Brought to Book

by Anthea Fraser

  Over the course of the next few pages he settled for his life story, noting that the previous diaries would form the basic outline. The final entry was dated Wednesday 29th, the day before his death, and it was abundantly clear there was no contemplation of suicide. On the contrary, he was increasingly enthusiastic about the book, and the last words he wrote were: The idea is progressing well. I think this might be the answer to my problems.

  Ironic, Rona thought, looking at the poignantly blank pages that followed. Thoughtfully, she closed the book. It had given her an insight into Theo’s thinking at the end of his life, but it was of little help in explaining his death.

  As usual, she had stopped to exercise Gus on the way home from Cricklehurst, so could now settle to work with a clear conscience. Normally when she was working she ate lunch at her desk, and for this reason the study, being two flights up from the kitchen, had been equipped with a small fridge, an electric hob and coffee-making equipment. To supplement this, she now made a round of sandwiches and put them on a tray along with some fruit. Gus, who knew by these preparations where she was bound, climbed meekly into his basket. It was a rule of the house that he was not allowed above the ground floor.

  Rona worked steadily for the next few hours, assimilating as she did so her growing knowledge of Theo Harvey. The slow, cultured voice of Reginald Harvey brought the old man clearly to mind. He was convinced his son had committed suicide; how did that fit with the scene Keith Bromsgrove had witnessed that fateful evening? Myers was allegedly in the clear, but had something he’d said – or threatened – finally tipped Harvey over the edge?

  The ringing of the phone beside her startled Rona back to her surroundings, and Lindsey’s voice said in her ear, ‘All set for this evening?’

  ‘Yes, I’m looking forward to it. After the last few days, I could do with a laugh.’

  ‘Bad as that, is it?’

  ‘There’s been an emphasis on gloom and doom, yes.’

  ‘Well, Ayckbourne will take your mind off it. The performance starts at eight, so I’ll pick you up at seven thirty.’

  Rona opened her mouth to say she’d meet her at the hall, then closed it again. She couldn’t take Gus to the theatre, and it was a twenty-minute walk each way – in the dark. She smiled grimly to herself; Max’s apprehension was catching.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said instead. ‘I’ll be ready.’

  She stretched, reviewing with satisfaction what she had transcribed and noted from yesterday’s interviews. Better break off now and make a list of questions for Isobel Harvey tomorrow – and, for that matter, Miss Lethbury on Thursday. It would be interesting to see how their input added to the portrait she was forming of her subject.

  Lindsey arrived ten minutes late, wearing a dress and jacket the same colour as Rona’s, and they stared at each other in dismay. This happened so frequently that they normally checked in advance; on this occasion, they’d omitted to.

  ‘Well, there’s no time to change now,’ Rona said, pulling the door closed behind her. ‘We’ll just have to look like Tweedle Dum and Tweedle Dee. Fortunately it’ll be dark most of the time, so perhaps no one will notice.’

  The car park in Market Street, filled to capacity from nine till five, was half empty. ‘I hope that doesn’t mean a poor house,’ Lindsey commented.

  They were reassured to find a stream of people queuing to go inside the hall, a large number of whom were booking for that evening’s performance. Since they had their tickets, they paused only to order interval drinks before making their way into the auditorium.

  The Darcy Hall, splendidly decorated in green and gold, played a prominent part in the life of the town. As well as being home to the Acorn Dramatic Company and the operatic society, it was used for dances, concerts, wedding receptions and lectures. The Christmas bazaar was held here, as were the annual dinners of various clubs and charities.

  Its tiered seats, which could be removed when not required, were unnumbered, and Rona and Lindsey chose theirs a few rows back and settled down to study the programme as the auditorium began to fill. Several times, being on the aisle, they had to stand in order to let people into their row. At last the house lights dimmed and Rona, dispatching her last remaining thoughts of Theo Harvey, prepared to enjoy the play.

  The actors, though amateurs, performed to a high standard, and soon the amusing dialogue and intriguing action worked their magic, capturing everyone’s attention. When the lights went up for the interval, they were surprised how quickly the time had passed. Along with the rest of the audience, Rona and Lindsey filed back to the foyer, where glasses and miniature bottles of mixers had been lined up on a series of shelves and tables, and collected the order with the ticket corresponding to theirs.

  ‘I’ve seen the actor who plays Norman several times,’ Lindsey commented, sipping her gin and tonic. ‘He’s excellent, isn’t he? Hugh and I used to come quite regularly at one time.’

  Rona turned as someone tapped her on the shoulder, and turned to see a man she didn’t recognize smiling at her. ‘I believe you dropped this,’ he said, holding out a programme. Lindsey reached across her and took it.

  ‘Oh, thanks. I thought I felt something drop when I stood up.’

  The man looked from one to the other, a startled expression on his face. ‘My God!’ he exclaimed. ‘Am I seeing double? I was looking for the dark girl in blue who’d been sitting next to me; I certainly didn’t realize there were two of you!’

  Rona smiled apologetically. ‘We do at least try to dress differently, but our wires were crossed this evening.’

  ‘I presume you are twins?’ He made a deprecating gesture. ‘Sorry – I’m being abominably rude. Do forgive me.’

  ‘Actually,’ Lindsey said, ‘there’s only one of us. What’s that you’re drinking?’

  ‘I deserved that. The least I can do is introduce myself. My name is Rob Stuart.’

  ‘Rona and Lindsey Parish.’ They all shook hands.

  ‘Now I’m going to be extremely corny,’ he went on with a crooked smile, ‘and ask if you come here often?’

  ‘Not as often as we’d like,’ Lindsey replied. ‘I was just saying to my sister that I used to come with my ex-husband, but I haven’t been for a while.’

  ‘This is my first visit, and I must say I’m impressed by the standard of acting. I see from the programme that they’re doing the second play in the trilogy next week. Are you planning to see that?’

  Rona felt a nudge from her sister, and knew what was expected of her. ‘Unfortunately I shan’t be able to,’ she said obediently. ‘I’m busy all next week.’

  Rob Stuart had obviously captured Lindsey’s interest, and Rona looked at him more closely. There was nothing special about him that she could see; he was tall and thin, with curly brown hair and a bump on the bridge of his nose – probably caused, she guessed, by falling off his bike when a boy. His round brown eyes looked out placidly from behind horn-rimmed spectacles.

  ‘Oh, that’s a shame!’ Lindsey was exclaiming. ‘I was going to suggest booking for it.’

  Rob Stuart said hesitantly, ‘I know we’ve only just met, but I’d be delighted if you’d come as my guest.’

  ‘Oh!’ Lindsey was prettily confused. ‘I didn’t—’

  ‘Really, I mean it. I certainly intend to come myself, and there’s no point in both of us sitting alone. I’m perfectly respectable, I assure you,’ he added with an undeniably charming smile. ‘I don’t usually make a habit of approaching attractive young ladies!’

  Lindsey had flushed. ‘Well, if you’re sure . . .’

  ‘Great. Give me your address, and I’ll call for you.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I live out of town. I’ll meet you here.’

  He seemed about to press the point, but at that moment a bell rang and they were asked to return to their seats. Hurriedly finishing their drinks, they made their way back, Rona walking slightly ahead of the other two. So that’s how it’s done! she thought wryly. After four year
s of marriage, she’d forgotten the rules.

  During the remainder of the play, she was aware of the odd whispered comment passing between Lindsey and Rob Stuart, and smiled to herself. If he proved an antidote to Hugh – even a temporary one – it could only be a good thing. Lindsey deserved some happiness, and for her, that meant having a man in her life.

  At the end of the play, Rob Stuart wrote his phone number on a card and made a note of Lindsey’s. They walked together to the car park, still chatting, and Rona resignedly climbed into the car, leaving them to make their final arrangements. Then, with a wave of his hand, Rob walked on to his own car and Lindsey slid in beside her.

  ‘As smooth a pick-up as I’ve seen in some time!’ Rona commented.

  Lindsey gave a low laugh. ‘He’s rather gorgeous, isn’t he?’

  ‘Go easy, love. First impressions can be misleading.’

  ‘You sound like Grandma! Seriously, Ro, wasn’t I saying the other day how much I wished I could meet someone?’

  ‘As I said, go easy. You might change your mind when you get to know him.’

  But Lindsey, with an infuriatingly smug smile, merely switched on the ignition and drove slowly out of the car park.

  Seven

  Isobel Harvey lived in a modern three-storey block of flats in landscaped grounds on the fringes of Stokely. Although the town was farther away than Cricklehurst, the route lay along main roads, making the journey shorter. It was here, Rona remembered, that Justin Grant had his consulting rooms – and his telephone number was in her file. There might be a chance to speak to him about Theo’s missing manuscript.

  She was a few minutes early, and having parked the car outside the flats, she checked on his number and took out her mobile, only to be instantly stonewalled by his receptionist.

  ‘Are you a patient?’ she enquired in a cut-glass accent.

  ‘No, this is a – personal matter.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Grant can’t be interrupted; he’s with a patient, and he has appointments throughout the morning.’

  ‘It would only take a moment; I just wanted to arrange a time to see him.’

  ‘He can’t fit you in before the end of the week. I—’

  ‘I don’t mean professionally,’ Rona insisted. ‘It’s just that I happen to be over here this morning, and I wondered—’

  ‘I’m sorry, I can’t help you.’

  ‘Could you at least give him a message? Tell him Rona Parish is in Stokely and would be grateful to have a word with him. My mobile number is . . .’ She gave it slowly, hoping that the woman was taking it down.

  ‘I can’t promise he’ll get back to you today,’ the receptionist said frostily, displeased by her persistence. ‘However, I’ll tell him you called.’ Her tone offered no hope of a successful outcome.

  Rona gritted her teeth and switched her mobile to stand-by, accepting there was nothing more she could do. She had still ten minutes before her appointment, so, letting Gus out of the car, she took him for a quick walk down the road, interested to see more of the neighbourhood. The pavements on this southern approach to the town were wide and tree-lined and the buildings relatively modern. One of them, she saw, had a board at its gate bearing the legend Lingfield Preparatory School. Farther along was a small park behind neat railings, though who would make use of it when all the houses had substantial gardens, she could not imagine. There was certainly no shortage of money hereabouts.

  She turned to walk slowly back, revelling in the spring sunshine, and determined to visit the park herself after she left Isobel. It was a day to be out of doors, but first she had a tricky interview to conduct. Having enticed a reluctant Gus back into the car, she approached the flats with mentally crossed fingers.

  The double-glazed entrance doors did not yield to her push, and she was about to ring the bell when, through the glass, she saw a uniformed commissionaire approaching. He opened the door with a grave smile, and politely enquired her business.

  ‘I have an appointment with Mrs Harvey,’ she told him, and waited while he checked.

  ‘Flat five, on the first floor,’ he told her then, indicating the array of waiting lifts. She walked across the thick carpet, stepped into one, and was borne upwards silently and without discernible motion. The doors glided open to reveal a square landing that contained four polished wooden doors, an obvious service room, and flights of carpeted stairs leading both up and down. Flat five, Rona saw, was one of the doors to her right. She rang the bell, and a moment later found herself face to face with Isobel Harvey.

  ‘Miss Parish,’ she said, in her cool, clear voice. ‘How do you do? Please come in.’

  Rona followed her down a short passage to a room overlooking the front of the building. The sofa and chairs were of cream leather, the carpet and curtains a soft shade of green. A heavy glass coffee table stood in the centre of the room, bearing a tray with a silver coffee pot and china cups and saucers. No ornaments were in evidence, but a photograph of a wedding group stood on a low bookcase, and a couple of paintings hung on otherwise bare walls. Outside the French windows she could see a wrought-iron balcony, colourful with potted plants, which would be a pleasant place to sit in summer.

  While the obligatory cup of coffee was being poured, Rona settled on the butter-soft sofa and discreetly studied her hostess. Isobel Harvey was petite – considerably smaller than either herself or Meriel – and her grey, white-collared dress gave her a Quaker look that was enhanced by the reddish gold hair coiled severely into a chignon. Her hands and feet were small and she wore grey high heels in what was presumably mock-croc. Her eyes, as they met Rona’s over the proffered coffee cup, were a disconcertingly pale blue. She must be in her fifties, but her skin was smooth and the only noticeable lines were at the edges of her eyes.

  ‘Thank you for agreeing to see me,’ Rona began.

  A barely perceptible nod. Then, as she seated herself: ‘I believe you were commissioned by Mrs Meriel Harvey?’

  ‘Not exactly; the initial approach came from her, but it was my publishers who commissioned the biography.’ She paused, but Isobel remained silent. ‘I’m hoping to gather memories and impressions from as many people as possible,’ she went on, ‘to build up a complete picture of Theo Harvey. I’ve already spoken to your father-in-law, as he might have told you.’ Or was he her ex-father-in-law? Rona wondered belatedly.

  ‘Yes, he told me.’

  Still no point of contact. Rona tried again. ‘Would you mind if I switch on the recorder?’

  ‘I’ve no objection, but I must warn you it’s unlikely I can tell you anything of interest.’

  Translated as I have no intention of telling you, Rona thought with a heavy heart.

  ‘But you knew Theo as a young man.’ She saw an eyebrow go up at the Christian name, but it was too late to retract. ‘You were married to him for eighteen years, and during that time he switched careers, turning from a school master into a best-selling novelist almost overnight. Your lives must have changed completely.’

  ‘Many people’s lives change.’

  Rona leaned forward and switched off the recorder, then sat back, meeting the faintly hostile blue eyes. ‘If you’re not happy to speak to me, Mrs Harvey, why did you agree to see me?’

  Before Isobel could reply, the phone in Rona’s handbag interrupted with its shrill chiming. With an apologetic murmur, she located it and read the number that was calling. It was Justin Grant’s surgery. Damn, damn, damn!

  Flushed and aware of her disadvantage, she said quickly, ‘I do apologize, but I’ve been waiting for this call. Would you excuse me for a moment?’

  She hurried out of the room, flipping the phone open as she went. ‘Hello? Rona Parish speaking.’

  ‘Good morning, Ms Parish.’ A different voice from last time. ‘This is Mr Grant’s secretary; he wonders if you’d be free to lunch with him today? He could meet you in the Grill Room of the Connaught Hotel at twelve thirty, if that would be convenient?’

  Lunch? Rap
idly Rona assessed the situation. On the one hand, she wouldn’t be able to use the recorder, nor take notes, and his role of host might mean tempering some of her questions. On the other, it at least offered her an early interview, and if she declined, he might prove elusive.

  ‘That’s very kind of him,’ she said formally. ‘Thank you, I should be delighted.’

  ‘Twelve thirty, then,’ repeated the secretary, as though stressing that his time was valuable, even in the lunch hour.

  ‘I’ll be there,’ Rona confirmed, and ended the connection. But before lunch, there was humble pie to be eaten. She made her way back to the sitting-room, where Isobel awaited her, ankles neatly crossed.

  ‘I’m so sorry about that,’ she said, reseating herself. ‘Now, where were we?’

  ‘You were asking why I’m wasting your time.’

  Rona flushed. ‘I’m sure I didn’t say that.’

  ‘It was implied, but you’re right, you’re entitled to an explanation.’ She looked down at her clasped hands. ‘The only reason I agreed to this meeting was damage limitation. I – needed to put my side of things.’

  Rona said carefully, ‘As far as I’m concerned, Mrs Harvey, there are no “sides”. I’m not from the enemy camp, you know.’

  Isobel smiled faintly. ‘Perhaps I’m paranoid, but I instinctively distrust Meriel and anything she instigates. In any case, she must have told you all you need to know about me.’

  Rona looked at her in surprise. ‘We haven’t discussed you at all,’ she objected.

  Isobel held her gaze. ‘Is that true?’

  ‘Absolutely. All she said was that you’re not on speaking terms.’

  Isobel drew a deep breath. ‘Then perhaps I’ve misjudged her. And you.’

  ‘Then may I start the interview?’

  ‘On one understanding; I have no objection to giving you any facts you need, but don’t expect me to indulge in emotional assessments, either mine or Theo’s. I have an inbuilt distaste for – washing my linen, dirty or otherwise, in public.’

  ‘Fine, but I hope that won’t prevent you from giving me some idea of his character as a young man, and how it changed as he grew older.’