Chapter 6 – Breaking ground

It was with some small sense of unease that I entered the Simpson mansion the next day. I knew that what I had to report would be unwelcome to my client’s ears and I was proved correct in that surmise. As soon as I told her, Gloria’s expression changed from the sunny smile that had welcomed me to a forbidding frown.

“What do you mean the licence number is untraceable?” she stormed. “This is hopeless. All your efforts have so far come to naught, except, no doubt, to leave me with a large bill.”

“The licence plate doesn’t exist. It’s a fictitious one.” The black look I got in response prompted further elucidation. “Don’t you see what this means? Whoever is tailing you is taking steps to conceal their identity. It means they have something to hide.”

“And how is that supposed to make me feel any better?”

“I guess it won’t” I admitted meekly. “But it has removed any doubt that you are doing the right thing in taking the matter seriously. It can also give us hope that when we do get to know who they are, the purpose behind their following you may be self-evident. Let’s examine any possible whys and wherefores a bit further. Tell me a little more about your life, before you came here. Where exactly did you live?”

The name of the county she mentioned didn’t mean anything to me. “Our ranch was an hour’s drive upstate from here, way up into the mountains” she clarified. “So peaceful, and the air was so clean and fresh. Just being there made one feel good to be alive.”

Today Gloria was all in pale blue. The hue of her dress with its sheer top and frothy floral skirt was complemented by her shoes and nail polish. The colour went well with her hair.

Gloria continued. “We had 150 acres of the most wonderful land. Arthur… that’s my husband, God rest his soul… Arthur kept a few ponies for the guests to ride, and I had Sally, that was our goat, and some poultry, so we had milk and eggs whenever we wanted.”

The image of my pampered client living that rustic life out in the sticks jarred somehow. “It sounds idyllic. Why did you leave, may I ask?”

“His health began to decline. He couldn’t keep the place up and it was too big for me to manage by myself. Benson the cook and our housekeeper Millie always needed some kind of attention or other from us. We’d made our pile, so we sold up and came back to live here. But…” Gloria stifled a sob. “It wasn’t to be.”

I kept a respectful silence while she recovered herself.

She dabbed her eyes. “Silly of me.”

“Not at all. You must have been very close.”

She smiled. “You can’t imagine. And I owe everything to Arthur, simply everything. He made me…” she shrugged her slender shoulders. “… what I am.”

“Are you okay to go on?”

Gloria nodded.

“You mentioned visitors. Was that… friends who called or…?”

“Some we regarded as friends, they stayed so often, but in general they were paying guests, usually weekenders. What we offered was a different experience. We provided a place of relaxation, of refuge, a haven where people were allowed to be themselves.”

“And did their visits always end amicably? Did anyone leave on bad terms?”

Gloria smiled proudly. “Never, I’m glad to say, though the ranch operated for quite some time. In the last five years, all the time I was there, I cannot recall a single quarrel.”

That seemed to put an end to that line of enquiry, but I was intrigued. “What kind of people?”

“Men from every walk of life, some of them high in their profession, others with inherited wealth. They all had this in common; money wasn’t an issue for them” she giggled.

“It must have been quite a remarkable place.”

“Gloriana’s was what Arthur named it, after me! He was always thoughtful like that. I guess it was unique in its way. It was quite something.”

“Do you mind if I interview your staff, so as to be really thorough? There might be something they have noticed, you never know.”

“Help yourself. There’s only Millie left here now. She’s my maid of all work and has been with me years and years. She lives here and has her own room and everything. She is, of course, very loyal but I doubt whether she can tell you anything. Her memory isn’t what it used to be.”

When I took leave, I found the maid dusting in the hall. She made to open the door for me.

“It’s Millie, isn’t it.”

She assented with a smile. The creature was very tall, and it was hard to guess her age. Her hair was streaked with grey and drawn back unattractively into a tight bun. She wore ugly wire-rim spectacles and her overall appearance was made more severe by the absence of even a hint of make-up. For the briefest instant her eyes swept down to my shoes and back up again. Though the woman’s demeanour remained utterly respectful, I was aware that I had been critiqued from head to toe and, worryingly, I was unsure how favourable the outcome of that appraisal had been. Perhaps the little dress I had chosen to wear that morning was a trifle risqué for daywear. It was short and certainly showed some cleavage, to advantage, I thought! Guy had indicated that I ought to dress up a trifle, and this had been my response. My confidence was dented but with an effort I ploughed on.

“Can I ask you a couple of questions, please? I’ve checked with Mrs Simpson that it’s okay.”

“Sure thing, miss. You had best come into my parlour.” She led the way into an anteroom.

When we were seated, I began. “I understand that you have worked for Mrs Simpson quite a long time?”

“I worked for both of them” she corrected me sharply, and as I thought, needlessly. Did I detect an undercurrent of resentment here?

“Yes, I meant both.”

“A good many years, as private secretary to Mr Arthur and as housekeeper. He always turned to me first when he needed anything. He called me his port in a storm.”

“Were you with them at the ranch, then, at Gloriana’s?”

“It was only called that in the last year, after he married her.” There was a heavy emphasis on the final pronoun which conveyed volumes. “Before that it was known as Rancho Santa Teresa, a much better name in my opinion. Flora (that was the cook) and I managed everything between us back then.”

It was clear that the undercurrent was more in the nature of a fast-flowing tide. Her answers did not sound very much like those of a loyal employee to me. I sought to find a way to turn the stream to my advantage.

“That surprises me. I understood that they been long married when Mr Simpson passed.”

“They had been together for some years but unmarried... until it became possible.”

I assumed she meant until a divorce came through, but had there been another obstacle to their union? Before I could ask her to clarify she continued “That’s all ancient history, of course, and poor Mr Arthur is here no longer. This tailing business you are looking into, I’ve seen nothing of it. Mrs Simpson has returned here a little flurried on a couple of occasions and that’s all I’ve observed. I reckon she has been imagining things, and not for the first time.”

“Oh no. We can be sure it’s real enough. A car has definitely been following her.”

Mollie bridled at being contradicted. “Well, I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I can’t tell you anything more. Now if that’s all, I have work to do.”

The woman stood up and with little ceremony showed me out.

As I walked to my car, I had the uneasy feeling that I’d missed an opportunity somehow. I would have to say as much to Guy when he telephoned me. The thought of confessing my lack of success was irritating. Highly irritating!

I hadn’t been in the office many minutes when the phone rang. Feeling hot, tired and more than a little confused, I’d collapsed anyhow into the nearest chair, loosened the top of my dress and tried to unwind. I’d been about to shut up shop for the day, when the instrument sounded. I heaved a reluctant sigh and picked up the receiver.