[Inspector de Silva 08] - Taken in Nuala Page 2

  ‘I’m glad to hear it,’ said Jane. ‘I’m sure that when the time comes, you’ll be much missed.’

  ‘It’s good of you to say so, but I’m all too aware that no one is irreplaceable. Now, if you’ll excuse us, we must go and speak to some of the other guests.’

  ‘What a charming couple the Petries are,’ said Jane, as they walked away. ‘They never put on any airs and graces, although they’re more entitled to do so than many people we know.’

  De Silva laughed. ‘Do you have someone in mind? Florence perhaps?’

  Jane smiled. ‘Now I know her better, it’s easier to forgive Florence her faults.’

  ‘I suppose I might say the same about Archie.’ De Silva liked to think that their association over the years had slowly fostered a mutual respect.

  ‘Heaven knows,’ Jane went on, ‘I’m sure I have many of my own.’

  He squeezed her arm. ‘Only your designs on my poor gardening magazines.’

  A commotion at the entrance to the ballroom interrupted their conversation. A tall, strikingly handsome man, who de Silva guessed to be in his mid-forties, had arrived. The lady on his arm was clearly a good deal younger.

  ‘They must be the O’Hallorans,’ said Jane. ‘I can tell you something about them because at the sewing circle last week, they provided the entire subject of Florence’s conversation. They’ve been staying at the Crown Hotel, but now they’re at the Residence for a few days. Miss O’Halloran is very beautiful, don’t you think? And so elegantly dressed. She looks as if she’s stepped out of a fashion magazine or one of those glorious portraits by John Singer Sargent, and her father is very handsome.’

  Ah, father and daughter. De Silva gave himself a mental slap on the wrist for his uncharitable assumption. He studied the O’Hallorans more closely. The father’s hair was impeccably groomed, but so black it was tempting to suspect it might be tinted. His daughter, also dark-haired, was tall with a willowy figure. Jane was right: the white ballgown she wore was spectacular, and she made a very charming sight.

  ‘Hank O’Halloran is a millionaire,’ Jane went on. ‘Although Florence says that he claims he’s not nearly as rich as Walter Tankerton. Apparently, his family came from Ireland originally, but he was born in America. He makes no secret of the fact that his parents had very little money. Florence says he told her he had to pull himself up by his bootstraps.’

  ‘It sounds painful.’

  Jane smiled. ‘Metaphorically speaking, dear. Anyway, I expect he and his daughter will liven up the party.’

  ‘Is there a Mrs O’Halloran?’

  ‘No. Sadly, she died many years ago.’

  The O’Hallorans joined the group around the Tankertons and were swiftly greeted by a beaming Florence. The finer points of British etiquette frequently eluded de Silva, despite Jane’s efforts to enlighten him, but presumably, if you were staying in the house, it wasn’t a faux pas to join the party late and miss the receiving line. It had certainly provided them with the opportunity to make a grand entrance.

  The atmosphere around the Tankertons, that had looked rather staid before the O’Hallorans’ arrival, rapidly changed. Even the sullen Phoebe appeared to be enjoying herself. It wasn’t long before Hank O’Halloran whisked her and his daughter away from the group and started to tour the room, introducing the three of them in such an easy manner that they might have been friends with most of the guests for years rather than new visitors to Nuala.

  When they came to where Jane and de Silva stood, he wondered what they would find to talk about, but he needn’t have worried. Both the O’Hallorans were so engaging, he soon forgot that he and Jane had only just met them. As Florence had observed, Phoebe Tankerton had little to say for herself, but she hung on the O’Hallorans’ every word and laughed a great deal at Hank’s jokes.

  ‘Pa wanted me to have an expensive education,’ Marie O’Halloran remarked when she heard that Jane had been a governess. ‘But he might as well have saved his money. The school had as much chance of teaching me algebra and geometry as it did of getting a Minnesota moose to dance the tango.’

  Hank O’Halloran tucked her arm in his and patted it fondly. ‘I had to try.’

  ‘I’m glad it didn’t take too long to persuade you I was a lost cause. Life was much more fun after that. And what’s the use of anything if you don’t have fun?’

  Her father chuckled. ‘I’d never call you a lost cause, honey. You’re smarter than most people I know.’

  ‘We had fun yesterday, didn’t we, Phoebe?’ Marie O’Halloran went on. Phoebe nodded, but a cloud came over Hank O’Halloran’s brow. ‘Now, that wasn’t such a smart thing to do. I don’t like you girls going off gallivanting on the wrong side of town.’

  Marie’s chin jutted and de Silva glimpsed a strong will under the charm. ‘We weren’t on our own. We had Pat and Mrs Tankerton with us.’ Her expression softened into a winning smile. ‘And we came back, didn’t we?’

  ‘Where did you go?’ asked Jane.

  ‘To have our fortunes told. At least Phoebe and I did. The others wouldn’t join in. I’d heard about a clairvoyant who’d do that for you.’ Putting her arm through Phoebe’s, Marie gave it a squeeze and laughed. ‘It was such a lark, wasn’t it, Phoebe darling?’ She gave the assembled company a look of mock defiance. ‘And it’s no use asking what she said, because that’s our little secret.’

  De Silva wasn’t sure he liked her attitude. The casting of horoscopes was held in high regard by many of the people of Ceylon. He recalled that, when he was growing up, the local astrologer had often come to the house at his mother’s request when there was an important decision to be made. To de Silva’s surprise, O’Halloran seemed to have the same reaction, for his severe expression didn’t lighten.

  ‘Don’t make fun of people who see into the future, honey. Your great grandma used to read the stars. When your grandpa was born, she told everyone that one day he’d go to America and marry a woman with raven hair. They’d have a son who became a big success in business.’ He paused then grinned. ‘Well, here I am, and your grandma had black hair.’

  He laughed and the atmosphere relaxed again. ‘So, Inspector.’ He turned to de Silva. ‘I hear you’re the guy who keeps us all safe in this little old town.’

  De Silva’s lips twitched. O’Halloran’s friendliness was infectious. It was hard to take offence at Nuala being described in such a fashion. Anyway, on reflection, it was a small, and usually quiet place, and probably old by the standards of what he had heard about America.

  ‘I do my best, sir.’

  O’Halloran clapped him on the back. ‘I’m sure we couldn’t be in better hands. Now, if you’ll excuse us, I think it’s time Marie and I took Phoebe back to her folks. I see our lovely hostess getting ready to call us in for dinner, and I’m hungry enough to eat a bear.’

  De Silva wasn’t sure how palatable a bear would be, but he appreciated a man who acknowledged the demands of his stomach.

  ‘An interesting man, Mr O’Halloran,’ he observed to Jane as he led her into dinner after the gong had been struck. ‘Unlike you British, it seems that Americans don’t suffer from false modesty.’

  ‘No, they don’t, but from what I’ve heard, Hank O’Halloran’s thoroughly entitled to be proud of his achievements.’

  ‘By the way, who is this Pat?’

  ‘Pat?’

  ‘The person that Marie O’Halloran mentioned came with her and Phoebe to the clairvoyant.’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ She thought for a moment. ‘Actually, he’s probably the private secretary the Tankertons brought with them. Florence mentioned him. He’s not really a secretary though, and his name’s not really Pat, it’s Patterson. Andrew Patterson. Florence said he’s an ex-military man the Tankertons like to have around them to guard Phoebe, because they’re terrified of kidnappers. If they’re as rich as Florence says, that must be a real danger.’

  ‘It must.’

  De Silva remembered the tragic case of the k
idnapping of the baby son of the famous aviator, Charles Lindbergh, a few years previously. It would have left many wealthy families alarmed.

  ‘Still, they should be safe enough in Nuala,’ Jane continued.

  ‘I certainly hope so.’

  ***

  At dinner, the Tankertons and the O’Hallorans were seated along the top of the U-shaped table with Archie, Florence, and the Petries, and, down each arm, several other couples de Silva recognised as belonging to the highest echelons of Nuala’s small society. Along with the Hebdens and the remaining guests, Jane and de Silva had been placed on smaller, round tables within the U-shape. De Silva was interested to see that Phoebe Tankerton looked positively animated now. She and Marie O’Halloran were seated on either side of William Petrie, who also appeared to be enjoying himself.

  Further along the table, Grace Tankerton listened politely to her neighbours, but de Silva noticed that her expression was careworn, and she cast frequent glances in her daughter’s direction. It must be one thing accepting that you prepared your children to go out into the world and leave you behind – what was the British expression; you cut the apron strings? – but another having to cope with the knowledge that your company gave them no pleasure whereas that of others did. Of course, it was possible that Grace Tankerton’s sorrowful expression was due to the worry of needing someone to guard her daughter all the time. He thought of the man, Patterson, and wondered where he’d got to. Presumably, he was waiting discreetly somewhere, perhaps at another of the smaller tables, ready to spring into action if the need arose.

  He turned his attention to his dinner. He never had high hopes of the meals served at the Residence, but tonight, with many Ceylonese guests, Florence had given the chef permission to tailor the menu to suit a wider variety of tastes than usual. The starter of devilled eggs was tasty, and a welcome choice between curried lamb, and roast leg with mint sauce, meant that de Silva left the table replete.

  Returning to the ballroom, they found that the band had already started to play a medley of dance tunes. De Silva danced with Jane and then Emerald Hebden. ‘I’m honoured that your husband allows me a few minutes of your company,’ he said with a smile.

  ‘Oh, David doesn’t like dancing. He says he has two left feet. It’s such a pity because I love it.’

  De Silva laughed. ‘I’m sure the two left feet could be corrected if someone was sufficiently determined.’

  ‘It will be my next project. Just as soon as the dining room’s decorated.’

  They passed close to the place where some of the older gentlemen sat out, enjoying their whisky and cigars. Archie was among them, talking to Walter Tankerton. It was nice to see Tankerton looking more at ease than he’d done earlier in the evening. De Silva wondered where the rest of his family were, then noticed Phoebe dancing with one of the Residence’s young attachés. White columns with gilt capitals were spaced at intervals on either side of the ballroom, dividing it into three sections with the central one being the largest by far. He couldn’t help himself thinking what any competent policeman would. Maybe this fellow Patterson was tucked behind one of them, his eyes never leaving his charge as she whirled through the throng in her partner’s arms.

  When the band took their break, de Silva was surprised to see Hank O’Halloran step up to the piano and start to play. Soon, an admiring circle formed around him as he took requests for people’s favourite tunes, interspersing them with music the like of which de Silva had never heard before. Some people started to dance again.

  ‘Ragtime,’ said Jane appearing beside him, slightly out of breath from a turn around the floor with one of the young teachers at the government school. ‘That was The Maple Street Rag by Scott Joplin.’

  ‘It certainly sets the toes tapping.’

  Jane fanned herself. ‘I think I’m out of practice for dancing at that speed.’

  ‘I don’t know about that. I was most impressed.’ He smiled. ‘Albeit I prefer my wife to be dancing with me.’

  They surveyed the dancers for a few moments then Jane glanced in the direction of the dais, where O’Halloran was still playing the piano. ‘He plays very well, doesn’t he? I don’t really know why, but I didn’t expect him to be musical.’

  O’Halloran ended the piece with a flourish, and a burst of laughter rose from the audience around him at something he said. De Silva noticed that one of the ladies was Grace Tankerton who appeared to be enjoying herself at last. Another surprise.

  ‘Shall we go a bit closer?’ asked Jane. ‘I’d love to watch him play.’

  By the time they reached the group, O’Halloran had picked up a piece of music that lay on top of the piano.

  ‘There’s a great little duet in here. Would someone do me the honour of joining me?’

  He swivelled to look at Grace Tankerton. ‘How about you, ma’am? I know you play.’

  Grace Tankerton flushed. ‘Oh, I couldn’t possibly.’

  ‘Why not? We’re among friends.’

  She took a deep breath. ‘Let me see the music.’

  After she’d scanned it, she nodded. ‘I suppose I’ll manage, but please don’t expect me to play fast.’

  ‘I’m willing to bet you’d outplay me any day,’ said O’Halloran with a grin. ‘I started out playing in bars when I was first in Chicago. Honky-tonk tunes I expect people only half listened to. Still it paid the rent while I got on my feet. But you—’ He smiled. ‘Walter tells me that back home you play Beethoven, Mozart, Tchaikovsky – all the big guys.’

  Grace Tankerton sat down beside him and flexed her fingers. When she began to play, she blossomed into a different creature: animated and carefree. After the last notes had died away, O’Halloran turned to her. ‘Thank you,’ he said softly.

  It was at that moment that a jarring sound cut through the buzz of conversation and laughter. Groups of people nearest to the door to the reception hall stopped talking and looked to see where it had come from. The sound came again. This time, de Silva was sure it was a scream, and it came from the direction of the hall. Several other men followed him as he rushed out there.

  Phoebe Tankerton stood at the top of the sweeping, double staircase, one hand clutching her throat. As de Silva reached her, she swayed and would have fallen if he hadn’t caught her.

  ‘Marie,’ she said in an anguished whisper. ‘They’ve taken Marie.’

  Chapter 2

  ‘We’d gone upstairs to Marie’s room,’ said Phoebe. De Silva had helped her the rest of the way downstairs, and now, they sat with her parents and Archie, who had just joined them, in the drawing room.

  ‘Pat said it was alright as Marie was my friend. She wanted to powder her nose and I said I’d come too. She went to the bathroom first, then me, so she was on her own in the bedroom. When I saw her last, she was going to the French windows that lead out to the balcony to open them. She said she needed to cool off.’

  A flood of sobs swallowed Phoebe Tankerton’s voice. She took her mother’s proffered handkerchief, blew her nose resolutely then dabbed her reddened eyes.

  ‘You need to rest, dearest,’ said Grace.

  Her husband turned to de Silva. ‘That’s enough for the moment, Inspector,’ he said, but Phoebe shook her head violently. ‘Don’t fuss, Father. I want to tell it all.’

  ‘Well done, young lady,’ said Archie approvingly. ‘That’s the spirit. What happened next?’

  ‘I was in the bathroom when I heard Marie call my name and the sounds of a scuffle. I rushed to the bathroom door. At first, I thought that I’d been locked in, but then I realised that I was so frightened, I was trying to turn the handle the wrong way. I was calling out for Marie, but she didn’t answer. As I pulled the bathroom door open the lights in the bedroom went out. I stepped forward and…’

  She paused, a pulse in her cheek twitching, and her hands clenched in her lap.

  ‘Can you tell us what happened then, Miss Tankerton?’ asked de Silva gently.

  ‘After the bright light in the
bathroom, it seemed very dark. I sensed someone close by me. I didn’t actually see them, but they grabbed me and put something over my face.’ She shuddered. ‘It smelled sickly. I remember that. I passed out, and when I came to, I was lying on the floor. I called Marie’s name again, but she still didn’t answer. I managed to get up and go to the light switch by the door to turn on the lights. The French windows were open—'

  Another bout of sobbing overcame her. When it was over, her words came out in a croaky whisper. ‘Marie was gone.’

  Grace Tankerton stood up. ‘Enough now. My daughter needs to rest. Let’s go up to your room, Phoebe dear. I’ll come and sit with you. I don’t want anyone disturbing us,’ she added firmly. ‘You’ll see to that, won’t you, Walter?’ She looked at her husband.

  ‘I suggest you stay here, sir,’ de Silva said to him as the ladies departed. He suspected that Walter Tankerton would be more of a hindrance in a search than an asset; close to, de Silva noticed a pallor in his face that suggested he wasn’t in the best of health. ‘I’m sure your wife and daughter will be reassured by your presence.’

  A shrewd look came into Tankerton’s eyes. He might be unfit, but he was no fool. De Silva hoped he hadn’t taken offence. But then the banker nodded. ‘Thank you, Inspector. I’m afraid I’m too old for running around in the dark. Patterson here,’ he gestured towards a thickset, sandy-haired man who gave de Silva a chilly stare, ‘will be much more help to you.’ He nodded to Patterson. ‘Phoebe’s safe for the moment. Go and give a hand.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘Poor O’Halloran. I hope he finds his daughter unharmed. It’s a bad business.’

  ‘Indeed it is, sir.’

  ‘I doubt the kidnappers will come here again tonight,’ said Archie. ‘But I’ve seen to it that some of our security men will be put on watch at the end of the corridor leading to your bedrooms and outside in the garden.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Archie and de Silva left him and went out to the reception hall. Through the door to the ballroom, they saw that Jane and Lady Caroline were helping Florence Clutterbuck talk to the party guests to find out if they’d noticed anything untoward, before seeing them on their way.