‘Jonny can hack in, can’t he?’
‘I’ll have a crack,’ says Jonny. ‘But would it kill you to pause while I serve up the—’
‘No, love,’ Elle says. ‘You can’t book online. They don’t have a website. Gosh, they like making it difficult.’
‘Maybe when your whole clientele come from within two hundred metres, you don’t need a website,’ I say.
‘Someonemust know if he ate there,’ says Em. ‘Think of who that would be, Al.’
‘Not Charli or Lulu. This looks like it’s his work restaurant. If it even is the place.’
‘So who would know, then?’
I’ve got it. ‘Give me the general number of Harcourt and Wallace.’
Thirty seconds later, Davy’s office phone is picked up by –yes– Mrs P. I try not to sound too relieved. ‘Hello? It’s Ted here, Davy’s friend from Bridling. I hope you remember me?’
‘I do,’ says Mrs P. ‘Although I know you’re not who you say you are.’
‘I … Sorry?’Shit. Someone must have blabbed. Or did the police recognise me after we crossed paths on my way out?
‘You told Mr Wallace you were from a reputation management firm.’ Her tone is frosty.
‘I …’ The thing to do in these cases is to be honest, by which I mean, as honest as your circumstances permit you to be. Regrettably, mine permit almost no honesty whatsoever. ‘I’m sorry, Mrs P. I had to lie to him to get into the room. He wouldn’t have listened to a random friend of Mr Harcourt’s from Bridling. Did he find out?’
‘Almost immediately,’ she says. But she sounds a little warmer. So much for Jonny’s flawless web design. ‘He phonedhis own reputation manager, who said he’d never heard of … what was it, Gillette Marx?’
‘Rillette. But yes. I wasn’t telling him the truth, Mrs P. I’m sorry.’
‘Oh, I don’t mind,’ she says, and suddenly she’s sounding rather flirtatious. First Em last night and now her. Is imminent arrest on suspicion of murder a powerful aphrodisiac? Whatever it is, it’s working. ‘Just as long as you’re telling me the truth.’
‘I am, Mrs P. But I do need to know one or two things from you. Did Mr Harcourt ever eat at St Francis on Down Lane?’
‘Of course.’ She sounds insulted at the suggestion he might not have. ‘It was his home from home. He’d have had breakfast there if they did it.’
‘You don’t know if he had any bookings coming up, do you?’
‘He made all his bookings through me, dear. He’d just tell me when he needed to eat there and I’d make the call. Although he was there so often they had a special table for him. “Booth three,” they’d say, whenever I called. “Booth three is available for Mr Harcourt whenever he needs it.” He took me for Christmas every year. It’sverychic in there.’
‘Is there a chance he’d have booked himself?’
‘He’d hardly have done that. I don’t think you realise quite how clueless David was, with computers and so on. He never had the time. Even with his mobile phone I had to take out a contract in his name for him, the silly old bear. They stilldeliver me the itemised bills each month. Now, is there anything else I can help you with?’
‘There is one thing, actually,’ I say, slowly, and I mouth the wordledgerat Elle and Em. It turns out that ‘ledger’ is an unbelievably difficult word to mouth clearly, so I end up havering while I get up and look around the room for it. There it is. ‘Do you recognise any of these addresses? Were they maybe properties Mr Harcourt would have sold?’ I reel off a few of the names. ‘This would have been several years ago now.’
‘No, I don’t think I … Wait. Say them again.’
‘10 Leinster Avenue. 14 Manfred Court. 27 Jupiter Gardens …’
‘Yes. That was it. 14 Manfred Court. Beautiful mews house in Chelsea. I’ve always wanted to live in a mews, that’s why I remember it. Do you knowMews of the World? Industry magazine.’
‘Right. Yes. But … did Mr Harcourt sell it?’
‘No. It came to us for a pitch, and David went along, but we didn’t get the job. He was furious at losing it because he knew how much it was worth. It went to another firm in the end, I don’t know which one. We don’t keep track of that. Leinster Avenue rings a bell for the same reason. There was a big row with Mr Wallace over that.’ It’s alwaysDavid, I notice, butMr Wallace. She couldn’t be much clearer whose side she’s on.
‘So Mr Harcourt definitely didn’t sell those two?’
‘That’s right. In fact, let me check …’Clack-clack-clack.‘Nor any of the others. None of them are coming up on the system, dear. Which means that none of them was ever officially a Harcourt and Wallace sale.’
