Willow laughed.
‘You’re obviously a good friend to her. What was the diatribe about?’
‘Vicky had recently sent her a list of editorial changes she wanted to the first six chapters that Gloria’s secretary had sent us. Gloria said she thought the changes were ludicrous, rude, unnecessary – all the usual stuff. When I heard that Vicky was managing all right, I stopped listening, switched the system on to the night lines and scarpered.’
‘I see. Thanks. I’ll have a word with Vicky about it. I want to gauge Gloria’s mood in her last few days.’
‘Horrible!’ said the receptionist, grimacing. ‘But it always was. Ann’s waiting for you, you know.’
‘So she is. I’d better go up. Thanks.’
Ann, who was looking more fashionable than usual in a long, tight skirt, a very waisted jacket and laced ankle boots, welcomed her author with a clear smile and an outstretched hand. When Willow took it, she was surprised to see Ann inclining her face. Obedient, but wary, Willow pushed hers forward until their cheeks met briefly.
‘I’m sorry I was so abrupt yesterday,’ said Ann as they each straightened up again. ‘I had the money men here and it was all rather grim. They can’t understand that books aren’t like shoes or brands of baked beans. You simply cannot do precise market research and know how many “units” you’re going to sell a year ahead of publication. You can guess all right, but no more than that. Books are too different from each other. They’re not “product” and they don’t work like it. I … Still, you don’t want to hear it all. It’s not your problem.’
‘Perhaps not at this moment,’ said Willow, ‘but I am interested – very interested – in the economics of publishing and how you can target the right audience for a novel and all that sort of thing.’
‘We must have a good session one day when there’s time. Now: to the Gloria memoir. I’m beginning to get the impression that you’re not as interested in it as you once were and, as it’s not one of my top priorities either, I do wonder whether we ought not simply to cut our losses and drop the whole idea. It’ll save you time you badly need for your own book, and the more I think about it the less saleable I think it would be.’
The sharpness of her disappointment surprised Willow and she started shaking her head even before Ann had finished speaking.
‘Oh no, you can’t drop it now,’ Willow said. ‘At least I hope you won’t. Um. I’m not really quite sure how to put this, but there is an aspect to it that will, I suspect, make it much easier for you to sell than you’d originally thought.’
‘Is there?’ Ann’s face brightened. ‘Perhaps I’d better have Vicky in after all. She asked whether she could edit the memoir and I originally said yes, subject to your approval.’
‘Fine,’ said Willow. ‘She can keep a confidence, can’t she? Nothing I’m going to tell you should be repeated outside this room.’
‘Oh, good Lord yes, she’s safe as houses. Pretty secretive actually.’ Ann picked up the telephone receiver by her elbow and dialled two numbers. ‘Vicky? Good. I’ve got Willow here. It looks as though the memoir may be going ahead after all, and so we’ll need you. Could you come straight away?’ Ann replaced the receiver without even waiting for an answer.
‘All right,’ she said, looking back at her author, ‘so tell me.’
‘Look,’ Willow began, having second thoughts about publicising her new discovery, ‘I don’t think anyone except you should know this for a bit, but Gloria was murdered.’
‘What?’ Ann seemed to grow paler as Willow watched her.
‘Yes,’ said Willow. ‘And when the news breaks there’s going to be a lot more publicity about her than you could have expected. From the crudest commercial point of view the memoir is going to be a good bet for you after all. Do let me go on with it. Please.’
‘God Almighty! Who did it?’
‘I don’t know yet. But the police must be dealing with it now. There’ll probably be some news before the funeral.’
‘But that’s tomorrow. Vicky and I are going.’
‘To what?’ asked Vicky from the doorway.
‘Gloria’s funeral,’ said Willow, when she saw that Ann was still too dazed to speak normally. ‘I’ll see you both there. Look, Ann, I’m sorry that I haven’t got the synopsis printed out for you yet, but I am almost there, I promise.’
‘Oh, that’s all right,’ said Ann, sounding strained. Vicky looked at her in obvious astonishment.
‘I’ve got a bit of a headache,’ said Ann, noticing her subordinate’s expression. ‘Could you bear to make some tea, Vicky? Willow, would you like some?’
‘D’you know, I’d love some,’ she said, wanting to finish her private conversation with Ann.
Looking angry, Vicky left the office.
‘Willow, are you certain?’
‘Yes, I’m afraid so. It’s been looking into it all that has distracted me from finishing your synopsis.’
‘I’m not surprised you’ve been distracted. But how did you … ? What made you … ? Damn! How do you know?’
‘Honestly, I think I’d better not go into it all, Ann. If you don’t mind. I’d never have said anything yet if you hadn’t thrown me by saying you wanted to cancel the whole idea. You see, I really do want Gloria to have a decent memorial. I know that sounds sentimental. And I know that she behaved vilely to a lot of people, but I’ve come to realise that she was quite a tragic figure, too, and I’d like to put it on record.’
Vicky returned then with three thick mugs of tea.
‘Willow’s just been telling me that Gloria is a figure of tragedy,’ said Ann, speaking in a high voice quite unlike her usual measured drawl. ‘Does that make sense to you?’
Vicky handed each of them their tea and frowned.
‘It’s not something I can immediately relate to. What makes you think it, Willow?’
Willow shrugged and drank some tea as she tried to organise her thoughts.
‘Chiefly that her books and the way she arranged her life were the result of a flight from truly horrible childhood experiences. The tragedy is that she got it all so wrong and made people hate her. If she could just have been more honest about herself and her circumstances, she might have found a much better escape and learned to live with people on a level instead of apart … above, whatever. Do you see what I mean?’
‘No, I don’t think I do,’ Vicky admitted. ‘What have you found out about her childhood? And how? She always kept it pretty dark.’
‘Ah, well, Gerald Plimpton gave me a few clues.’
Ann smiled and looked more at ease. ‘Dear Gerry. He is one of the sweetest men I’ve ever known, although I do sometimes wonder whether he’s cloaking rather a lot of unsweet stuff beneath the charm.’
‘He can certainly be ferocious when he’s crossed.’
Willow looked at Victoria, thinking that she seemed a great deal more confident than she had only a few days earlier. Despite having been sent out to make tea as though she were the office junior, she was making a real effort not to let herself be sidelined in the discussion. Congratulating herself for having sown a seed that was sprouting so quickly, Willow smiled and added what she hoped would be a little fertiliser.
‘Ann’s looking very surprised and it’s a new idea to me. Tell us what you meant, Vicky.’
‘Don’t you know what I mean, Ann?’ said Vicky almost patronisingly. ‘You must remember that time when Gerald completely lost his temper with one of the cleaners. She’d assumed that the manuscript he’d left balanced across the top of the wastepaper basket was meant to be thrown away. It was years ago, but I’ll never forget his volcano of rage. And there have been other times like it. There was one just before the staff outing in the last year before he retired, when he …’
Willow was laughing, but Ann snapped at her subordinate.
‘Dirty linen, Vicky. Not to be washed in public,’ she said, before turning to Willow. ‘It was understandable. He was under great pressure. Losin
g his temper with stupid staff wasn’t at all what I meant.’
‘It doesn’t matter anyway,’ said Willow. ‘Your dirty linen is quite safe with me. After all, I’m writing about Gloria, not the history of the firm.’
‘Fine,’ said Ann with more of her usual briskness. ‘So, Gloria Grainger, figure of tragedy. Well, it’s an interesting line. Presumably you’ll have to delve quite deeply into her psyche.’
‘I suppose I shall. Perhaps I ought to have the manuscript vetted by a shrink when I’ve finished, just to make certain that my assumptions about her make sense.’
‘Good idea,’ said Vicky firmly before Ann could say anything. ‘Now, can you give us any idea when you might finish? The synopsis is taking quite a long time.’
‘Really, Vicky,’ said Ann sharply. ‘How can Willow possibly know that yet? You’re exceeding your editorial authority.’
‘But it matters, Ann. As you know, I’ll be getting that huge saga from the States to translate into English English in about two months’time, which is pretty much when you said we were expecting the memoir. The Americans have said their author is completing the final draft now and they should be able to airfreight it to us just about then. Once it’s here, I’m going to be tied up for ages, and it’s the lead title for next year. At the same time you want the memoir rushed through, crashing all the production schedules. I’m not sure it’s going to be possible unless we can stagger the two projects.’
‘Excellent,’ said Willow. ‘Vicky, I’m proud of your firmness. How long will your translation and everything take?’
‘Oh, three weeks minimum,’ she said, looking faintly surprised by the praise. ‘It’s going to be at least a thousand pages.’
‘That’s not a problem then, Ann, is it? Speed isn’t quite as essential as we once thought. Why don’t I aim to get the memoir finished in three months? Ann, isn’t that all right?’
The managing director came out of her reverie, looking startled.
‘What? Yes, yes, all right. That sounds fine. Willow, you and I need to talk. Um, when … ?’
‘I’ll see you tomorrow at the funeral,’ said Willow, ‘we can fix something then. There’s someone else I really have to see this evening. I can’t let it go any longer,’ she added, badly wanting to have re-examined and eliminated most of her first suspects before Tom spoke to her again. ‘Could I use your telephone to fix it?’
Ann got off the sofa and pulled the telephone on her desk towards Willow, saying:
‘Just dial nine and you’ll get an outside line. Vicky and I will be outside. Come along.’
Willow dialled the number of Posy Hacket’s flat as the other two left the office, shutting the door behind them.
‘Posy,’ she said when her call was answered.
‘Yes?’ came the cautious reply.
‘Willow King here. I wondered if I could come and talk to you again.’
‘What about?’ There was enough abruptness in her voice to make Willow emphasise the more innocuous of the two things she wanted to ask Posy.
‘I have a theory about one of the ways in which Gloria’s childhood experiences might have affected her behaviour, but I may be barking up quite the wrong tree. Could I come and see you so that I can explain myself and see what your reaction is? You’re a kind of expert, you see, and I can’t think of anyone else who’d be more help.’
There was a pause before the journalist said harshly:
‘You’d probably do better with a psychiatrist or someone who runs one of the battered wives’refuges. My views are too personal.’
‘I’d rather talk to you. It’s an emotional reaction I want rather than a theoretical one. Please?’
‘Oh all right,’ said Posy ungraciously. ‘But it’ll have to be this afternoon. I’m busy all tomorrow.’
‘This afternoon would be fine.’ Willow saw that it was nearly five o’clock.
‘Fine. I’ve got to go out just after six.’
‘Right. I’ll hurry,’ said Willow, putting down the receiver and going out into the passage.
She found Ann there, straightening the laminated jackets that had been pinned up on a display board. Vicky Taffle was talking to a young man in jeans at the far end of the corridor. He was holding an immense typescript in his arms as though it were a baby.
‘Ann, I’ve got to go,’ said Willow. ‘You don’t want anything more from me now, do you?’
‘No, I don’t think so. Not here anyway, but I’ve a lot I want to ask you when we can talk. You will take care, won’t you? It all seems appallingly melodramatic and dangerous, but …’
‘I’ll be fine,’ said Willow. ‘Don’t worry. But I must rush now.’
They kissed again and Willow walked a little way down the passage to call out:
‘Vicky, I’m off, but it was good to see you – and looking so well too.’
The editor came running down the passage to shake hands.
‘And you. I did so much enjoy that dinner we had.’
‘So did I,’ said Willow, congratulating herself again on having managed to trigger something in Vicky that had made her stand up to the world a bit better. ‘Thank you for your letter. There was really no need to write.’
‘Oh, I had to,’ said Vicky, smiling. ‘You took so much trouble and you really made me understand something important. Thank you.’
‘It is good to see you so cheerful. I must run. I’ll see you tomorrow. ’Bye.’
Twenty minutes later Willow had only just eased her car round Russell Square and was wishing that she had left it at the parking meter outside Weston & Brown and taken the tube up to Islington. It took her another twenty minutes to get to Posy’s flat and park the car once more.
Willow was breathless by the time she rang the bell and gasped her name into the intercom. It seemed to have been repaired for Posy’s command to ‘come upstairs’was followed by the conventional buzzing sound. Willow pushed open the door and hurried up the stairs.
Posy was waiting for her, clearly dressed to go out in a calf-length black dress and a long cardigan jacket that sparkled with beads and black sequins. She looked startlingly good and her complexion seemed to glow with health. Willow looked more closely and saw that some of the radiance was cosmetic.
‘Sorry to hold you up,’ said Willow. ‘The traffic was simply awful. I see you’re about to go out. You do look marvellous.’
She looked away and slyly examined the old hats to check her memory of the pins that attached them to the wigstands. There they were: immense blobs of jet, amber, coral or pearl pushed into each of the hats. Willow wished she could pull them out to examine the long steel pins that must be attached to them.
‘Thanks,’ said Posy, who did not seem to have noticed Willow’s preoccupation with the hat collection. ‘There’s no time for tea, but would you like a very quick drink?’
Willow looked at the tray to which Posy was gesturing and then shook her head.
‘No thanks, but can we sit down? I don’t think I can talk to you while you’re standing there like the “Stern daughter of the voice of God”.’
Posy made herself smile.
‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to seem unwelcoming. It’s just that time’s a bit short this evening and I’m rather nervous. Now what is it that’s so urgent?’
Willow collected her thoughts, trying to cram everything she wanted to know into a single sentence and failing.
‘Would it make sense to you that, after experiencing all that violence in her childhood,’ she said, ‘Gloria could let herself become affectionate only towards men with serious disabilities?’
‘Physical or mental? I’m virtually certain she would avoid mental instability.’
‘I meant physical. Wheelchair, blind, something like that.’
‘Absolutely. He’d be no threat and she could allow herself to spill all the pent-up love over him and …’ Posy’s voice wobbled but she controlled it in order to add: ‘Even to trust him.’
‘That’s what I th
ought,’ said Willow. ‘Say she became fond of a man – a younger man – with such a disability, do you think her feelings could extend to the possibility of leaving him a fortune in her will?’
‘I’d have thought it extremely likely. After all, she’d pretty well cut herself off from the family, hadn’t she?’
‘Yes, and she’d no children, no spouse, apparently no particularly close friends. And then,’ said Willow mainly to herself, ‘if she discovered that he’d been shamming …’
‘She’d be devastated,’ said Posy quietly.
Willow saw that she was kneading her hands together as though there was a ball of particularly recalcitrant dough between them. ‘All her terror of trusting anyone would return, and with it the most terrible anger.’
‘Partly at herself, perhaps, for having pulled down her defences.’
Posy looked at her watch and stood up again.
‘You’re not suggesting she killed herself, are you?’ she asked, looking at Willow with real suspicion in her dark eyes.
Belatedly remembering that she was supposed to be researching Gloria’s life for a memoir rather than her death in pursuit of a murderer, Willow achieved a laugh.
‘Good heavens no! I’m just on the track of a failed romance of hers and I wanted to find some rationale for the failure. I think you’ve helped there.’
Posy looked once more at her watch and then swore.
‘I wish I could stay and hear about it, but I really do have to leave. I’m due to collect an award this evening and speak, and so I can’t be late.’
‘Congratulations.’
‘Thanks, but it means I’ll have to throw you out.’
‘I’m on my way,’ said Willow, picking up her bag and wishing that she had simply asked Posy the questions over the telephone instead of wasting so much time in traffic jams. ‘D’you want a lift anywhere? You’re not likely to pick up a taxi here.’
‘Would you drive me? A mini-cab was supposed to be here ten minutes ago, but I can’t wait for it now. A lift would really help. If you drop me at King’s Cross I can get a taxi without taking you too far out of your way.’
Bitter Herbs Page 22
