Richard Jury: The Stargazey Part 7

"I doubt very much Trueblood would want to give over s.p.a.ce in his van to a piece that size."

"Why on earth are you going to London?"

Melrose thought for a moment and finally came up with: "To see Mr. Beaton. You know, my tailor."

She was astonished. "You only just saw him in February."

"Well, that's why: I must go back for a final fitting."

"It's taken him all that time to throw together a suit?"

"Isn't that rather like saying p.i.s.sarro threw together a lot of blurry little strokes? Mr. Beaton takes his time, he's a perfectionist, and have I ever been in a hurry? Tailors such as Beaton are rare birds, these days, and much in demand. Then I mean to drop in at my club." Melrose took a bite of cold toast.

"Club? What club?"

He was, apparently, full of surprises. "The club my father and my uncle-you remember Uncle Robert?-belonged to. And their father before them. And their fathers' fathers-"

"Oh, do stop. Robert belonged to no London club."

Robert had been too smart to tell her where he was going. Unlike Melrose.

She asked, "Which one is it? White's? Boodle's?"

"No. Boring's."

She shook her head. "Never heard of it."

Which should put paid to Boring's. "It's very exclusive."

Agatha made a dismissive noise. "Those men's clubs. Prehistoric, they are, the way they still don't admit women."

"Yes, I expect that is one of the criteria for a men's club."

"Well, it's totally behind the times."

"I should think that a virtue, myself. Anyway, I've never understood this feminine objection to the exclusivity of men's clubs. It's perfectly all right with me if women want to start up a women's club that I can't get into."

"That's not the point."

"But why isn't it?"

"Mel-rose, it's the idea behind it; a man's club is symbolic."

"All I can see it's symbolic of is an organization that doesn't admit women into its smoke-and-brandy-snifter environs."

"Precisely."

"Precisely what?" Why was he arguing with her? "That's not a symbol, Auntie, that's a fact. It's an organization that doesn't admit-"

"Oh, stop being tiresome."

"And perhaps I'll drop in on Superintendent Jury." That would irritate her!

"What? You can't simply drop in at New Scotland Yard! Anyway, he'll be much too busy to lollygag around with you."

"Oh, I don't know. Jury's always good for a lollygag or two. We'll have a meal at Brown's; we usually do when I'm in London." Brown's had always been his favorite hotel, probably because it was where his mother had taken him as a child for a treat when she went to London. A treat for both of them, she would say. His mother had never been condescending to children; it had been one of her charms. . . .

Melrose felt a sudden pain and set down his cup.

He had put in the call to New Scotland Yard and was waiting for a return call while he sat in his living room, trying to adjust his eyes to the light. After Agatha's cottage, it was almost blinding.

The old dog Mindy slept in front of the fireplace, in which a low, comfortable fire burned. He sat there with a gla.s.s of sherry debating Mindy's age. Twelve? Thirteen? Ninety? Hard to say, since he hadn't known how old she was when he had found her left behind at the old Man with a Load of Mischief. So she might be fourteen or fifteen. Even older. Occasionally, someone would suggest that Mindy be put down. (Melrose loathed that evasion.) Why? he would ask. To put her out of her misery.

What misery?

Ruthven swanned in with the telephone on its long cord. Melrose had never had an extension put in the living room, since he would then have no excuse for leaving the room if Agatha was around.

"Is it Superintendent Jury?"

"No, sir. It's Miss Demorney."

Why was she calling? "Diane. Hullo."

"I was sitting here thinking that if you and Marshall were going up to London tomorrow, I might just tootle along, Melrose."

"There's not really room for a tootle, Diane. Trueblood's taking his van and there's only the front seat; he might have a jump seat, but I don't remember."

"It's a van, Melrose. He transports furniture, doesn't he? So there'd be oceans of room in the back for a comfy chair. I can bring along my cold box and we can have drinks."

Melrose frowned. "I don't think we should have a rave-up on the road. Not with you with a gun in your bag."

Her sigh was huge. "Oh, don't be such a fossil, Melrose. Anyway, the only one who shouldn't drink is the driver. Which certainly isn't going to be me. But I'd be happy to pay for the petrol."

He slid down in his chair and looked at the ceiling molding. "Why do you want to go to London anyway?"

"To go to Paris, of course."

"Why?"

"Does one need a reason for Paris?"

He saw her point. "Well, it's Trueblood's van and Trueblood's comfy chair, not mine, so you'll have to ask him."

"He doesn't answer his telephone." She was sulky.

"He's obviously out somewhere. Did you try the shop?"

"Marshall shouldn't be going out, not with"-paper rattled-"not with his Venus in transit. Incidentally, do you know what hour of the day Richard Jury was born? I might have given him wrong information."

Should he attempt to work out this conumdrum? "I don't even know what year he was born: 1888? What wrong information?"

"Umm."

That did for her answer. She was probably inhaling whatever she kept around the house.

"Are you going to see him when you're in London?" she asked.

"Jury? I expect so. I put in a call to him just a little while ago. He may be trying to call back."

"I wonder he's never got married. Nor have you."

"How did we get from the comfy chair to Jury's and my matrimonial status?"

"Of course, having been married four times myself, I can tell you it's a good thing to have an understanding right from the start that you'll leave one another alone."

Melrose took the receiver from his ear and looked at it. Then he said, "Diane, doesn't that rather defeat the purpose?"

"What purpose? Look, I'm afraid I'm going to have to ring off now; my pager's beeping. 'Bye."

The instant she hung up, the telephone rang, and Melrose s.n.a.t.c.hed it up. "Ardry End here."

"New Scotland Yard here," said Jury. "Your line's been busy."

"I've just been having a talk with Diane Demorney. She wants to know the hour you were born. Did you know she has a gun? Did you know she was writing up horoscopes for a Sidbury rag? It's really wonderful; wait a minute." There was a paper at his feet, and Melrose messed it about until he found the right page. "Okay, what's your sign?"

"Leo. Why does Diane have a gun, in G.o.d's name? How'd she get it?"

"Listen, this is your 'Seeing Stars' for today: Brooding won't solve anything. Instead of moping about the house-"

"The flat."

"-about the flat, you should be contacting friends, have a meal together. Get out, get going, get a life. She's always telling us that: Get a life."

Jury laughed. "How does she expect to win readers?"

"What I just read is mild. You should hear some of them. I think she's taking the opportunity to deliver trenchant messages to her acquaintance."

"Anyway, she got mine right. And here I am, getting a life."

"And here you are, having a meal with me."

"Delighted, but where?"

"London." He told Jury about the trip.

"My social calendar may have room."

"Good, do you have a favorite spot?"

"Yes. In my easy chair eating takeaway Tandoori."

"Listen, why don't we dine at Brown's?"

"Fine with me. That where you're staying?"

"No. At my club."

A brief silence ensued; then Jury asked, "Your club?"

Melrose sighed. Was everyone going to take that your club tack? "Yes. It's in Mayfair. Wait a minute, and I'll give you the number."

"You belong to one of those men's clubs?"

"Why is that so awful? I'm not out shooting orphans, for heaven's sake."

"It's so b.l.o.o.d.y unlike you is why."

"Why is it so unlike me to sit around in an armchair drinking port and reading the Times? What do you think I do all day, march off to work the early shift at the canning factory?"

"They're so elitist. Purveyors of such anachronistic ways of life. Totally out of it."

"You sound like Agatha." That should shut him up! "They're merely places where you can sit and read a paper and have a drink."

"Go to Leicester Square and sit on a bench. The only difference being you'd be having your drink out of a brown paper bag in the company of a lot of other brown paper bags."

"How funny."

"I've known you over a decade, and never once have I heard you mention your club. When's the last time you were there?"

Melrose thought for a moment. "It was with my father."

"Your father's been dead for twenty years. You haven't been to this place in twenty years?"

"Actually, longer than that. When I went with my father I was pretty small."

"How do you even know it's still in Mayfair?"

"Places like that are always there."

"Would they still have you on roll call?"

"Of course. Probably you only get struck from the list if you do something criminal."

"How's the food?"

"Oh, you know. Clubby. Roast beef, roast lamb, fish. Boiled potatoes. Pudding. Treacle tart. That kind of thing."