Score!

So, late on the afternoon of Saturday the fourteenth, Fanshawe and Debbie went over to Valhalla and found Chloe working out in the gym. She was wearing shorts and a pale blue sleeveless T-shirt. Fanshawe, having gone into a frenzy of hair-smoothing and tooth-licking, couldn’t keep his eyes off her glistening cleavage and her smooth buttocks, continually on display as she stretched and twisted at the bars.

‘Sunday was a sad day for me, Sergeant,’ she told him soulfully. ‘After a long affaire, Mikhail dropped me because his wife found out.’

‘Your mother phoned you from abroad at around nine thirty.’ Fanshawe frowned at his notes. ‘You were going to find out where she was staying.’

‘I completely forgot. I’ll do it tonight.’

‘Then you went for a jog round Paradise.’

‘I was depressed, the tennis had hardly been taxing.’ Shoving her fists into her armpits, Chloe rotated her elbows so her breasts thrust forward. ‘I jogged over the River Fleet up past Magpie Cottage. I wanted to see if Tab was in. She’d been terribly down since Tristan blew her out. How’s he bearing up, by the way?’

Such was Chloe’s egoism, it was the first time she’d thought of Tristan. At least, as he’d been arrested, this must only be a routine call.

‘We haven’t heard,’ said Debbie.

‘Poor Tristan,’ said Chloe lightly. ‘Anyway, Tab was out so I jogged back through Paradise. I like street-lights at that hour.’

She extended a smooth, brown foot under Fanshawe’s nose as though she was expecting him to kiss it.

‘Mr Brimscombe claims he saw you running from the tennis court into Hangman’s Wood,’ said Debbie, not without pleasure, ‘then coming out from a different, northerly direction five minutes later and disappearing into the north wing. He says you came out of the north wing fifteen minutes after that, smelling of perfume and toothpaste. An expert on floral scents, he thinks the perfume was the same he smelt earlier on Tabitha.’

The change in Chloe was phenomenal. Suddenly she was a snarling, cornered vixen. ‘Disgusting old lech! Brimscombe’s always spying on me.’

‘What was the name of your perfume?’

‘People are always giving me perfume,’ said Chloe hysterically. ‘I think it’s called Quercus.’

‘Why did you go into the wood?’

‘I don’t remember.’

‘Going to kill Rannaldini, were you? Traces of Quercus were found on his dressing-gown.’

‘I d-d-don’t believe it.’ Chloe clung to the bar for support.

‘The fingertip team found your lipstick, Fiery Fuchsia,’ persisted Fanshawe, ‘fifty yards from his watchtower.’

She’s guilty, guilty, guilty, thought Debbie in elation. She could smell Chloe’s sweat turning acid. For a second, Chloe’s eyes darted towards the door, then she slumped to the floor.

‘All right, you win. I went to Magpie Cottage to meet Isa Lovell.’

There, it was out. Fanshawe and Debbie both looked shocked.

‘I don’t feel guilty,’ said Chloe defiantly. ‘That marriage is fucked. Tab’s been lusting after Tristan all summer. It was Isa, not my mother, who rang at nine thirty to say Tab was taking some dog back to Penscombe and the coast was clear. I intended going straight to Magpie Cottage and darted into Hangman’s Wood to put on lipstick and scent, then I thought better of it. I hate being hot and sweaty so I made a detour through the wood where the tennis party couldn’t see me — they’re such horrendous gossips. Back at the house, I showered, brushed my teeth, changed into almost identical clothes, so people wouldn’t suspect anything, and jogged over to Isa’s.’

‘What time did you arrive?’

‘Around ten.’

‘See anything out of the ordinary?’

‘I was far too excited.’

‘What time did you leave?’ asked Debbie.

‘About eleven ten, I guess. Isa didn’t want me to jog home in the dark so he dropped me off half-way up the drive, then drove home to Warwickshire.’

So that puts her and Isa in the clear, calculated Fanshawe, in disappointment, unless they had got rid of Rannaldini together.

‘Oh, yes,’ Chloe smiled spitefully, ‘something significant did happen. Alpheus rolled up in a white suit in the middle, he was clutching white lilies like the Archangel Michael and started singing “La ci darem la mano” under our bedroom window. Isa poured a bottle of red over him and told him to fuck off. Such style.’

Despite repeated calls to the Home Secretary, it didn’t look as though Tristan would be bailed even after his court appearance on Monday. As everyone in the unit was hanging about on Sunday, having been forbidden to leave the country, Sexton, Oscar and Bernard decided to push on and film the polo scenes at George Hungerford’s. This had been kept from Tristan until Griselda rang the police station, late on Sunday morning, and chivvied the custody officer into asking Tristan if he wanted the ponies’ bandages to match the players’ shirts.

Tristan went berserk. ‘They cannot shoot polo without me.’

But when he tracked down Bernard, he was even more upset to discover Rupert, Lucy and Wolfie had all done a runner.