Free The Wigmaker by Roger Silverwood Page B

grounds so that he can look out on Lord and Lady Tiverton in their garden and see what they’re up to. At least that’s what Jimmy Lyle says it’s for. And there’s going to be a marble fountain in the square at the front. It’s going to be huge and will spout water all day out of a fish’s mouth. It’ll cost eighty thousand pounds. What do you think to that, Mr Angel?’
    He frowned. He didn’t know what to think of it. He pondered a moment. There were times when he would have liked to have shown his great passion and love of his dear wife, Mary, but it could never have amounted to anything like eighty thousand pounds. And he remembered that he would have to get that gas bill paid first.
    ‘Would you like to start by showing me the kitchen?’ he said.
    ‘Would you like a cup of tea?’
    ‘I thought you’d never ask.’

CHAPTER SEVEN
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    ‘I enjoyed that, Mrs Symington. Thank you. It’s got rid of that smell of paint.’
    ‘Put your cup in the bottom of the sink. It can go in the dishwasher later.’
    ‘Have the painters finished?’
    ‘Yes. Finished yesterday.’
    ‘Is everything else done?
    ‘Just about. My staff have finished bleach washing the bathrooms and in here. Can’t you smell it?’
    He thought he could, but it wasn’t obvious. The smell of paint was predominant.
    ‘The laundry has come back,’ she said. ‘The dry-cleaning is back. There are men still steam-cleaning the carpets in the guest bedrooms. They should have finished the other day but they are nearly through. Where would you like to start? What exactly do you want to see?’
    ‘I don’t know, Mrs Symington. Everything, I suppose. I only know when I see it.’
    She showed him the downstairs rooms, which were – as he’d come to expect – outrageously luxurious. He saw the patio with the Spanish outdoor furniture and the colourful parasol by the side of the swimming pool. She was directing him through the front hall where there was a big log fire in full blaze. As he passed it he felt no warmth from it at all.
    He returned to it and stared at the flame flickering from the artificial logs and the red glowing cinders.
    She watched him and smiled.
    After a moment Angel said, ‘I thought it was the real thing.’
    ‘Everybody does.’
    ‘Does it get hot at all?’
    ‘Oh yes,’ she said. ‘There’s a thermostat up here.’ She pointed to a dial on a small control box hardly visible at the side of the chimney breast. ‘If you turn the thermostat at the side here, real gas flames come up, it’ll warm the place up a bit, but, of course, it isn’t intended to burn anything. And we always seem to feel warm enough in this house.’
    Angel nodded.
    ‘If you follow me, we can take a look round upstairs,’ she said.
    He nodded.
    It was as sumptuous, spotless and magnificent as it was downstairs. The Chanceys’ dressing-room, off their bedroom, had wardrobes stuffed with clothes. When she opened Katrina’s wardrobe Mrs Symington pointed to the vast array of shoes. ‘Mr Chancey went really wild, you know,’ she said. ‘He threw all her old shoes away. Every pair. These are all new. Look at them. He knows that she is really crazy about shoes. Shortly after she went away, he came up here and took all her shoes.’
    Angel blinked. ‘All of them? Well, how many pairs were there?’
    ‘I don’t know, but a lot.’
    ‘What did he do with them?’
    ‘Threw them away.’
    He sighed.
    ‘She would sometimes change her shoes six times in a day. He knew that. He went out and bought thirty-six new pairs of shoes, just like that. Some of them are famous names. Cost the earth.’
    Angel leaned forward and picked up a red leather shoe from a pair. He bounced one of them thoughtfully in his hand. He looked inside. He saw a figure ‘3’. He put it back, then picked up a single black shoe, similar to the red. He bounced that in the same way and looked inside. He blinked as he read off the figure. It was a ‘6’.
    Mrs Symington saw him