Read Online Chelsea Mansions by Barry Maitland - Free Book Online

velvet fabric. Brock realised that he had seen photographs of her before, attending film and theatre first nights, the races at Ascot. Now, in the flesh, he saw what a compelling presence she had: the sculpted African features, the pale caramel complexion, the attenuated limbs and fingers. And the East End cockney accent, softly spoken, which somehow gave the rest an edge, like a shot of rough brandy in a cup of exquisitely smooth coffee.
    She pulled herself upright and the man at her side drew back. There was a smudge of mascara on her cheek and her eyes were liquidy. ‘This is my manager, Derek. Sit down, please,’ she murmured, and they sat.
    ‘It’s my fault, isn’t it?’ she said. ‘Forcing Mikhail out into the street to ’ave a cigar. What a bitch. That’s what people will say. But it wasn’t really like that. I ’ave asthma, you see, and the smoke fucks me up. But he could ’ave gone to his study, or the billiard room. They ’ave separate air-conditioning, he insisted on that. That’s where he usually goes after dinner. But it was a warm night, and he liked the gardens, the space, the trees. He could imagine he was back in St Petersburg, or wherever. And he probably wanted to get away from those two parasites.’
    ‘Parasites?’ Brock cleared his throat. He felt suddenly very hot.
    ‘Nigel and Freddie.’ She looked suspiciously at Brock. ‘You aren’t going down with something are you? You ’aven’t got the flu or something?’
    Derek sprang abruptly to his feet and whisked a small aerosol can from his pocket and sprayed the air between Brock and Shaka. Then he took another container from his other pocket and approached Brock.
    ‘Just for the hands,’ he said.
    Brock looked at him as if he were mad.
    ‘The hands? Please?’
    Kathy held out her palms and Derek sprayed them, then turned back to Brock, who reluctantly followed suit.
    ‘Are you aware of any threats made against your husband, Mrs Moszynski?’ he said.
    ‘No. Of course people were jealous of him.’ She shrugged. ‘Freddie would know more about that.’ She was speaking more rapidly now, as if anxious to finish the interview.
    ‘What about in Russia?’ Kathy said. ‘Did he have enemies there?’
    ‘The same, envy. He hated going back, the way people looked at him, because he was rich. Vadim takes care of things over there now.’
    ‘His son-in-law.’
    ‘Yeah.’
    ‘But he didn’t mention any threatening letters, phone calls?’
    ‘No, nothing like that.’
    ‘What about Nancy Haynes?’
    Shaka looked blank.
    ‘The American tourist who was staying at the hotel next door. Who was murdered last Thursday.’
    Shaka looked at her manager. ‘Did I know about that?’
    ‘I don’t know, Shaka.’
    ‘Your husband didn’t mention it?’ Kathy asked.
    ‘No.’
    ‘He went to her memorial service in the little church across the square this morning.’
    ‘Did he? I thought he’d gone to the cathedral. He usually does on Sunday mornings.’ She turned again to Derek. ‘It is Sunday, isn’t it?’
    He checked his watch. ‘Not any more, darling.’ Then he added, to Kathy, ‘That’s the Russian Orthodox Cathedral up the road in Knightsbridge. Very devout, Mr Moszynski.’
    They were interrupted by noises from outside the room, the wailing protest of a woman’s voice. The sound came closer and Shaka gave a groan.
    ‘Sounds like Mr Moszynski’s mother,’ Derek whispered to Brock.
    A small grey-haired woman burst into the room, her arms outstretched. Shaka got to her feet and reached down to embrace her mother-in-law. They kissed on both cheeks without much sign of warmth and the older woman swung round on Brock and hurled a stream of angry Russian.
    ‘Sorry.’ Another woman, aged about thirty, had come into the room with a baby held against her chest. ‘My grandmother is upset. Baba!’ she said sharply to the older woman, and then followed with some Russian. The old woman sank into a chair, put her face in her hands