Brought to Book

by Anthea Fraser

  Isobel spread her hands, not committing herself. Rona switched on the recorder.

  ‘Perhaps we could start by your telling me how and where you met?’

  ‘It was in London, at a party. I was twenty and Theo twenty-six. We married within months.’

  ‘Can you remember your first impressions of him?’

  ‘Principally, that he was unlike anyone I’d ever met. Even as a young man, he had a commanding presence and seemed larger than life. And he was rather loud.’ She smiled. ‘Actually, that put me off a bit at first. He laughed a lot – too much – but that was his public face. When I realized that underneath it was a sensitive man, unsure of himself – that’s when I fell in love with him.’

  She was silent for a minute, and Rona, recognizing Theo’s stereotypical hero in the description, made no move to prompt her. Then, as though shaking herself out of her retrospection, she went on. ‘So, as I said, we were married. Theo was in his first teaching post, at a boys’ prep school in Buckingham, and we were – very happy.’ She looked down at her clasped hands.

  ‘Was he writing at all then?’

  ‘No, although English was his subject.’

  ‘Did you work yourself?’

  ‘Nothing high-powered. I did some PR, but I stopped when Gavin was born, and didn’t go back. I was perfectly happy at home with the children.’

  ‘How old were they when you separated?’

  ‘Fifteen, twelve and nine, but in fact the major change in our lives had come, as you suggested, four years earlier, when Theo’s first book was published. The sudden fame – radio interviews, books tours, television panels – completely went to his head and he couldn’t get enough of it. He wanted to be out every night, drinking or clubbing, meeting new people. It took me completely by surprise, and I was horrified when he threw up his job; after all, it had been his life and our livelihood. I was convinced that he’d jettisoned our security, that we’d have to sell the house and move the boys from their private school, and I looked round in panic for something I could do to fend off an emergency.

  ‘Theo laughed at me, but I enrolled at the local business college, and, to my surprise as well as his, discovered a flair for it. By the time I graduated it was clear we were in no danger of bankruptcy, but I decided to go ahead anyway and set up my own business, arranging cultural tours abroad – Florence, Rome, that kind of thing. The economic climate was just right and the business took off, and, I’m glad to say, has continued to flourish. It has been my lifeline.’

  ‘And meanwhile Theo continued to write best-sellers?’

  ‘Yes, and I was seeing less and less of him. He bought a cottage up near Spindlebury and spent all week there, only coming home for weekends. And whereas I wanted to spend that precious time by ourselves, he was only happy when we were out somewhere in a crowd. If I protested, he accused me of being boring and went without me. Sometimes –’ she coloured – ‘he stayed out all night, and I began to hear unpleasant stories about him, which became harder and harder to ignore.’

  She met Rona’s eyes with a mixture of defiance and embarrassment. ‘I’m only telling you this because it’s common knowledge. I still thought we could weather it – we had before. But then he met Meriel.’

  Her fingers twisted together. ‘She was married, too,’ she said in a low voice. ‘She even had a child, but neither fact prevented her making a set at Theo. I – saw her in action.’ She bit her lip. ‘I’m sorry if I sound bitter, but, unchristian or not, I can never forgive her for what she did to us.’

  Rona steered her off at a tangent. ‘Were these people he socialized with old friends, or new ones?’

  Isobel said bitterly, ‘I wouldn’t call them friends at all. They were spongers, most of them, pandering to his vanity and eager to be seen with him because he was a celebrity. I doubt if any of them stood by him later, when he really needed friends.’

  ‘Did you see him during the time he had writer’s block?’

  ‘No, there was virtually no contact between us by then. In the early days, we had to keep in touch because of the boys. Theo moved in with Meriel before the divorce, and as I refused to let them go to their rented house, he’d no option but to come home to collect and deliver them. It was a traumatic time, because they didn’t want to see him.’

  She shot a swift look at Rona. ‘No, I did not try to turn them against him; that would have been grossly unfair. But they weren’t stupid; they could see the way he was behaving, and basically they couldn’t forgive him for leaving us. By the time he developed the block they were older and had virtually lost touch. I wrote to him, though; just a short note that I addressed to the cottage, saying I was sorry to hear about it, and hoped things would right themselves. He never replied. I didn’t really expect him to.’

  ‘Were you surprised by the block?’

  Isobel shrugged. ‘While he was with me, his writing was like water pouring out of a tap, but I didn’t really know him any more.’

  ‘Had you any thoughts on what might have caused it?’

  ‘Reginald – my father-in-law – thought it was some kind of breakdown. He and Theo were estranged for a while after we split up,’ she added, ‘but they came back together, and I was glad for both their sakes.’

  ‘Could the block have had any bearing on his death?’

  She looked genuinely surprised. ‘I can’t see how. He’d been writing again for over two years.’

  Nothing to be gained there. Rona glanced at the photograph on the bookcase. ‘Where are your sons now?’

  ‘In London, all of them. I see them quite frequently, though.’ She stood up and brought over the silver-framed photograph. ‘This was taken last year, at Gavin’s wedding. Luke, on Amy’s left, was best man, and Jonathan, next to Gavin, was chief usher.’

  Good-looking young men, all of them, Rona thought. Fortunately they’d taken after their father in height, though their mother’s genes were apparent in their red-gold hair. They’d been caught at a happy, informal moment amid the official photograph-taking, and all three, together with the curly-haired bride, were laughing.

  ‘That’s lovely,’ Rona said sincerely, handing it back. ‘Was Theo at the wedding?’

  ‘He came – alone – to the service, but not the reception. I wouldn’t have credited him with so much tact. As it happened, it was only two months before he died.’ She replaced the photograph on the bookcase and stood for a moment looking down at it.

  ‘Do the names Scott Mackintosh and Michael Pennington mean anything to you?’ Rona asked.

  Isobel turned, wrenching her thoughts from her family. ‘Weren’t they friends of Theo’s? I think he sent them Christmas cards.’

  ‘You never met them?’

  ‘No, why?’

  ‘I’m trying to trace people who knew him in the early days. Mr Harvey gave me their names.’

  Her face softened. ‘Reginald is a poppet. I love him dearly.’

  ‘It seems to be mutual,’ Rona said smilingly.

  ‘I collect him most Sundays and bring him out here for lunch. He appreciates the change of scene.’

  ‘But surely his son and daughter keep in touch?’

  ‘Oh yes, they visit him regularly, and he goes to them for high days and holidays. The trouble is, they tend to fuss, which Reginald hates. I think Meriel sees him too, every now and then, but –’ a smile touched her mouth – ‘I have the impression he doesn’t encourage her. I presume you’ll be seeing Tristan and Phoebe?’

  ‘I hope so; they’re scheduled for my second round of interviews.’ Rona checked her watch. ‘I mustn’t hold you up any longer. Thank you so much for being so frank with me.’

  ‘After a shaky start!’

  ‘Before I go, could you tell me how to find the Connaught Hotel? I’m meeting someone there for lunch.’

  ‘It’s in the centre of the town, in the main street – an imposing grey building. There are several car parks nearby; you shouldn’t have any trouble.’

  Isobel
walked with her to the door and waited until the lift came. She had, after all, washed some of her linen in public, Rona thought as she was conveyed silently down to the foyer, but there was little in it that she’d not already known.

  In the car, Rona checked with her answer machine at home. Three messages awaited her. The first was a hurried call from Max: he had to go to Birmingham, and as he’d be late back, would not be over that evening. Next, Meriel, sounding jittery and asking her to ring back as soon as possible, and lastly a call on behalf of Theo’s university tutor; the old man was unfortunately in hospital suffering from angina, and would not be available to interview for the foreseeable future. Which left only two outstanding replies from her first batch of letters – Theo’s agent and his publisher.

  Ignoring Gus’s nose in her ear, she dialled Meriel’s number. ‘In a minute, honey,’ she told him over her shoulder.

  The phone was answered on the first ring. ‘Yes?’

  ‘It’s Rona, Meriel.’

  ‘Oh, thank God you’re back! I was afraid you might be out all day.’

  ‘Actually I’m on my mobile. I’m still in Stokely.’

  ‘Stokely?’

  ‘I’ve just seen Isobel.’

  ‘Oh yes; you did tell me.’

  There was no point in being secretive; doubtless he’d mention it if she didn’t: ‘And I’m about to have lunch with Justin.’

  ‘I envy you, he’ll give you a first-class meal.’

  Her voice had steadied a little, and Rona, glancing at her watch again and aware she must exercise Gus before lunch, brought her back to the subject of the call. ‘Have you something to tell me?’

  Meriel gave a shaky laugh. ‘I’m not sure now; things seem more in perspective, talking to you. I’m probably being paranoid, but I – I was convinced someone was following me this morning.’

  Rona frowned. ‘Why should you think that?’

  ‘There was a car parked just beyond the gate – you know, that country bit where there are no houses. I noticed it when I walked down to the village and it was still there when I got home, but there was no one in it. And several times – you know how you get a feeling you’re being watched? I turned sharply once or twice, and had the impression someone was dodging out of sight.’

  ‘I’m sure you imagined it,’ Rona said, firmly pushing down memories of the note in Gus’s collar.

  ‘Probably.’ Meriel was sounding progressively calmer. ‘Have you had a chance to look at the diaries?’

  ‘No, and this week’s turning out to be fairly busy. I phoned my husband last night, and we decided to go up to the cottage on Saturday.’

  ‘You phoned him? Is he away?’

  ‘It’s a bit complicated. Look, Meriel, I must go and walk the dog before lunch. I’ll be in touch, but don’t worry; I’m sure the car wasn’t significant.’

  ‘No doubt you’re right. You know how to find the cottage?’

  ‘Roughly.’ Spindlebury was a pretty small place.

  ‘It’s off the beaten track, a couple of miles from the village. I’ll put directions in the post.’

  ‘Thanks, that’ll be helpful.’

  ‘Love to Justin,’ Meriel said, and hung up.

  There was a notice on the park gate to the effect that all dogs must be kept on leads. Gus wasn’t best pleased, but he trotted meekly enough at her heels as they strolled down the gravel paths and admired the already colourful flower beds. They had the park to themselves – hardly surprising since this was the lunch-hour – but the children’s play area looked well used.

  Rona’s thoughts still circled round Meriel and her worries, but she shook herself free of them. She’d little enough time to plan her meeting with Justin, where she’d have to rely on memory not only for his comments, but for shades of inflection and the possible interpretation that could be placed on them.

  When, twenty minutes later, she located the Grill Room, Justin was waiting for her at the entrance. He came forward, his smile as charming as she remembered, and took her hand. ‘My dear young lady! What an unexpected pleasure! I was intending to contact you myself in the near future.’

  About what? she wondered, smilingly detaching her hand from his over-long clasp. He took her elbow and guided her into the restaurant, where the maître d’ came hurriedly forward.

  ‘Your usual table, Mr Grant?’

  ‘If you please, Frederick.’

  They were escorted to a corner table, their chairs pulled out, and napkins laid tenderly on their laps. Large, glossy menus were produced.

  ‘I recommend the beignets de crevettes,’ Justin said. ‘If you’re not allergic to shellfish, that is?’

  ‘They sound lovely.’

  ‘Or the pâté is excellent.’ They progressed through the dozen or so remaining delicacies listed as hors d’oeuvres, while Justin described the merits of each in turn.

  ‘You sound as though you’ve sampled them all,’ Rona said with amusement.

  ‘I have,’ he admitted. ‘I lunch here most days.’

  She raised an eyebrow. ‘But you told Meriel you don’t eat at midday.’

  He smiled. ‘That was diplomacy. I was so ravenous by the time I reached the hospital that I scoffed a plate of cod and chips before seeing my first patient. Don’t you dare tell her.’ He glanced back at the menu. ‘As to the next course, although this is technically the Connaught Grill, the selection is almost as wide as in their main restaurant.’

  They discussed the dishes in some detail before, bemused by all his recommendations, Rona finally made her choice and the waiter, with a bow, moved away, to be immediately replaced by the wine waiter, who conversed with Justin in low, confidential tones. As he, too, left them, Justin clasped his hands on the table and regarded her with mock solemnity.

  ‘So, now that I’ve provided you with a Grill Room for my grilling, fire away.’

  ‘I’ve no intention of grilling you,’ Rona protested. ‘You said you were going to contact me; why?’

  He smiled. ‘Ladies first.’

  ‘Very well; as you’ll have guessed, I want to talk about Theo. You told me you were friendly, played golf together and so on, so I’d be very interested to hear your impressions of him. Had you known him a long time?’

  It occurred to Rona that although she’d asked Isobel about her meeting with Theo, she’d not posed the same question to Meriel – an oversight she must put right.

  ‘Since the evening he met Meriel,’ Justin replied, unknowingly rectifying the omission. ‘He’d been invited to give a talk at her local library, and Russell – her husband – wasn’t interested. She knew I enjoyed his books, so she asked my wife and me to go with her. We were sitting in the front row, and throughout the whole of his undeniably interesting and informative talk, he hardly took his eyes off Meriel. I could feel her tenseness, and to be frank I was distinctly uncomfortable. He was an attractive man, and a famous one – a lethal combination where women are concerned, and his reputation was well known.’

  The wine waiter appeared, poured a small amount in Justin’s glass, and waited deferentially while he swirled it around, sniffed it, tasted, and nodded. Their glasses were filled, and he raised his in a silent toast.

  ‘Wine and canapés were laid on afterwards,’ he continued, ‘and Theo was surrounded by people asking him questions and handing over copies of his books to sign. Meriel, to her chagrin, hadn’t one with her, and, since it was a library, there were none for sale. I suggested we leave – Vivian had one of her headaches – but I couldn’t budge her. Every time the crowd round Theo parted, he looked over in our direction, as though expecting her to approach him. Eventually, when it was clear she wasn’t going to, he gently moved the last few people aside and came over himself, holding out his hand, and that was pretty well it. By the time we finally got away, he had her phone number and had already arranged to see her the following week.

  ‘I was considerably worried, I can tell you, and in the car going home I tried to reason with her, emphasiz
ing that he was a womanizer, that she should think of Russ and the baby. But I knew even then that nothing I said would make any difference.’

  So it was Theo who had made the first move, Rona reflected, sipping the excellent wine. Which was not how either Reginald or Isobel had portrayed it.

  ‘What were your own first impressions?’

  ‘Hostility, I suppose. I’m fond of Meriel – platonically, though no doubt you’ll hear rumours to the contrary – and I didn’t want her hurt. Also, Russell’s a decent chap and didn’t deserve this. I expected it to be a flash in the pan that would cause far more hurt than it warranted, and that Theo would soon move on to pastures new. I was considerably surprised when he left his wife and moved in with her, still more when they eventually married.’

  ‘Were they happy, do you think?’

  He considered, leaning to one side as his Parma ham was set in front of him. ‘His lifestyle didn’t change, if that’s what you’re asking. At least, not for more than a few months. I’d guess that Meriel decided very early on to close her eyes and ears to gossip and cling to the fact that he always came back to her.’

  ‘Came back? He actually left her?’

  ‘I was speaking metaphorically. No, he didn’t physically go off with anyone, but there was always some woman in the background.’ He gazed reflectively into his wine glass. ‘You might find it hard to believe after what I’ve said, but I liked the bastard. He was totally different, you know, when there were no women around: excellent company, witty, generous, concerned, helpful.’ He looked up at her almost pleadingly. ‘Could you concentrate on that, do you think, and play down the other side?’

  Regretfully she shook her head. ‘Without wanting to sound pompous, the main duty of a biographer is to tell the truth. However much I might want to, I can’t distort the facts to make him seem either better or worse than he was. Basically, I’ll be writing his life story, but in the process I hope to uncover the influences that formed his character and made him what he was; why he wrote the kind of books he did, and how he dealt with the fame and success they brought him.’