Read Online Madrigal for Charlie Muffin by Brian Freemantle - Free Book Online

circumstances was a lucky sod, he decided. She turned abruptly and Charlie tried to clear his face of expression.
    ‘Something the matter?’ she said.
    ‘No,’ said Charlie. ‘Nothing.’
    They went first to the guest bedrooms. Sash bolts stopped the windows from opening more than six inches: the air conditioning made sense, Charlie realized. It seemed a great deal of trouble to go to, just for the pleasure of wearing shiny stones.
    ‘Now the master bedrooms,’ said Charlie.
    ‘It seems an intrusion.’
    ‘That’s what burglars do,’ said Charlie. ‘Intrude.’
    For a moment her control slipped, her face clouding. Quickly she recovered and said, ‘Which one?’
    ‘Your choice,’ said Charlie, careless of the annoyance he was causing her. It was clear that in the staff social structure Jane Williams put him somewhere around the rank of boot black.
    There were two doors at the head of the staircase and she went to the one at the right. ‘Sir Hector’s,’ she said.
    Charlie stopped just beyond the threshold. The furniture was heavy and masculine, appearing oddly out of place in a villa in the sun, wardrobes as well as the bureau and bed fashioned from solid, black teak. Near the dressing table there was a bust of a man whom Charlie presumed to be the ambassador, mounted on a slender marble plinth and to the side was a spotlight, angled to illuminate it. Above the bureau and continuing around the walls were framed diplomas of Billington’s progress in life and there were a lot of photographs, from school group pictures, up through childhood to adolescence. There were several of a youth in shorts and cap, with a racing boat behind. Directly above the bureau a rack held the sawn-off blades of oars. Charlie moved closer. There were several groups with the sculls in the foreground and the crews with their arms around each other with the tactile need of sportsmen.
    Jane Williams said, ‘Sir Hector got a blue for rowing at Oxford.’
    Charlie nodded towards the plinth. ‘Shouldn’t there be a laurel wreath?’
    ‘It was sculpted by Sir Mortimer Wheeler,’ she said.
    ‘Gosh!’ said Charlie.
    Her face twitched at the mockery. ‘The windows are there,’ she said, pointing.
    One set opened onto a verandah with a spectacular view of the sea. Chairs were arranged around a canopied table on which lay some binoculars. There were breaker points, similar to those on the floor below, and under-carpet pads again. The four other windows in the room were small; two had securing fixtures and two breaker alarms. He tested each one and every time the bells clanged out.
    ‘There’s a dressing room, where the safe is,’ said Charlie, remembering the plans he’d studied with Willoughby.
    Jane Williams went across the room to a linking door. The dressing room was strictly functional and predominantly feminine. Two walls were occupied entirely by cupboards, except for a small bureau, and along the third had been fitted an elaborate dressing table, complete with a light-surrounded mirror. Brushes, combs and hand mirrors were set out in an orderly pattern and the jars of creams and lotions were grouped together, like cuckoo’s eggs in a nest.
    In front of the only window was a chaise longue and a small table. Charlie moved around and raised the Venetian blind. The glass was reinforced solidly into the frame, not to be opened. Charlie tugged at the cord to lower the blind and turned apologetically. ‘I never can make these things work,’ he said.
    Sighing she jerked at the string, releasing it first time.
    ‘Must be a knack,’ said Charlie, enjoying her closeness.
    She stepped back hurriedly.
    ‘Now I suppose you’d like to see the safe?’ she said.
    ‘I’m going to need Lady Billington for that,’ said Charlie.
    ‘What!’
    ‘The jewellery check has to be completed with the owner.’
    ‘But that’s not convenient.’
    ‘Neither is losing it.’
    ‘Lady Billington has an appointment in Rome in.…’ She