‘Perish the thought,’ said Arthur. ‘I’m going to be wholly civilised. Now then, have you ordered something to drink? Mine’s a gin and tonic. Stick it on your bill, why don’t you?’
When on a sticky wicket and not calling the shots, Webster clearly had none of Pamela’s chutzpah, and looking decidedly pale, he grasped the armrests of his chair and made to get up. Arthur shot out his hand and restrained him with an iron grip. ‘Stay right where you are,’ he said, his voice low and threatening. ‘You’re not going anywhere, not until I say so.’
The last remnants of colour drained from the man’s face, but proving again that she was made of stronger stuff, Pamela merely smiled and acknowledged the approach of a waiter. ‘We might as well hear what Arthur has to say, Davey,’ she said quite calmly.
Their drinks ordered, Pamela directed her attention towards Arthur. ‘It wasn’t nice what you did, hitting me like that. I lay unconscious on the floor for ages. I could have died. I’m surprised I didn’t.’
‘After today, you might wish you had,’ said Arthur. ‘You too, Davey,’ he added, enjoying the sight of the pathetic man practically quivering in his chair.
‘Don’t be like that, Arthur,’ said Pamela. ‘It’s hard for a woman to make her way in the world; I only do what I can to get by. You can’t blame me for that, can you?’
He had to admire her nerve, but he kept the thought to himself. ‘Given our surroundings, I should say you’re more than getting by.’
When the waiter had returned with their drinks and once more left them alone, Arthur swirled the ice around in his gin and tonic and took a long sip. ‘When did the idea come to you to play dead and blackmail me from the grave, in a manner of speaking?’ As furious as he was that he’d been played for a fool, he was curious to know more.
‘When I was in hospital later that night having six stitches put in my head,’ Pamela answered him. She raised her hand and touched her head. ‘I still have quite a lump there, thanks to you.’
‘And I have quite a lump of money missing from my bank account thanks to you and your friend here.’ He gave Webster a contemptuous glance.
Another question came to Arthur’s mind, and in the mood to have every i dotted and every t crossed, he said, ‘We hardly move in the same circles, but how is it we haven’t bumped into one another before now?’
‘Davey and I have been away.’
‘How nice for you both. Doing what? Setting up a new scam somewhere?’
‘We’ve been finding ourselves a lovely new home in the country, just as I’ve always dreamt of doing. Now, darling, why don’t we be reasonable about this and call it quits? What do you think, Arthur, bygones?’
‘You’re not in any position to bargain with me,’ he snapped, sickened by the audacity of the woman.
‘I think you’ll find I am,’ she said. ‘One word from me to your pretty little wife and she’ll know just what a vile man she’s married to.’
‘And I’ll see that you go to prison for extortion.’
‘Would that be worth losing your good name for? I don’t think that’s something you’re prepared to do.’
He leaned in closer to her. ‘What a damned shame I didn’t hit you harder that day.’ Such was the menace in his voice and the look of hatred he gave her, she actually backed away from him. ‘Here’s what you’re going to do next,’ he said. ‘You’re going to hand over every photograph, negative and any other evidence of my association with you in your possession.’
‘And if I don’t?’
‘I shall make you wish I’d put you out of your misery when I had the chance. Have I made myself clear?’
Pamela exchanged a glance with Webster, who hadn’t touched his drink and now looking positively green about the gills. What a contemptible specimen of a man he was.
‘Perfectly clear,’ muttered Pamela.
Chapter Sixty-Seven
It had taken considerable effort and persistence on Romily’s part to persuade Lady Fogg to agree to have tea with her at the Cobbles Tea Room. Not for a minute did Romily underestimate the amount of courage it must have cost the woman to sit here with her, or what a blow to her pride it had to be.
But here they were, centre stage and the focus of just about everybody’s attention, this being Lady Fogg’s first public appearance since going into hiding at Melstead Hall. Nobody had actually been rude to her, or even directly snubbed her, but it was obvious from the glances and not-so-discreet mutterings emanating from the tables around them that her crimes were a long way from being forgotten. For many it would be a case of delicious Schadenfreude, of enjoying the spectacle of seeing how the high and mighty could be felled. Probably their only disappointment was that Lady Fogg had been saved, very likely at her husband’s intervention, from a spell behind bars.
Romily’s insistence on meeting here in a public place was not based on some kind of perverse pleasure in seeing the woman suffer, but more from a desire to try and help repair the damage Lady Fogg had inflicted on herself. She really did believe that there was enough hostility in the world right now, Melstead St Mary didn’t need to have its own private war going on. She also believed that meeting publicly would send out an unambiguous message that Romily Devereux-Temple was not the type of woman to kick a person when they were down, or hold a grudge. Her hope was that others might follow her example.
‘Any news from your husband as to when his business commitments might allow him to return?’ she ventured to ask Lady Fogg. She strongly suspected it wasn’t business keeping the man in town, but she was prepared to go along with the pretence if it saved Lady Fogg a little more face. She couldn’t help but feel sorry for the poor woman, looking as she did, a shadow of her former self, discernibly older and greyer, her skin sallow and powdery. She had lost weight too.
After dabbing her mouth with her napkin, Lady Fogg shook her head. ‘It’s all very tiresome. People make such demands upon him and he’s too good-natured to say no. As a consequence, he’s constantly rushed off his feet.’
‘Quite,’ said Romily, thinking that what she had encountered of Sir Archibald provided her with scant evidence to support such a claim about his nature. She further suspected that far from rushed off his feet, he was hunkered down at some prestigious club enjoying innumerable whisky and sodas while hiding behind a newspaper.
