They ate the rest of their first course in silence, mulling over what had been said and left unsaid. The beignets were as excellent as he’d promised, crisp and golden, succulent with shrimp, and deserved more than the attention she was giving them. When her plate was empty, Rona said bluntly, ‘You don’t want me to write this book, do you?’
He looked startled. ‘Why should you think that?’
She shrugged. ‘I’m right, aren’t I?’
He said slowly, ‘I don’t want Meriel hurt. She’s extremely vulnerable, you know. She was able to turn a blind eye while Theo was alive, and could reassure her by lying his way out of things. Now he’s not here to defend himself, learning something detrimental would crucify her.’
‘And there’s something detrimental to learn?’
‘We all have things to hide,’ he said evasively.
There was a pause. Then she said again, ‘Why did you want to see me?’
He crumbled the roll on his side plate, not meeting her eyes. ‘To ask you to do what you’ve just said you can’t.’
‘For Meriel’s sake?’
He sat back in his chair. ‘Not wholly, I admit. I’m worried about what might be in those damned diaries. I’m pretty sure I feature in them myself. I spent a fair bit of time with him over the years, and we went on several – sprees – together.’
Which, Rona surmised, would do the reputation of an eminent consultant no good at all. She said, ‘I’m writing about Theo, Justin. Your secrets are quite safe with me.’
‘But not from you, unfortunately.’
‘You said before that he was a chameleon. Did you just mean he showed different sides of his character to men and women?’
‘Not only that; he varied from woman to woman and man to man. Of all the people he met, I doubt if any two saw exactly the same side of him.’
A waiter materialized and silently removed their plates.
‘Did you remain close to the end of his life?’ she asked.
‘After he went reclusive, you mean? No, he cut everyone off at that point, retreated into himself.’
‘Have you any idea why?’
He didn’t answer immediately, and she felt a flicker of excitement. Was this what she’d been waiting for? She leaned forward.
‘Justin?’
‘I’ve an idea, that’s all. Something he said one night, when he was very drunk.’
To her impatience a bevy of waiters now descended on them, bearing their entrées and a selection of vegetables. They seemed to take an interminable time about it, and as they were moving off, the wine waiter reappeared to top up their glasses.
‘Justin?’ she prompted when at last they were alone. ‘You were about to tell me what he said.’
But he was shaking his head. ‘No, Rona, I wasn’t. I’m sorry, I’m not being deliberately provoking; I hadn’t intended to mention it.’
‘But it was something that might explain his block?’
‘I think so, yes.’ He picked up his knife and fork, not looking at her.
Impatiently she thought back over everything he’d said. ‘Was a woman involved?’
He met her eyes briefly, then looked away. ‘Yes, but that’s all I’m prepared to say.’
‘But it’ll be in the diaries,’ she argued.
‘Then at least it’ll be Theo himself telling you. Please don’t press this, Rona. I’ll help you on other things if I can, but not that.’
Because it would hurt Meriel, she thought. But she recognized that for him the subject was closed, and, though brimful of frustration, she had to respect that. Reluctantly, she changed the subject.
‘You mentioned Meriel’s first husband; how did he react to her leaving him?’
‘He was pole-axed, as you’d suppose; it came so entirely out of the blue. One minute they’d been happily married with a small son, the next she ups and leaves him, taking the boy with her.’
‘Did he try to get her back?’
‘Oh yes, it was some time before he accepted it. I believe there was a face-to-face confrontation with Theo, that was rather unpleasant.’
‘What’s he doing now?’
‘He eventually remarried, but he still sees Seb regularly.’
‘And he and Meriel are amicable?’
‘As much as one can be in the circumstances.’
‘Did he come to terms with Theo?’
Justin shook his head. ‘After the row, I don’t think they met again. They took care not to.’
As she continued with her meal, Rona processed this latest information. Russell would obviously have no love for Theo, but that had all happened fifteen years ago; surely it could have no bearing either on Theo’s block or his death.
‘This pork is delicious,’ she said involuntarily.
‘Good.’
‘There was one other thing I wanted to ask you; Meriel says you went up to the cottage after Theo’s death, to bring back his personal things.’
‘That’s right.’
‘Was there a partly written manuscript among them?’
‘I wouldn’t call it a manuscript, but there was a folder he’d started to write in.’
‘Meriel can’t find it.’
‘I know; she phoned me about it.’
‘You are sure you brought it back?’
‘Positive. I can see it clearly in my mind’s eye.’
‘Did you read any of it?’
He shook his head. ‘I was in a hurry, and anyway Theo’s writing took a lot of deciphering – even when he wasn’t using code,’ he added with a smile.
‘I wonder what could have happened to it.’
He shrugged, refilling their glasses.
‘We’re going to the cottage this weekend.’
He looked up quickly. ‘We?’
‘My husband and I.’
So he was still on the scene. Pity. ‘Really? Why?’
‘To speak to the people up there, the barman at the pub, and so on.’
‘Well, it’s a pretty God-forsaken place. Lord knows how Theo could spend such a lot of time up there, but he loved it.’
Conversation had veered seamlessly into less contentious fields, and for the rest of the meal they discussed general topics. It was almost three o’clock by the time they emerged on to the pavement outside the Connaught Hotel, and Rona felt a twinge of guilt about Gus, not to mention Justin’s waiting patients.
‘Thank you,’ she said, holding out her hand, ‘for a really delicious lunch and for answering very nearly all my questions.’
He laughed. ‘You’re a most persuasive young lady.’
And one day, she vowed to herself as she hurried to the car park, I’ll get answers to the rest of them.
‘Lindsey?’
‘Yes?’
‘Rob Stuart here. I’m phoning to confirm that I’ve booked seats for next Tuesday. I think you said you were free?’
‘Yes, that’ll be fine, thanks.’ To her own ears, her voice sounded breathless, and she hoped he wouldn’t notice. ‘I’ll look forward to it,’ she added.
‘Only one problem,’ he said.
‘What’s that?’
‘Tuesday’s nearly a week away.’
‘Not much we can do about that.’
‘We could meet before then; tomorrow, for instance?’
‘Oh, I—’
‘Please? Dinner, a film, something like that?’
Her mouth was dry. She’d been thinking about him all day, and it seemed she’d been in his thoughts, too. God, she thought on an upsurge of excitement, they weren’t teenagers; why beat about the bush?
‘I’d love to,’ she said.
Eight
Rona was at the computer by eight thirty the next morning, intent on recording all that she’d learned from both Isobel and Justin, and the sudden shrilling of the phone was an unwelcome interruption. It was still not nine o’clock.
‘Rona?’ Meriel’s voice, high and shaky.
‘Hello, Meriel. Thanks for the directi
ons to the cottage – they’ve just arrived.’
‘What?’ She sounded distracted. ‘Look, I’m sorry – I don’t know how to say this, but – we’ll have to scrap it.’
Rona, her eyes still on the computer screen, frowned. ‘Scrap what?’
‘The book. I’ve decided not to go ahead after all.’
Rona’s attention snapped into focus. ‘What’s happened.’
‘I want you to stop, that’s all. Well, you haven’t really started, have you? Not actually writing, I mean, and I’m sure you won’t have any difficulty finding another subject. If you’re out of pocket at all, I’ll be glad to put it right, because it’s my fault for asking you in the first place. I just didn’t realize – well, anyway, I’ve changed my mind. So please cancel the rest of the interviews and forget the whole thing.’
Rona forced her voice to remain steady. ‘Unfortunately, it’s not quite as easy as that. It was my publishers who commissioned the book, Meriel, and I agreed to write it. There’s a contract between us, and I’m afraid it can’t be broken just because you’ve changed your mind. I’m sorry. If you tell me what’s worrying you, perhaps—’
‘But you have to stop!’ Her voice rose hysterically. ‘God, how can I convince you? It’s – it’s dangerous to go on with it!’
Rona went suddenly cold. ‘What are you talking about?’
There was a brief pause. ‘I – didn’t want to tell you this, but I had an anonymous phone call, late last night.’
Oh, God! Rona thought numbly. ‘Saying what?’
‘That the book mustn’t go ahead, or there’d be trouble.’
‘What kind of trouble?’
‘He didn’t say. But you do see now that we can’t do it?’
‘I see that you’re badly frightened, and I’m sorry.’
‘I don’t want your sympathy,’ Meriel said sharply, ‘I want the book dropped. At once. In fact, I insist. It’s my husband you’re writing about – surely I have the right—’
‘Meriel, of course I want to do this with your blessing, but if the worst comes to the worst, the biography would have to be unauthorized.’
‘Then I’d sue you!’ she cried wildly. ‘You and your publishers and your agent and everyone connected with it!’
‘You could only sue if it was libellous,’ Rona pointed out, trying to speak calmly, ‘and I promise you it won’t be. Please, Meriel, don’t let’s—’
‘But I’m frightened, don’t you see?’ Despairingly, she began to weep down the phone.
‘Is anyone with you?’
‘In the house, you mean? Only Cecile. Why?’
‘Phone Justin and tell him what’s happened; he’ll be able to advise you. And report the call to the police – they might be able to trace it. In the meantime, try not to worry; people who make anonymous calls seldom put their threats into effect.’ So Max had assured her about the note.
Meriel started crying again and, casting around for something to distract her, Rona cut in.
‘I meant to ask you – Theo’s father said he’d done some tutoring for a creative writing course. When was that?’
‘What? I . . .’ Meriel’s sobs gradually hiccupped to a stop.
‘Tutoring? For a correspondence course?’
‘Yes. Yes, he did.’
‘When did that start?’
‘Oh, years ago.’ Her voice steadied. ‘He began to miss teaching, and decided to keep his hand in that way. Under a pseudonym, of course; none of his students knew who he was, and he never met any of them. They submitted their work to a box number at Stokely post office.’
‘What was his pseudonym?’
‘Ben Abbott. But look, I’ve told you . . .’ Her voice started to rise again.
‘Did he continue with it when he had his block?’ Rona interrupted.
‘No,’ Meriel replied after a minute, ‘but then it was never full-time. He’d take a couple of students through the twelve-week course, then have a break until he felt like doing some more.’ Her breathing, Rona noticed, was returning to normal. ‘I tried to persuade him to go on with it, as a way of getting back to writing, but he wouldn’t.’
‘What was the name of the writing school?’
‘God, I don’t know! I—’
‘Please try to think.’
‘It doesn’t matter what it was, because nothing’s going to come of this. Rona, you’ve got to believe me! I’m not prepared to put myself or Sebastian in danger for the sake of a book. As far as I’m concerned, that’s the end of the matter.’ And she put down the phone.
After a few seconds, Rona replaced hers, her thoughts seesawing between anger and unease. Clearly her correspondent was flexing his muscles; unable to scare her off, he’d turned – with more success – to Meriel. She gave an involuntary shiver as her eyes moved round the room in a primitive need for reassurance.
The cream chintz chair still stood in the corner, a sheaf of papers on one arm. The shelves still held her reference books from previous biographies, the computer still hummed like a friendly bee. Nothing had changed, she assured herself.
She lifted the phone again and pressed Max’s button. ‘Meriel’s had a threatening phone call,’ she said without preamble.
‘And good morning to you, too.’
‘Max – this is serious. Did you hear what I said?’
‘How threatening?’
‘Drop the book, or else.’
‘Obviously you’re treading heavily on someone’s toes.’
‘But whose? And why should anyone care whether or not there’s a biography of Theo Harvey?’
‘If you remember, there were several question marks in his life.’ A pause. ‘What’s Meriel’s view on this?’
‘She wants to comply.’
‘Ah! And you don’t?’
‘You know very well that I can’t,’ she replied with asperity.
‘But you’d like to?’
‘No! I’m not going to be scared off by bully-boy tactics. I’m bound by the contract, but in any case it would start a precedent; anyone would think if they didn’t agree with what I was doing, they could shout “Boo!” and I’d scuttle off with my tail between my legs.’
‘That, I’d like to see! Seriously, why don’t you have a word with Eddie? See what he thinks about it?’
‘He’ll think the same as I do.’
Max was silent for a minute. ‘What are your plans today?’
‘This morning I’m catching up with yesterday’s interviews, and this afternoon I’ve an appointment with Theo’s aunt.’
‘Will the park figure in your programme?’
‘Probably,’ she said defiantly. ‘Gus will need a run, and I’ve no intention of letting this nonsense interfere with our routine.’
He sighed. ‘As you know, I’m tied up on Thursdays, otherwise I’d come with you.’
‘Max, I’m perfectly capable—’
‘I know, I know. Any other news? We’ve not spoken for a couple of days.’
‘Just that Lindsey has a new man.’
‘Indeed? That’ll put paid to Hugh. Anyone I know?’
‘I doubt it – Rob Stuart? We met at the theatre, and they hit it off straight away. She phoned last night to say they’re going out for dinner.’
‘What’s he like?’
‘Pleasant enough. An attractive smile.’
‘Well, good luck to her. I must go, or I’ll be late for Art School. Take care, my independent one.’
‘I will.’
Rona drew a deep breath and, squaring her shoulders, returned to her work.
She was a little disconcerted that afternoon when Miss Agnes Lethbury opened the door to her in a wheelchair. However, the old lady greeted her cheerfully and welcomed her inside. Her iron-grey hair was cropped short, her face a network of lines, and the blue eyes behind her spectacles were frankly inquisitive. She wore a cream silk shirt under a lavender cardigan, and a skirt of heather tweed which covered most of her legs.
As she bo
wled ahead of Rona down the hall, it was apparent that the bungalow was tailor-made for her needs; a glance through the open kitchen door revealed low-level equipment that could be operated from a sitting position, and the doorways were wide enough for the chair to pass through.
Miss Lethbury led the way into a sitting-room overlooking a neat if uninspired back garden. The room was comfortably furnished, with low tables and bookcases on which were arranged a selection of family photographs, which Rona hoped to sneak a look at later. There was a trolley beside the coffee table, laid with sandwiches covered in cling film, a cherry cake, and cups and saucers.
‘Excuse me while I bring in the tea,’ her hostess said, ‘then we can settle to our chat.’
‘May I—?’ Rona started, and broke off at a brisk shake of the head.
‘You’re punctual, my dear – I appreciate that – so the kettle is just coming to the boil. I shan’t be a moment.’
She bowled out again, and Rona, feeling slightly guilty, moved over to examine the photographs. One was a family group comprising a young Reginald Harvey, a woman holding a baby – Theo, no doubt – and two children sprawled on the grass in front of them. All were smiling at the camera. The woman’s hair was done in a ‘victory roll’ with a ‘bang’ at the front – a hideous style, Rona thought – and her cotton dress was short and plain. Reginald was in plus-fours, the boy’s shorts came down to his knees, and the girl’s dress had puff sleeves. Circa mid-1940s, she surmised.
‘Ah, you’re inspecting the family!’ said a voice behind and below her, and she turned as Miss Lethbury, a teapot perched perilously on the tray of her chair, came wheeling back into the room.
‘You’ve met my brother-in-law, I believe,’ she continued, pouring the tea. ‘He told me you were a charming gel.’
Rona smiled at her. ‘That’s nice of him.’
‘And no doubt you want to pump me about dear Theo?’ she went on, handing Rona a china cup and saucer. ‘Sit down, my dear, and help yourself to a sandwich. They’re tomato and cheese – a weakness of mine.’
Rona did as she was told, and went through the performance of asking about the recorder. Permission was granted with an airy wave of the hand.
‘I lived with them all for some years,’ Miss Lethbury began. ‘Did he tell you that? At the school, I mean. Frances and I were both teachers, though she was the brainier one.’
Brought to Book Page 13
