted with runners. Its walls were clover-green, and the light came from halogen ceiling studs. We could have been in a country-house hotel, apart from the fact that Michael wasn’t carrying my luggage, and I probably wouldn’t be tipping him. He led me past three doors and tapped on the fourth. A woman’s voice told us to enter.
I was standing in a child’s bedroom, or at least how a kid’s room might have looked in the fifties. The faded wallpaper was covered in fairies. In the corner nearest the window was a doll’s house, so exquisite and antique it belonged in a museum. On a shelf running around the room at head height were perched dozens of porcelain dolls kitted out in crinolines and gingham. There was a simple oak school desk and a four-poster bed with fat white pillows and a plaid bedspread. The only incongruous thing was a wall-mounted TV.
The woman in the armchair had too much bone structure and not enough skin. Her short hair was grey but she had young eyes. Time, and whatever else had ravaged her face, had spared them; a pair of emeralds pushed into a parchment skull.
A cylinder housed in a plastic unit stood at her feet. From it ran a thin tube to a clip attached to her nose. On a table by the chair were strewn bottles of pills, an open packet of Sobranie Black Russian and a half-full ashtray.
‘Good evening. My name’s Arabella Sherren,’ she said, ‘although people call me Bella. You’ll forgive me for not shaking hands. My joints are rather painful this evening.’
I could well believe it. From Bella’s silk peignoir emerged a pair of pipe-cleaner wrists that Michael could probably have snapped between finger and thumb.
‘I’m Kenny,’ I said. ‘Pleased to meet you.’
‘Charlie tells me that you’ve been showing him photographs, Kenny. And Michael has confessed that you bribed him to gain admittance.’
‘I’m trying to find out if someone was in the club recently.’
‘Harriet Parr?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Charlie recognised her.’
‘She was a member, then?’
‘Why do you want to know?’
‘Because I think she may have been in here shortly before she went missing. And if I can find out who she was with, then . . .’
‘You may be able to discover who murdered her?’
‘That was the idea.’
Bella fiddled with a dial on her oxygen tube. She took several shallow breaths before speaking again. ‘Did you really expect simply to waltz in here and question my guests?’
‘Actually, that’s not necessary. You could run off the footage from the camera in the hall.’
‘You noticed that?’
I nodded. ‘Do you keep the recordings?’
‘When did Miss Parr visit?’
I supplied the date. Bella looked at Michael. ‘Check when she signed out,’ she instructed him. ‘Then pull the footage off the system and bring it up.’