Page 50 of Blow Down (The Plumber's Mate)
I got a pitying look for my pains. Well, from Uncle Arlo at any rate. I didn’t dare glance at Phil ’cos I reckoned it’d be a pissed-off one from him. “Amelia was a keen patron of the Royal Opera House, and of course her connection with the bishop led to a number of formal engagements.”
In for a penny . . . “Were you and her close?”
Uncle Arlo blinked, and for a mo, his face looked saggy and old. Was it an act? “When she was a child, yes. She was much younger than I, of course. I was more of a father figure than a brother in those days. But when she grew up . . . Well. Who among us can say we’re as close to our family as we’d like to be?”
Who indeed? Although, come to think of it, when I slung a glance at Phil, I realised he could probably tick that box.
Not that he was looking any too happy about it, mind. “What exactly was her connection to the bishop?” he asked, unfolding his arms and snapping out of it.
Uncle Arlo put his head on one side. “Didn’t you know? She met him professionally. Her profession, not his, naturally.”
Why naturally? Bishops got out and about a fair bit in the course of their holy duties, didn’t they? As borne out by the fact I’d known Greg for months and only met his boss the once. If he hadn’t been off doing whatever it is bishops do, where the bloody hell had he bogged off to?
“She organised an event for him? What kind?”
“Oh, I forget the details.” Despite the sleepy air, I had a feeling Uncle Arlo never met a detail he didn’t file away carefully under that artfully rumpled mop of silver hair.
“Back to the necklace,” Phil said doggedly. “Did she give you any indication as to what she was planning to do with the real one? Once she had your copy, that is.”
“I just assumed she would put it in a safety-deposit box. Majors doesn’t have a safe at home. His sort never do.”
“‘His sort’?”
“Oh, you know. Old-fashioned. Entirely detached from the real world. Thinks keeping a shotgun in his study means he won’t get burgled.”
Alex Majors kept a shotgun? See, that’s the trouble with the countryside. You think, yeah, Britain, gun laws, you’re safe from being shot—then you find out half the homes this side of the commuter belt have an old shotgun knocking around somewhere that they got for “pest control” back in the 1950s.
Okay, maybe that’s a slight exaggeration. But I’d prefer it if fewer murder suspects turned out to keep the things.
I wondered if old Arlo had one too.
“So Mrs. Fenchurch-Majors didn’t tell you her plans?” Phil persisted.
“Didn’t I just say that?”
“How long did it take to make the necklace for her?”
“Oh, not long at all. Yes. Less than a fortnight, I believe. A simple piece to copy, once one got hold of the central stone—the cubic zirconia for the surround, of course, I had already. I didn’t charge her for the labour, naturally.” He smiled. “In fact I didn’t charge her at all. Dear Amelia. She was such a sweet little thing as a girl. Always so determined to get her own way. Much like her stepdaughter, in fact,” he added out of the blue just as I’d started to feel a bit moved by the mistiness in his sleepy eyes.
“Did they get on well together?” Phil asked, poker-faced.
Uncle Arlo chuckled, apparently fully recovered from that little attack of emotion. “Oh, dear me, no. Couldn’t stand each other. Two sticks of dynamite rubbing up against one another. Sparks and friction aplenty.” He rubbed his hands together as if to demonstrate.
If you asked me, it was a weird way to think about your sister and your step-niece, but whatever floated his boat . . . And Christ. That was an image I really could’ve done without: Uncle Arsewipe perving to lesbian porn starring his relatives.
“Of course, Violet’s devastated by her loss,” he added, not even pretending to be sincere. Well, either that or he was just really, really bad at it.
“Of course.” Phil gave him a direct look. “Do you get on well with your step-niece?”
“Naturally.” He smiled sleepily. “She reminds me so much of Amelia when she was a young thing. And of course, I should in any case hold her dear for Amelia’s sake.”
Huh. That didn’t exactly tie in with what he’d just told us about dear, dear Amelia hating the poor girl. And Christ, between him and Lance, they’d got me thinking about Vi as a teenager, not a grown woman who had to be pretty close to my age.
Maybe it was growing up rich that did it. Maybe, if you were rich, you could afford not to grow up.
Phil didn’t call him on it. “Do you have any idea who might have wanted your sister dead?”
Uncle Arlo met him gaze for gaze. “I’m sorry—I thought you were here to ask about the necklace?”
