Paul Temple and the Tyler Mystery. Francis Durbridge

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СКАЧАТЬ to his dictaphone Temple managed to shift most of his correspondence before he was interrupted by Charlie rapping on his study door. By the clock on his desk – a birthday present from Steve – it was still only a quarter to eleven. Charlie was in shirt sleeves and braces, a garb strictly banned by Temple, and he was wearing a shabby apron.

      ‘A gentleman to see you, Mr Temple.’

      ‘Who is he?’

      ‘Name of Books, Brooks or Broke – something like that.’

      ‘Where is he now?’

      ‘I showed him into the drawing-room.’

      ‘Did you answer the door like that?’

      ‘Well, I have to do housemaid’s work, see, so naturally I dress like a housemaid.’

      ‘Since when have housemaids taken to wearing braces?’

      Charlie was still trying to think up some unprintable reply when Temple closed the door of the drawing-room behind him. He had been puzzled for a moment by the name but as soon as he saw his visitor he connected it with the young man who had sold him the picture the previous day.

      He was standing in the middle of the room with a large rectangular parcel balanced against his right hip. Temple greeted him and nodded towards the parcel.

      ‘Don’t tell me you’ve brought my picture already.’

      Brooks smiled rather self-consciously.

      ‘We managed to push it through more quickly than I anticipated. Shall I unwrap it for you?’

      ‘Yes, please do. I’ll ring for someone to take the mess away.’

      Brooks produced a manicure set from his pocket and snipped the string with the scissors. Meanwhile Temple had been clearing the oddments from the mantelpiece. He turned his back on Brooks as the wrapping paper rustled.

      ‘Would you mind putting it on the mantelpiece for me? Then I can get a proper first impression.’

      ‘Not at all.’ Temple heard Brooks cross the room and place the picture in its place.

      ‘There we are.’

      Charlie entered the room and found Temple in the act of turning. His eyes went past his master to the object on the mantelpiece, and he uttered a simple word:

      ‘Cor.’

      ‘Ah, that’s better,’ Temple exclaimed. ‘I really do like it now. What do you think?’

      Brooks pursed his lips, studying the picture as if he’d never seen it before.

      ‘Yes, I must admit I do. When you said you were going to hang it among antiques I wondered. But it doesn’t really clash.’

      ‘Why should it? Charlie, cart that paper away and ask Mrs Temple if she’d join us.’

      Rattling the paper as loudly as he could to illustrate his disapproval of Temple’s purchase, Charlie made a slow exit.

      Steve was as delighted with the picture as Temple, but that did not prevent her from paying more than usual attention to Brooks. He had seemed to come to life on Steve’s arrival as if he had suddenly found a friend in a foreign country. It was obvious that he was at his best with women – preferably young and attractive ones – and equally obvious that they were attracted by him.

      ‘Haven’t you offered Mr Brooks a drink, darling?’

      The reproof in Steve’s voice was evident, but Brooks was already holding up his hand.

      ‘It’s a little too early for me, if you don’t mind. Besides, I must be getting back to the shop.’

      Temple was ready to move towards the door but Brooks seemed to be searching for some excuse to stay a little longer. There was that awkward pause which host and hostess feel offers guests a good opportunity to take their leave and which they so often fail to take.

      ‘I wonder if it would interest you,’ Brooks said hesitatingly – ‘there’s an exhibition of Kappel’s work on in Paris at the moment. I read in the paper that you were going there next week.’

      ‘That’s right,’ Temple nodded. ‘We must try and get to see it.’

      To his annoyance, Steve made a remark which threatened to start the conversation off on a new tack.

      ‘Do you know Paris well, Mr Brooks?’

      ‘Yes, I do. I have to go there quite a lot in connection with pictures we buy and sell. As a matter of fact my brother lives there. He’s at the British Embassy. I was wondering—’ Brooks’ face had gone a little redder and he was registering almost boyish embarrassment. ‘I was wondering if I could ask a favour of you. You see, my brother’s birthday is just two days after you arrive in Paris. Would you think it awful cheek if I asked you to take over a present I’ve bought for him? It’s a box of some special Havana cigars which he can only get here in London. There won’t be any duty to pay because I’ll open the box and take one out.’

      Temple was surprised at this request from a comparative stranger, but Steve seemed to find it quite natural.

      ‘We can do that, can’t we, Paul?’

      ‘Yes, of course, though in fact the customs—’

      ‘That’s very kind of you. I’ll drop them in a day or two before you leave. I only wish I could take them myself. Paris is marvellous at this time of year. Do you stay anywhere special?’

      ‘We usually go to the Hotel Pompadour,’ said Steve.

      ‘The Pompadour? Then you’ll be quite close to the Kappel exhibition; it’s in the Rue Royale.’

      Temple at last managed to shepherd the talkative Brooks out of the flat. He went back to the drawing-room to find Steve at the window, waiting to watch their visitor as he went along the street.

      ‘Something peculiar about that chap. You and he seemed to be getting on like a house on fire.’

      ‘Does that make him peculiar? I liked him but I felt that we weren’t seeing the real person. All that surface charm seemed switched on for your benefit.’

      ‘For my benefit? Come on, Steve, you under-rate yourself. Now, we’ll have to get a move on if we’re to be at Sonning in time. We’ll hang that picture when we get home this evening.’

      They were lucky with traffic and it was still only half-past twelve when the two-seater Frazer Nash passed the 30 limit sign on the far side of Maidenhead and Temple brought the speedometer needle up to 80, an easy cruising speed for the car.

      ‘I’m going to be ready for this lunch,’ Steve said, looking up at the blue sky. ‘I wonder if we can eat outside.’

      The fine weather had continued and the trees lining the side of the road were a fresh, rich green. The hum of the tyres and the gentle swish of wind over the streamlined body were not enough to prevent conversation.

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