by Amy Myers
Georgia frowned. ‘What does he expect you to do?’
‘No idea.’
‘Did you discuss the Watson project with him?’ It was the last straw to return to this shock after yet another frustrating day scrabbling to join up loose threads that seemed to have no intention of being tied down.
‘Of course not. I’d have been way out of order.’
‘So Peter’s announcement sparked this off. Are you going to reply?’
‘Of course. It’s what I’m going to say that’s the problem.’
‘You won’t be put off by this veiled threat?’ She was getting into deep waters here, prejudiced by her own position as author.
‘Doesn’t that rather depend on what it’s based on? He’s right in one respect, Georgia. What you’ve told me about the case provides very little new evidence about Joan’s death, even though it gives much scope for speculation. Tom still seems the only person likely to have murdered his wife.’
‘Put like that,’ Georgia said sadly, ‘no case in the world could progress.’ There was a wall between them now, which chilled her. She had often imagined such a clash between author and publisher and how it might differ or affect the clash of husband and wife, but now the reality had come, she felt unable to cope with it. She could see no way through.
‘Maybe that’s just as well.’
This was even worse. Could it be Luke saying this? She had always believed that she would be able to divide the personal from the professional in such a conflict, but now she feared she could not. ‘Is this the publisher talking or you?’ she asked.
‘I hope,’ Luke replied evenly, ‘that it’s the former.’
‘So do I.’ But the wall was still there.
‘Shall we leave this until tomorrow to talk over with Peter?’
Even as she answered him, she knew it would be a risky move, but it was done. ‘Let’s get it over with. Let’s go now.’
It was still light as they drove in silence through the lanes to Haden Shaw. Luke doesn’t believe in us, Georgia was mentally saying over and over again in shock. She could not rid herself of a sense of personal betrayal, even though she knew this was unfair. It was only the publisher in him speaking. She told herself that he had always been doubtful about this case – and now he was seizing on this letter to justify it. True, Marsh & Daughter had a contract for the book they were intending to write, but the contract contained the usual libel clause. In any case neither she nor Peter was ever stupid enough to publish without firm evidence, whether the people concerned were alive or dead. Nevertheless, it was hard to tell whether it was her mind or her stomach churning so hard as Luke drew up outside Haden Shaw’s one and only pub.
‘I’ll prop the bar up here,’ Luke said, ‘while you talk it over with Peter. Then you can give me a ring to summon me over.’
Always practical, always so right, damn you, Georgia thought. If Peter exploded in fury, as was highly likely – as Luke well knew – it was better that Luke should not be present. After he’d done with explosions, Peter would present his case for Marsh & Daughter in a more reasoned way than she could. Another failing of hers, she supposed. There might be an overdose of emotion in any case she presented, and that would be a big mistake. Nevertheless, as she walked down Haden Shaw’s main street towards Peter’s home she fervently wished she too were tucked up cosily in the pub.
She gave her special evening ring at the door of three short buzzes, and then went straight in, as she often did on an evening call. Only this time it was not a normal call. She had been concentrating so hard on the Harold Staines letter that she forgot Janie might be visiting Peter. And tonight she was – this was all too clear as Georgia entered.
She stopped abruptly as she heard a first class row in progress, appalled to hear Janie sobbing and Peter’s irate shout: ‘For heaven’s sake, leave me alone, woman. Stop fussing.’
Should she retreat? Georgia wondered. They clearly hadn’t heard the doorbell. Too late, as Janie came rushing out of the living room, and beyond her Georgia could see Peter fuming and red-faced.
Janie didn’t even look surprised to see her. She just cried, ‘Whatever I do, I annoy him. I try and try, but he doesn’t want to see me.’
‘Let him calm down.’ Georgia put her arm round her. Ineffectual probably, but she could try. ‘He often gets like this. It’s only the frustration.’
‘No, he doesn’t.’ Janie detached herself and opened the front door. ‘No, no, no. And anyway, I can’t take it any more. I really can’t.’
What would Luke do or say? Georgia tried frantically to think. He was usually good at calming situations down. Or was he? Today, he might run like hell from another confrontation.
Peter was wheeling himself furiously towards them. ‘What the blazes do you want, Georgia?’
Janie first, Georgia thought, taking her arm and leading her out to the car. If she could find the right words . . . ‘What do you want, Janie?’ she asked her gently. ‘Do you know? If you want someone just to look after, you’re right that Peter’s not for you. If you love Peter, then give him what he needs, not what you need. Is that possible?’
At least she succeeded in stopping Janie in her tracks, and the sobs stopped too. Janie pulled herself up with obvious effort. ‘Of course you’re right. But you’ve had years to adapt to Peter’s situation. Didn’t you struggle at first? I’ve had less than a year. It’s not so long.’
Was she talking about Peter? Georgia wondered. Or the death of her mother? She watched Janie get into her car, her mind full of mixed emotions. Who could blame Janie if she needed someone to take her mother’s place? Georgia forced herself to think back to how she had felt when Peter was first confined to a wheelchair. Her mother, Elena, couldn’t cope. First Rick’s disappearance and then Peter’s accident. Georgia was now able to concede that Elena had tried, but she had failed. She had given up after six months of Peter’s unrelenting tantrums interspersed with silent spells of depression. Then Elena had left and Georgia had taken over – hardly the best of carers, considering that her own marriage had broken down. She and Peter had coped together – somehow. He had dealt with her problem by ignoring the subject of Zac. His view was that her marriage had happened and it was over. And she supposed she must have treated his accident in the same way. Had she mothered him? No. She thought she could truthfully claim that she had treated him as she always had. She could take no credit for that, however. She had needed him because Zac was in prison and her divorce was going through. It had been a mutual acknowledgement of a status quo with no requirement on either side for pampering. It looked as if this balance was way out of kilter where Janie and Peter were concerned, however. Janie did all the pampering, but Peter was ignoring her needs.
Watching her drive off, Georgia wished she could do the same, but she couldn’t. There was Peter to face, and Luke, and Harold Staines’s letter. First, an angry and no doubt guilt-filled father awaited her inside.
At least the guilt was uppermost when she reached him. ‘Sorry,’ he muttered, ‘but I had to do it sometime.’
‘You hardly chose the kindest way,’ Georgia said, trying not to sound tart.
‘Perhaps it was the only way. It wouldn’t have worked. You know that.’
‘I don’t know that,’ she said crossly. ‘Stop trying to put it on to me. It’s your future at stake. You and Janie get along fine. It was only—’
‘I love that word only. If one thing drives you crazy, there’s no only about it.’
‘Yes, there is. You’re forgetting she needs fussing over too.’ Georgia ground to a halt. ‘Sorry, Dad. I’m not in good shape myself this evening.’
‘Luke been beating you?’ he joked.
‘Not physically. Have a look at this.’
He snatched the Staines letter so quickly that Georgia realized she might by chance have hit a nerve over Janie. Peter never liked to feel himself at fault and was hoping that by switching to Marsh & Daughter business he might be able to avoid examin
ing his attitude to Janie more closely. He was wrong, of course, but at the moment it suited Georgia. She wasn’t up to long talks about Janie tonight. She needed more preparation. Work was therefore a relief to her too, and Peter must have agreed, because signs of emotional turmoil subsided as he finished reading the letter.
‘What did Luke make of this?’
‘He’s very disturbed. He won’t say anything until we’ve had a chance to discuss it though. He’s waiting in the pub for me to summon him when we’re ready.’
Peter’s eyes gleamed. ‘Make it waiting for us. It’s Margaret’s day for vegetarian only, and I need to get out of this hellhole. Luke can take us to dinner.’
‘Luke will. I’m not sure whether Luke the publisher would though.’
‘As bad as that?’
‘Yes.’
‘So we’ve got to sing for our supper?’
‘If you feel up to it.’
Peter muttered something she could not hear properly, but which might have been ‘blasted women’. What he allowed her to hear was: ‘Of course I do. What’s behind this letter?’
That was what was so good about working with Peter. He cut straight through to the chase. ‘Something to hide?’ she suggested.
‘Possible. Such as?’
‘Harold knows what happened to Tom both in 1953 and 1975.’
‘Possible. Protecting his own involvement?’
‘Or someone else’s.’
‘Does he feel so close to his old chums that he would turn a blind eye to murder?’
Georgia blinked. ‘Murder in 1975?’
Peter looked startled. ‘I meant Joan Watson. But we can’t rule out Tom being murdered later, even though it’s a leap into the dark with the facts we have so far. It would certainly account for no one seeing him after that. It’s bothered me as to why he should cut himself off from the family where he’d been so happy in London.’
‘What about suicide?’
Peter gave some thought to this. ‘Unlikely,’ he said at last. ‘His seeing Pamela was a positive action. He wouldn’t have bothered if he was depressed to the point of suicide. And by all accounts he wasn’t. But if suicide or murder, why no body?’
‘Because the name Bert Holmes was attached to it when found?’
Peter sighed. ‘Here we go again. I fear Luke would be fully justified in pointing out that this is speculation in a big way. Not what the publisher ordered. We have to admit to ourselves that we’re still floating along on this case, just as we are on Rick.’
‘Luke won’t accept any more floating.’ Ignore the subject of Rick. She just could not bear it. She was forcing herself to keep the Internet search for Mozart venues going, but each click of the mouse became more painful as the constant foreboding that it would lead nowhere grew stronger.
Peter looked glum. ‘That’s all we can offer him, if we have to make a declaration right now. We could tell him to wait until we deliver the script – we’ve a contract, so we would be within our rights. He can then have a free choice as to whether to publish or not.’
‘Is that fair? He has advance schedules, jacket-design costs and budgets to fix.’
Peter considered. ‘The other option is to tell Luke he can cancel the contract, and we’ll present a script as and when.’
‘Which course do you prefer?’ She knew which she did, but then she was biased.
‘Cancel the contract.’
Relief. ‘That’s my choice too. You never know, it might bring good luck, and evidence will come flooding in.’ This solution would cut the Gordian knot nicely. There would be no more clashes with Luke the publisher.
‘Agreed,’ Peter grunted. ‘Right now I’d like a dose of good luck. But this evening a dinner at the White Lion would do me. And a stiff drink.’
The White Lion served good food, and one of its many advantages was that Peter could get there easily by himself in the wheelchair. Luke was sitting on a bench inside with a half of bitter before him, looking up apprehensively as they arrived.
‘Is this joint deputation ominous?’ he asked.
‘Only if you don’t buy us a drink,’ Peter assured him. ‘On second thoughts, buy me dinner and you’re off the hook completely.’
‘Dinner, yes, but what particular hook might this be?’ Luke asked him cautiously.
‘The Watson case. Georgia and I have decided to give you your money back—’
‘So far so good,’ Luke quipped.
‘And cancel the contract. If we finish the Watson book, we give you first option of publishing it on the same terms.’
‘Ah. I’ll have to think about that,’ Luke said, then went over to buy their drinks.
Peter looked taken aback. ‘I thought he’d jump at it.’
‘So did I.’ Georgia watched Luke returning with the two glasses. Peter had elected to have a whisky – always a sign that he was in turmoil, since he never usually drank spirits.
‘First,’ Luke said, plonking glasses in front of them, ‘I don’t like threats like this letter from Staines. Second, why the hell should I cancel a contract when I don’t yet know and can’t guess whether the text is defamatory or not? I haven’t seen it, and you haven’t even written it. Third,’ he added, as Georgia began to laugh, ‘I really don’t like threats. So fourth, things stay as they are for the moment.’
Thank heavens for Luke, she thought. Another cutter of Gordian knots. And glory be, publisher and authors were on the same side again.
‘I tell you what,’ she said to Luke amiably, ‘Marsh & Daughter will buy you dinner.’
‘Done,’ Luke said promptly. ‘Is Janie—’ He broke off as Georgia’s foot landed firmly on his. He looked at her in bewilderment. ‘What did I say?’
‘I imagine,’ Peter said gently, ‘that Georgia wished you to know that Janie left me rather abruptly this evening.’
‘Ah.’ Luke glanced from one to the other. ‘Was she pushed or did she run?’
That stopped Peter in his tracks. ‘Pushed,’ Georgia answered crossly. Torn as she was over Janie, Peter had acted far too impulsively – at least to the observer’s eye, she conceded.
‘Pity,’ was Luke’s comment.
Peter glared. ‘I do not need sympathy – or a nurse. Is that clear?’
Perhaps the good luck had been kick-started by the reconciliation with Luke, for when Georgia arrived the next morning, Peter was beaming. Had Janie returned? Apparently not from his opening greeting.
‘There’s a message on your phone, Georgia. Hope you won’t mind, but I listened to it. We might be on our way to that hard evidence our publisher will require.’
‘Good. Who? What?’
‘Or even why. Cath rang. She’d lost your mobile number, which is why it was on the office phone. Ex-Sergeant Buck Dillon wants to talk to us. Us, kindly note, not just you. He was prepared to come over here – no doubt,’ Peter added sarcastically, ‘in view of the fact I’m wheelchair bound. I explained that no special treatment is required. The chair merely represents my legs, not my brain.’
‘Was he happy about that?’
‘He was. He even laughed. I like the sound of Buck Dillon. I’ve arranged for us to go on Monday.’
‘Any idea what he wants to talk about?’
‘He doesn’t sound as if he’s about to confess to anything, let alone murder.’
‘How about smuggling? Just a guess, but you did ask Cath to follow up that line.’
Georgia noticed Peter’s sardonic eye on Cath, who kept protectively near her grandfather. Obviously protective ladies were still in Peter’s mind, although the name Janie had not passed his lips since Wednesday evening. Georgia was sorry for Cath, who must feel rather as she did with Luke, torn between her job and her family loyalties. She only hoped that whatever Buck had to tell them wasn’t going to destroy Cath’s faith in him.
Fortunately Buck and Peter seemed to hit it off immediately. ‘My wife’s out today, and that’s good,’ he told them. ‘She doesn’t know too much about m
y misspent youth. I’d have preferred this young woman here –’ Buck glanced affectionately at Cath – ‘didn’t either, but there you go. She’s got a job to do, she says.’
‘Whatever you tell me,’ Cath retorted, ‘I won’t believe you’re a monster.’
‘See what I mean, Georgia?’ Buck replied. ‘She tells me she might be joining your family, so I wanted you to see the kind of thing you’ll have to put up with.’
‘Charlie’s a lucky fellow,’ Peter said.
‘Not yet he’s not,’ Cath shot back. ‘I’m still thinking it over.’
‘Don’t think too long,’ Buck suggested, ‘or the fat lady will start singing.’ Then he turned to Georgia. ‘You’ll have noticed that I keep my distance from the old crowd nowadays. No reunions for me.’
‘Because of Joan’s death?’
‘Maybe. I guess you still have me in the frame for that.’
‘You, Tom Watson and the whole wide world at present,’ Peter answered frankly. ‘But I’m afraid that Tom is still way out in front. Motive, means and opportunity. He didn’t even have a credible alibi except for Cherry’s evidence, and that’s hardly reliable.’
‘She’s out in cloud cuckoo land, that one,’ Buck observed.
‘Did you know her then?’
‘Depends on what you mean by know. I remember young Cherry being around, making eyes at Tom, and I guess he liked that. It was a change from the way Joan treated him. I should tell you that I was a lot further in with that gang than I let you think, Georgia. And I had to cut myself off sharpish. The US Air Force wasn’t too keen on its men being murder suspects or even giving evidence. We were supposed to be the good guys.’
