Open Writing

“Allow me to introduce myself – though of course, you should know who I am. My name is Kitty Killer. The journalist and biographer. Surely you’ve heard of me: I’m really far more famous – and glamorous – than anyone I’ve interviewed.

“Last Saturday, 16 September 1967 to be exact, the most extraordinary thing occurred. It was at a weekend gathering of the Interesting and Infamous at the Chelsea home of Lord Michael Jagged. His Lordship’s idea of company was rather odd, but that’s aristocracy for you: no couth. Then, just before dinner on Saturday, His Lordship was found murdered in his room. He’d opened a bottle of champagne, triggering a widget which released poison gas from the cork. What an inconvenient and ill-mannered time to die; with ten guests for dinner!

“The police were soon underfoot; Detectives Porter and Sherry sniffed out clues left, right and centre, but then fell asleep on the job. Inspector McClue made irregular and inopportune appearances, casting nasty aspersions on everyone.

“Who did they suspect of committing the dirty deed? Every guest who’d been invited to the Chelsea House:

“There was that obnoxious prig, Brian Sewer the wine-critic; what a snob. Insists it’s ‘Sewér – that’s French, you know!’ Imagine handing out business cards at a society gathering: how crass, but he would do it. He’s such a show-off: Brian B Sewer (the spelling distinctly English), BS Hons., Dic.Hd. How appropriate. He calls himself a ‘Bon Vivant, World Traveller, Philosopher – and Maidens’ Hero’!

“Next was Terence Shrimp, the trumped-up little East Ender. Everyone says he’s such a marvellous photographer. Smearing his smutty pictures on the back pages of the Sunday press, socialising with the High and Mighty, and droning on in that ghastly accent, Darling, as if anyone were interested in what he had to say. He’s soooo fashionable it’s quite horrific – a truly dedicated follower of almost everything!

“An odd member of the company was Martin X, all the way from America, spouting his political pontifications, then insisting we read his latest book; daring to sneer at me, implying that my writing isn’t as good as his.

“Mary-Jane Faithless, the pop-singer – you know, the one who moans monotonous songs filled with foul language – she was there! How she wangled an invitation is anyone’s guess: she is, as everyone knows, Lord Michael’s latest ex-girlfriend but has no liking for him at all.

“Tamara Fara-Bucktooth, that overblown socialite, was there. Why, I ask, does Everyone Who Thinks They’re Anyone, invite her to be the jewel in the crown of their social occasion? Oh, she’s Lord Michael’s latest bit of fluff, I’ll grant you that, but – who is she, where did she come from? We all agreed – behind her back of course – that she’s only after his money. She and Mary-Jane were air-kissing all weekend, spitting and clawing at each other in the most civilised manner.

“Then there was that insufferable Oliver Steed. He likes to think of himself as an actor and a raconteur, but really, he’s so loud and so large, and his opinion of himself is twice as big as His Lordship’s Chelsea House! As for the rose in his button-hole, I’ve never seen anything that ostentatious. He is obviously of the opinion that size counts. He tried to kiss me behind the rhododendrons, but I told him, ‘Darling Oliver, never in your wettest dreams!’

“As for poor little Wiggy, she’s the most famous model in the world – at least this week. Such a mousy little thing without make-up, and her figure’s so whittled-down it’s amazing that she doesn’t snap in half when she bends. She doesn’t quite know how to behave in society yet – but she’ll learn … … Strange, she bears a marked resemblance to His Dead Lordship… How odd!

“Lastly, there was that shady couple, ‘Champagne’ Charlie Bunson and his frothy little pink and plastic girlfriend, Babs Crayfish. Charlie likes to be known as an entrepreneur, but everyone is wary of him; it’s rumoured he’s a gangster with distinctly unsavoury connections. I hasten to add, nothing’s been proved against him. Yet. As for Babs, she’s an actress – or would be if she had a role to play other than that of Bimbo to Charlie!

“The guests became so suspicious of each other that we all started snooping around.

“I found a copy of a letter Lord Michael wrote to his solicitor that morning, stating that he was going to write Mary-Jane out of his will. If missing out on all that lovely lolly wasn’t a motive for murder, I couldn’t imagine what was; Mary-Jane was top of my list of suspects…

“Babs discovered that His Lordship had fired Brian Sewér as his personal wine advisor just the previous day. Not only had the nasty man been fired, but at The Time of Death had allegedly been bathing – with only his rubber duck to confirm his alibi. Wiggy got very close to him; and found it suspicious that Mr. Sewer was as odorous as his name after his alleged ablutions!

“It was discovered that Babs and Wiggy had both consulted Dr. Doktor, a mad psychologist bent on World Domination. The doctor and His Lordship had been in cahoots, but then had a disagreement after which His Lordship decided on World Domination without the doctor’s help. Several people, including Mary-Jane, Brian, Oliver and Terence, had dealings with the doctor, who very much wished to see His Lordship become an Ex-Lordship – this seemed awfully suspicious.

“The reasons everyone had for wishing to see Lord Michael pushing up daisies continued to pile up:

“His Lordship, until finding Universal Supremacy more interesting than drug-related gang dealings, had bankrolled Champagne Charlie in his shady dealings. Once these favours were withdrawn, Charlie was heard to make puzzling – though threatening – remarks such as ‘wait until his chickens come home to roast’, and ‘if he’s not careful, his train will sail without him…’

“Terence and Oliver were both being blackmailed by The Artistocratic Victim; they seemed to be hand in glove with each other, swearing they were playing billiards with Charlie at the time of the murder. I figured they were just sweet on each other.

“That pop-singing person, Mary-Jane, managed despite my best endeavours to unveil me as a secret agent for BIFFO: that is, British Intelligence For Freedom Organisation. Under duress, I confessed that, yes, I had connections with the criminal and political underworlds on both sides of the Pond – well, it’s essential in my line of work, isn’t it? I even admitted that, while I was on the Side of Right, and though I’d been authorised to ‘do in’ the Doctor, I had certainly not put a widget in any bottle of champagne and wouldn’t have laid a finger on His Lordship! I don’t even know what a widget is. For a while, no-one seemed to believe me; I thought I may have to call upon the Head BIFFO to get me out of a tight spot. In the end, it wasn’t necessary.

“All the clues pointed directly at – the Guilty Party. Oh, I couldn’t possibly reveal who the murderer was, that would spoil your fun!”

*

Leon and I enjoyed a glorious evening of escapism and fun at a friend’s Murder Mystery Dinner Party. As Brian Sewer, he created a label for one of the bottles of wine consumed that evening (‘it has obnoxious undertones’), and spent hours dreaming up his business cards. Disguised in a black wig and gallons of make-up, I became Kitty Killer, participating fully in the fun and repartee between these imaginary characters, saying outrageous things that would normally make me bite my tongue – or blush furiously!

All the suspects were played with enthusiasm by our friends. Detectives Porter and Sherry were our hosts’ golden retrievers.

In this world of work pressure, television, computers and minimal personal contact, we don’t take enough time to relax and just have fun. Perhaps we should make more opportunities to play, escaping into the enjoyment of using our imaginations as we did when we were children.

Until next week, “here comes Treble!”

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by Isabel Bradley