A Bedlam of Bones by Suzette Hill Read Free Book Online Page B

him there are vital things to discuss and he must come up to Guildford straight away … No, wait a minute, not here at the Palace. That wouldn’t do at all, it will only set Gladys off – she couldn’t abide him in France. It’ll have to be your vicarage. That’s it: telephone him this afternoon and tell him it is imperative I see him. Now Francis, I know I can rely on you. See to it, there’s a good fellow.’
     
    The good fellow returned to Molehill, poured a large gin, consumed three cream cakes, and then feeling suitably fortified, did as requested.
    * First mentioned in A Load of Old Bones
    * See Bones in High Places

The Vicar’s Version
     
     
    Emboldened by the gin, and brushing the crumbs of a meringue from my waistcoat, I seized the telephone and dialled the Brighton number. ‘Ah, hello Nicholas,’ I began cheerfully. ‘Are you busy in the next few days?’
    ‘What’s it to you?’ was the cordial reply.
    ‘I rather wondered if you would be free to come up here for lunch.’
    ‘Why?’
    I told him that Horace Clinker was keen to discuss one or two things with him. ‘He’s a bit worried, you see.’
    ‘So he should be,’ he murmured.
    ‘I’ve, er, seen a letter that he received. And I think you may have been sent something similar. It’s not very pleasant.’
    ‘You can say that again. Frigging disgusting.’
    ‘So, would you like to come up and chew things over a bit? You know, try to work something out?’
    ‘Hmm – all right. Got any whisky?’ I assured him I had. ‘And what about treacle tart? One of the few things you do quite well.’ I told him I thought I could rise to that as well. Thus a provisional arrangement was made for three days’ hence, depending on the bishop’s convenience. Judging from Clinker’s mood when last seen, I suspected it would be more than convenient.
    I finished the call a little surprised at Ingaza’s sombre responses. Accustomed to his provocative, often maddening banter, I found the subdued tone slightly deflating. Clearly the latest development had taken effect.
     
    On the prescribed date he arrived twenty minutes early and was greeted warmly by the dog. Bouncer’s approval of Ingaza had started to emerge during our stay in France. It had not been apparent previously, but there was clearly something that stirred the creature’s respect. Perhaps it was their shared cussedness.
    The slight tan Ingaza had acquired on the heights of the Massif had disappeared and his face had resumed its customary pallor. In a louche sort of way and in certain lights Ingaza can appear almost handsome, but on that day he looked gaunt and dishevelled. His hair, normally so carefully smarmed, was dry and unkempt, and I noticed the absence of the flash tie-pin and heavy signet ring. Set out in a hurry perhaps? Or did the sartorial indifference betray some nagging anxiety?
    We settled in the sitting room and lit cigarettes. ‘Well, this is a bit rum,’ I began. ‘Hor’s in an awful stew.’
    ‘That would follow,’ he replied drily.
    ‘You’ve both had these letters. Have you brought yours with you?’
    He nodded and took a piece of paper from his wallet. ‘Came about a week ago, stupid bloody thing. Here, read it.’ And with a scowl he passed it over.
    Dear Mr Ingaza,
We are not as yet acquainted, but I think over time you will get to know me fairly well – or at least if not me directly, most certainly the business that interests me. You yourself are an astute man of business and will thus not be so foolhardy as to ignore my terms.
‘What terms?’ you may enquire. The terms of our transaction of course. ‘That being?’ you ask. Simple: my silence for your money.
I was intrigued to learn of your erstwhile prowess in Classics – a double first in Greats no less; and your subsequent ‘Athenian’ activities have been duly noted. In this respect it also tickled my sense of irony to discover that when immersed in the delights of Horatius Flaccus at Oxford you