Fatal Slip

FATAL SLIP

  BY

  MARINA OLIVER

  A Dodie Fanshaw Mystery

  Flamboyant, wealthy, middle aged and several-times married Dodie Fanshaw is in Madeira to help make a film about her early life as a chorus girl and Hollywood starlet, and her husbands.

  She is not amused when her son Jake, indifferent actor, appeals to her for money. Instead of going back to England he remains in Madeira, and contrives to alienate Dodie's friends, a rival actor, the Madeiran family who run the hotel where he had been staying, and a wealthy elderly woman with whom he is now living.

  The situation becomes intolerable when Jake, drunk and abusive, comes uninvited to a party on a yacht on New Year's Eve, arranged to watch the annual Funchal firework spectacle.

  Fatal Slip

  By Marina Oliver

  Copyright © 2016 Marina Oliver

  The moral right of the author has been asserted

  Cover Design by Debbie Oliver

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or distributed in any form, including digital and electronic or mechanical, without the prior written consent of the Publisher, except for brief quotes for use in reviews.

  See details of other books by Marina Oliver at www.marina-oliver.net

  AUTHOR NOTE

  I spend a good deal of time in Madeira, a beautiful island with friendly people and many English residents and visitors. I always wanted to write a novel set there. One highlight of the year is the magnificent fireworks display on New Year's Eve, and it seemed appropriate to use this as a set-piece which starts my heroine Dodie on her sleuthing career.

  FATAL SLIP

  BY MARINA OLIVER

  Chapter 1

  Dodie watched with a mixture of irritation and admiration as the man scuttled backwards in front of the advancing yellow taxi. He was clearly an expert since he scorned the guiding hand men of a lesser breed depended on when stalking politicians. Without faltering he negotiated both the curve and slope of the long driveway, firing off a volley of shots.

  The few people around parted like the Red Sea before Moses as he swerved nonchalantly round the end of another taxi. Two loud bangs made the girl who was just alighting start, and she let fall a cascade of shopping bags. Dodie looked round, raised her eyebrows at the sight of a decrepit car which looked decidedly out of place in the front of the Cliff Bay entrance, belching exhaust fumes as it bucked its way along the driveway.

  Dodie turned her attention back to Tod. She hadn't yet spoken to him. He'd been busy filming the airport when she'd arrived, then had rushed ahead to Funchal. She didn't know whether he took pride in his ability to run backwards, but she was adept at foreseeing disasters. This one was waiting to happen. Later she concluded that his peripheral vision, though seeming to extend to the back of his head, was above encompassing lowly regions. Affliction lay in unassuming wait. He stepped on one of the glossy shopping bags the taxi's occupant had let slip. One heel skidded forwards, the other leg waggled towards the sky, his body toppled backwards, and he fruitlessly clawed the air as he fell onto a long narrow box. He ended up sitting against one of the Aladdin flower pots at either side of the entrance, while his camera performed an elegant parabola, skimmed the car roof and plopped into the taxi-driver's grasp.

  The passenger sprang forward with a cry of dismay and wrested the box from beneath the groaning, floundering photographer. 'My birds! They're ruined!' She held out three stems of strelitzia, their blue and orange heads flopping, inebriated. 'I needed them for the display I'm doing!'

  No one was looking at the broken flowers. Even Dodie's driver whistled appreciatively, manoeuvring his taxi to obtain a favourable view of the disconsolate flower girl. He reached back to open Dodie's door, fumbling in his eagerness not to lose a second's viewing time.

  'Tod's got the camera back now, so let's hope it's not damaged,' Dodie's companion said. 'Shall we go in?'

  Dodie remained seated. 'Don't be crass,' she advised.

  'What do you mean? This is the Cliff Bay Hotel. Tod's ready to take the pics we want of you arriving.'

  'He's more interested in snapping that girl. Be practical, Jylli. Do you think I want to be in the same shots? Beauty and the beast?'

  Her companion gave an embarrassed laugh. 'Oh, come, Mrs Fanshaw, you're still lovely!'

  'For my age. Go on, say it. I couldn't begin to compete, even with the Body Shop's help.'

  Jylli Goldstone uttered an unconvincing 'No, but – ' and was waved to silence.

  'I'm thirty years older, several stones heavier, and though my legs are still as good as they were when I was in the chorus – well, at least below the knees – I'm not wearing a skirt which barely covers my bum! We'll wait until Tod's made his peace and promised to buy her a whole flock of birds of paradise. Go and remind him he's here to photograph me. When she's gone I'll make my own entrance.'

  Jylli, clutching her notebook and recorder, climbed out of the taxi. Tod, recalled to the task on hand, bade a reluctant farewell to the slender, slightly-clad blonde, now being escorted by a solicitous young man who bore her parcels and bags as reverently as an altar boy carried relics. He watched her pass through the entrance, then turned resignedly to the job he was being paid for. Dodie allowed the now-attentive taxi-driver to help her from the vehicle, handed him an enormous, unjustified tip, made sure her hat was firmly anchored, shook down the loose jacket which, she hoped, disguised some of her more ample attributes, and strolled elegantly towards the glass doors. She paused, flicked a gauzy scarf over her shoulder, turned and waved to an invisible crowd, then inclined her head to the doorman and, face now hidden by a floating veil, passed out of Tod's viewfinder.

  The blonde was on the far side of the huge foyer, gesticulating with the remnants of her flowers. They had succumbed and were spraying neglected petals over the deep sofa behind her. Dodie frowned, and pushed aside the veil to clear her vision, but it wasn't renewed anxiety about the competition which bothered her. It was the man listening to the blonde.

  Dodie shook her head. A chance resemblance, that was all. Good grief, there were thousands of tall, dark men around, with slightly too long hair and broad shoulders. She hadn't heard from Jake for months, but his last postcard had been from Florida, and she assumed the pickings would be good there. He'd have no incentive to leave yet. She kept a discreet eye on the blonde's companion, however, as she waited for Tod to catch up with her and take photographs inside the foyer, and swallowed quickly when he turned sideways. His profile was uncannily similar, though his nose was a little straighter and his lips fuller, and his chin rather more determined. Then he turned further and she sighed with relief. Jake's face was thin and narrow. This man's was full and wide, boyish, and with a healthy, outdoor look.

  Dodie turned away and made certain Tod was doing his job properly. They processed to the lifts, up to the suite, and out onto the balcony to take pictures of her admiring the view of the harbour. It really was spectacular. Dodie had never before been to Madeira, and she'd been enchanted with the views of the sheer cliffs and precipitous mountains as the plane had swept along the coast during landing. Funchal's sheltered bay, with the backdrop of hills, and the cluster of boats visible in the Marina, decided her. That, and the weather. The past few weeks in London had been cold and wet even for early November, and she'd been thinking of going somewhere warm. Madeira would do very well.

  'I'm staying on here for a while,' she announced, turning back into the room.

  'But – but Mrs Fanshaw, we'd arranged to go and see your second husband next week!'

  Dodie chuckled. 'I'm sure you'll find him much more cooperative if I'm not there to make him tone down his comments. And the series is to be based on my past life, isn't it? Not the stoking of fires long dead!'
/>   Jylli looked puzzled for a moment, and Dodie grinned ruefully. Journalists, like policemen, were getting younger. This one looked barely out of school. She'd probably never seen a real fire, let alone built or stoked one. Her mother's poverty-stricken relatives probably couldn't afford even log fires in their aristocratic ruins – no servants to chop down derelict oaks. Dodie wondered what new metaphors would be found. Turning up the thermostat didn't evoke quite the same vivid picture, and no one took a poker to an imitation gas monstrosity.

  'We wanted some pics of the two of you together,' Jylli said, pouting slightly.

  'Before and after? Look, you don't have to take them with his swimming pool or the Pacific Ocean as a background. And you can forget me in a bikini.' Jylli swallowed nervously and Dodie grinned. 'He's coming to London in March, to stay with me, and you can take some there.'

  'To stay with you?' Jylli looked startled.

  'Don't you think it's proper for a former husband to visit me?' Dodie asked sweetly.

  'Well, but, didn't your last husband give you that house?' Jylli blurted out disapprovingly.

  'Yes, and he stays there with me too.' She chuckled, a warm deep sound from the back of her throat, and laughed out loud as she saw Tod give her an appraising look. 'Together, sometimes.' She grinned at Jylli's shocked expression. 'We older, liberated cookies may have hidden advantages,' she added, and Tod coughed and turned away. 'Just because I divorced them doesn't mean we're not still friends,' she said. 'We just couldn't stand being married – to one another.'

  'Yes. Well, shall we talk about your first husband?' Jylli said hurriedly.

  Dodie suddenly yawned. 'No. I'm knackered. I had to get up at some God-awful hour, and now I want a nap. I'm ancient, remember, old and past it. I need pampering. Go and settle into your rooms. Go out. Buy some souvenirs, you'll be going back in a couple of days. Perhaps I'll feel like another session this evening.'

  She chivvied them out of her suite, but instead of collapsing on the bed unpacked her two large suitcases, hung up her clothes, took a brisk shower, and then settled on the balcony with a double gin and trace of tonic beside her. Had she been silly to agree to the interviews? These days, unlike thirty years ago when any publicity had been welcome, she didn't need to court the media. She admitted she'd been flattered when the TV company had approached her with the project. Her film career had, after all, been short and not particularly glorious. She didn't delude herself that she'd been more than a moderately competent actress, employed more for her figure than her ability. There were no films waiting to be discovered as classics. She wouldn't earn any money from it, but she didn't need money, she had plenty.

  'Then why the blazes did I say yes?' she muttered. 'All this hassle, resurrecting old emotions, it won't do any good.'

  The telephone shrilled.

  'Dodie? It's Bill here. Thought you must have arrived by now. Do you feel like coming here for dinner tonight or are you too tired? Just us and a couple of neighbours.'

  'Bill, I'd love to. I was just wondering whether I should call the whole thing off.'

  'But why?'

  'I'm putting you and Valerie to a lot of trouble.'

  'Of course not. It's a bit of excitement for us. Madeira's a quiet, law-abiding place, gets on with its business.'

  'Am I stirring up memories better left buried? Perhaps we'd better talk before I let the vultures loose on you both.'

  'Then come at six, and we can have a natter before the others arrive. Get a taxi, it's only a few minutes.'

  'Thanks. Bill Thorn, you're a darling and I envy Valerie. Why did you have to be married already when we met? Which reminds me, I'm staying on for a while, so can I accept the invitation to your party?'

  *

  'Turn it up, Emma! Forget the damned flowers. It won't bother Dad whether you send him some or not.'

  Emma glared at him, then flounced out of the taxi and walked up the path to the villa. Bruce could be so aggravating. She grabbed her bikini and slid into the bathroom. As she stripped she wondered if she'd made a mistake. What was happening to them? By the time she emerged onto the little terrace that overlooked Point Garajau Bruce, in white shorts and singlet, was on the point of leaving the house.

  She swallowed. He was tanned and muscular, and the sight of his bare arms and legs still had the power to arouse her. 'Where are you going?' she demanded, her voice shrill.

  'Running,' Bruce said coolly.

  'You're going to meet one of your damned women,' she said, her voice bleak with misery.

  'Emma, you're like a terrier, once you have some stupid notion in your head you won't let go.'

  'It wasn't only a notion when you began playing about with that blasted tramp in New York!'

  'Tanya happens to be one of my publisher's PR girls,' he said, sighing. 'Didn't it convince you there was nothing in it when I agreed to come here to finish the next book? Besides, I haven't noticed you being very aloof. You were very busy encouraging that actor fellow we met at the Casino last night.'

  'Only because you made me angry flirting with that fat redhead. Bruce, I can't take all this hassle!'

  'Then stop believing your own fairy stories.'

  He left her abruptly, and soon she saw him jogging easily along one of the paths that wove between the villas scattered on the hillside. Emma flung herself down on a lounger. She could have understood it better if any of the women were raving beauties, but the ones he seemed to prefer were by no means her equal in looks. She wasn't vain, but she knew she was better-looking than any of them. Did he have someone else she didn't know about? Were these others just smoke screens? She brushed angrily at her damp eyes. They'd been married barely a year and already life was becoming unbearably wretched. Why did things always go so badly wrong for her? She'd thought they were so madly in love. She wouldn't have left Alex for anyone else, she knew, but now she began to wonder whether that had been a dreadful mistake. Alex had plenty of faults, and perhaps if she hadn't been so mad at him that time, when he'd insisted on going to his first wife's party, she wouldn't have considered leaving him even for Bruce.

  *

  'So let me get this right,' Jylli said, nibbling the end of her pen. 'You married Matthew Price when you were dancing in the chorus? And he died six months later. Did he know about the baby?'

  'Of course. Jake was a year old when we married.'

  'A year old? But – ' Jylli felt hot, and it wasn't from the sun which beat down into the Thorns' garden. 'Was he Jake's – that is, I understood it was a whirlwind romance, you met and married within a week?'

  'Correct.' Dodie looked amused, then took pity on the girl. 'Matthew wasn't Jake's father, duckie. There were single mums then, you know, but we called spades by their proper names, we were unmarried mothers and our kids were little bastards. Now Jake's a big bastard.'

  'He's a very successful actor.'

  'In his opinion. He's had one decent part, in that silly TV sit-com. He was the bad boy on screen until he got so obnoxious off it they sacked him.'

  'Yes. Well, we'll interview him later.'

  'No. That's in the contract. No interviews with him or my mother.'

  'OK.' Jylli sighed inwardly. This restriction would leave open a lot of questions she wanted answered, but Dodie was adamant. 'About Matthew Price, he and Mr Thorn here were in the same regiment, and Bill introduced you, yes?'

  'I'd known Bill for years. We lived in the same town.'

  Jylli looked speculatively at Bill, who grinned back at her. 'No, I'm not Jake's father, love. Dodie's never let on who that was.'

  'Ooh, 'e were a big, important man,' Dodie clowned. 'If I'd let on, there'd 'a' bin such a scandal, governments and even thrones might've fallen! But it's a secret I'll tek ter me grave.'

  'Does Jake know?' Jylli asked primly. She was thrown, not knowing whether to believe Dodie, but unwilling to seem either naive or gullible.

  'Over my dead body! Jackson was my name then, and it's his too, even though he calls himself Ja
kes now.'

  'Jake Jackson. Bit of a mouthful, wasn't it?'

  'Rhymes with mistake.'

  'I'm sorry?'

  'Jake was my first mistake. And the biggest, unless I count letting my mum bring him up. I was young and innocent then, but I soon made up for it.'

  Jylli took a deep breath. She hadn't so far got the material she needed. The company strove to appear a respectable one, and wouldn't use these revelations. She suspected Dodie knew it and was playing with her, but she couldn't work out why. 'Matthew,' she said quickly, 'he died heroically saving Bill from an ambush? In Northern Ireland? Can you tell me about that, Bill?'

  'An ambush, as you say. He could have got away, but he and my brother came back to drag me out. My leg had been broken. They shot him.'

  Dodie stood up abruptly. 'I'm going to talk to Valerie in the house while Bill gives you the details. You don't need me. I'll be back at the hotel this evening for the next bit.'

  *

  Isabella Maclean plied the mop automatically. She was going to see him later on. It wasn't because he was a famous actor, she assured herself, though of course that added to the excitement. She'd been fascinated every time she'd seen him in the television series her mother didn't approve of. He had such a wickedly attractive smile, as though he knew some exciting secret. And the part he'd had was one in which he had to be a rebel against society. She could understand that, she often wanted to rebel. She sighed. He was so much more sophisticated than the boys she knew. He was older, of course, and had travelled the world. That made a difference, she admitted. And he had fallen for her!

  She leant on the mop handle, staring at her reflection in the big mirror. He loved her dark hair and blue eyes, he said. Blue eyes weren't uncommon in Madeira, where there had been so many British settlers. Her father was one, though she sometimes forgot that, she had so many Madeiran relatives. She was reasonably pretty, she decided, but not a raving beauty. But he'd chosen her. He'd fallen in love the moment he'd seen her. She blushed, and pushed away that thought. He'd watched her when she was serving at table, then he'd spent hours waiting for her to leave the hotel.

  Suddenly she began to wield the mop vigorously, If she didn't hurry to finish the rooms, her job today because one of the maids was sick, she'd be late meeting him. As she straightened the pillow once more she laid her cheek on it. His cheek had rested there. If the maid hadn't been sick that day too she might never have met him, or he might not have noticed her. She shivered. That would have been tragic. He was the love of her life, and she of his. Life could be so wonderful, even in this backwater. And she would, she vowed, overcome all the opposition she knew her family would put in their way. She would fight for her happiness.