‘That’s not like her,’ said Amiss.
‘Never mind,’ said Pretoria. She stood up, walked around the table and kissed him. After a couple of minutes, Amiss pulled himself away. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ he said as they disengaged. ‘This is unethical. You’re a contributor, I’m an editor and I don’t approve of casting couches.’
She put her hands on her hips. ‘You’re an idiot, Robert,’ she said. ‘I’ve already been cast. Now, let’s get back to business.’
***
Amiss lay agonizing as Pretoria breathed gently beside him. He thought guiltily of Rachel and then even more guiltily about taking advantage of someone so young. At the thought of all the hideous complications that could ensue, he shuddered. Had he even told her the night before that he was to all intents and purposes married—even if going through a rocky marital patch? How could he tell her that this could be only a one-night stand? Would she be hurt or would she be furious? Might she abandon The Wrangler forthwith out of pique? And anyway did he want it to be a one-night stand? Did he truly still want to be with Rachel despite all the angst? Wouldn’t it be hugely invigorating to have a passionate romance with a creature like this. And besides, maybe Rachel would be glad to be rid of him.
As he fretted at his inability to know what he wanted, Pretoria opened her eyes and fell upon him enthusiastically. When an hour later they disentangled, Amiss looked at the clock and saw that it was just after eight and he had fifty minutes to catch his train. He gave Pretoria another hug. ‘I’m going to have to get up now,’ he said. ‘I have to go.’
‘Before you do,’ said Pretoria, ‘there’s something I have to say to you, Robert.’
He felt panic washing over him. Would she declare herself as having fallen in love? What would he say in return? What did he feel anyway? What did he want?
She settled snugly into his left shoulder. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘I don’t want to hurt your feelings in any way, but you do understand, don’t you, that this is just a one-off?’
He felt much more indignation than relief. ‘How’s that? What do you mean?’
‘A) you’re shacked up with someone else and I don’t break up relationships, b) you’re my editor and to continue would be unprofessional, and c) I’m young and I want to play the field. It’s been great fun, but we need to stop it here. No hard feelings.’
Amiss looked at as much of her as he could see. He looked at the earrings, he looked at the navel-ring, he looked at the tattoo on her right breast, he looked at the spiky hair and he felt his age. ‘You’re a new breed, you lot,’ he said and laughed. ‘Don’t worry, Pretoria. No hard feelings.’
Chapter Twenty-four
‘Lord Papworth can see you early evening at his flat.’
‘Fine. Tell him I’ll be there at six.’
Amiss spent the day putting together the best issue yet. Unencumbered by Lambie Crump and given more time to develop her interests, Phoebe Somerfield had produced a classic Wrangler leader on integrity in public life, as well as a three-page essay under her own name on the arrogance and dumbing-down of the BBC; Winterton had been let rip on sanctimonious and purposeless paternalism in the Home Office; and the baroness—with special reference to Napoleon and Bill Clinton (hated particularly for his anti-smoking crusade)—was arguing that liberalism always led to malevolent despotism, as Britain was beginning to find out. He was modestly pleased too with his own much more moderate leader on the dangers of futher politicizing the civil service—a subject on which he had unambiguous views.
***
‘So that’s that, Charlie. There’s just nothing to go on. The Met extends its apologies but there’s bugger-all it can do without evidence. It’s Milton’s considered view that neither Dwight nor Phoebe had anything to do with it, but he can’t formally give them a clean bill of health any more than he can give one to me or Jason or Josiah Ricketts. It’s not great for the journal and it remains tricky for you if you want to make either of them editor.’
‘But I don’t,’ said Papworth. ‘I’m very happy with you.’
‘I’ve got a problem, Charlie.’
Papworth looked at him wearily. ‘What sort of a problem?’
‘Do you remember the conversation we had the night before Willie died?’
‘What conversation?’
‘On the telephone. About my plan to move to a new printers. You were very pleased because it was bringing in a five-figure saving.’
‘Was that really the night before Willie died? But I was out.’
‘You were back at ten-twenty-five when I rang.’
‘Can you be sure?’
‘I’m afraid so. I checked it this morning when my telephone bill arrived.’
Papworth looked straight at him. ‘Fair enough. If you say so. I couldn’t place it myself.’
‘I know too that your wife says Willie had rung ten minutes earlier and been told you were in bed.’
‘You don’t want to read too much into this, Robert. I got up to get a nightcap.’
‘That might have convinced me, Charlie. But unfortunately I remember you telling me that Imogen was out and you were waiting up for her because she’d left a message on the answering machine saying she’d forgotten her keys.’
‘Bugger.’ Papworth snuggled into his chair and said nothing for a minute or two. ‘I’ve been worrying a bit about this,’ he said at last. ‘But I thought I was in the clear since there was no reason for you to know about Lambie Crump’s call. But I suppose you got chummy with that policeman.’
‘It came up in conversation, yes.’
‘So you told him?’
Amiss looked squarely at Papworth. ‘Not yet.’
‘And why not?’
‘Because I couldn’t bring myself to without telling you first.’
Papworth leaned over and patted Amiss on the knee. ‘I appreciate that,’ he said. ‘And don’t be afraid. I shan’t take advantage of your kindness by slipping a little-known South American poison into your drink.’
‘And I shan’t take advantage of your situation by asking you for half your kingdom. You know I’ve got to tell Milton the truth, however much I hate to do it.’
‘Will you have another whisky with me and give me the chance to get the story off my chest before you go to the police. It would make things easier for me.’
‘Of course.’
‘And can what I tell you remain in confidence? I mean, will you just tell the police what you know now?’
Amiss thought for a moment. ‘Yes,’ he said.
Papworth poured them both another large measure, added as much water again to his own drink and then pushed the jug over to Amiss, who followed suit. Then Papworth took a sip and began.
‘Crump came up to me at that drinks party at the Ritz and said he needed to talk to me urgently. “Something of profound importance for the future of The Wrangler,” he said. Would I come to his flat later that evening? I demurred. I’m getting on a bit for evenings as packed with appointments as this would have involved, but he was very insistent, so reluctantly I agreed.
‘I arrived on the dot at nine-fifteen. He was waiting for me in reception—which I thought was unusually thoughtful for him. We went up in the lift, he waved me to an armchair and poured me a drink. “I really want you to stop fighting Piers over the trust,” he said.
‘I told him I knew he did and that while I respected his position…’ He caught Amiss’s eye. ‘Yes, I know, but one has to say something. While I respected his position I wouldn’t give in. I knew what my duty was and I would persist. He looked at me insolently and said, “Charlie. One has to make it clear that this would be an unwise course of action.” Unwise for whom, I asked. “Unwise for you and Piers, but particularly for Piers.”
‘At which stage, my dear Robert, as you can imagine, m
y head was beginning to spin. “Piers and I are on opposite sides, don’t you remember, Willie?” I said. “What the devil are you talking about?”
‘“The murder of Henry Potbury,” said he.
‘So we stared each other down a bit. I’m quite good at that, as a matter of fact. And after a minute or two he dropped his eyes and said crossly, “Didn’t Piers tell you he murdered Henry?” No, I said. “How remiss of him,” he drawled.
‘“Clearly,” I said, in my most pompous voice, “you are privy to information to which I am not.” “Not information,” he said. “Observation. It was for Piers an unfortunate happenstance that I had popped up to my flat to collect my coat and thoughtfully returned to the dining room just to check that all the guests were gone, only to see Piers emerging from the playroom. It was what these frightful critics these days call a defining moment, although that was not apparent until he spoke. ‘Ah, Willie,’ he said. ‘This is a little unfortunate.’ ‘In what way?’ I asked. ‘There’s been a sad accident,’ he said. ‘I’d better show you.’ And then he showed me. ‘Shouldn’t we pull him out?’ one suggested, admittedly without much enthusiasm. ‘Too late, Willie. Too late,’ said Piers. ‘Besides, even if it were not, it would defeat the purpose. I suggest we leave.’ ”
‘That didn’t prove that Piers drowned Henry, I pointed out to Willie. “Even if you are telling the truth, he might simply have discovered him and realized he was dead.” “In which case,” said Willie, “he would have called the police.” “You didn’t,” I said. “That was because—as Piers said as we left together—it was much better to muddy the waters and leave as much time as possible before Henry was discovered, so as to make it harder to pinpoint the time of death. ‘After all, Willie,’ he said, ‘we would be the prime suspects, and it would therefore be very unfortunate that we were on the spot.”’
‘At this stage Willie looked at me and said, “And the waters would have been well and truly muddied, had it not been for that”’—Papworth stopped and looked apologetically at Amiss—‘“that busybody and tiresome do-gooder Robert Amiss rushing back like some fussy nanny to look for Henry.”
‘He stopped then and I said, “Willie, for all I know you’re making this up.” “You were bound to say that,” he said. “And you can of course check with Piers. It may very well be that he’ll say it was the other way around and he discovered me. But he would still be implicated.”
‘At that moment he put his head on one side and smirked at me. “You know this has to be the truth. Willie Lambie Crump is an improbable man of action, whereas Piers is a daredevil and well known for his impulsiveness.”
‘“Why are you telling me this, Willie?” I asked. “Do you wish to blackmail me?” “Of course,” he said blandly. I was still foxed: “But why should I believe you would tell anybody about this. Surely it’s not to your advantage to have your ally denounced in this way—especially if he counter-accuses you?” “Oh, don’t worry about that,” the shit said. “One took a small precaution.” And he switched on a tape recording of a brief telephone conversation in which he could be heard saying something along the lines of, “One is trying to play the white man, Piers, but one does have the occasional qualm of conscience. Still, you can rely on me. I shan’t tell anyone about Henry.” To which Piers unfortunately remarked, “Thanks, Willie. I appreciate it.”’
‘That’s not exactly definitive in a court of law,’ said Amiss.
‘No, but it would help with a motive as strong as Piers’s.’
‘But surely…’ said Amiss.
‘Yes, I think I know what you’re going to say, Robert. And I said it. “Why would you get yourself into trouble and face possible prosecution for having suppressed this information?” I asked, and he looked at me blandly and said contemptuously that I should not worry. He would plead that he was a coward who was frightened that Piers might be violent with him too.
‘I still didn’t believe that this was anything but an empty threat and I said so. Then he looked at me and said, “Charlie, I don’t think you quite understand. One has had it up to here with this little tin-pot journal. There’s only one way out and Sharon McGregor’s offered it to me if I can sort out the trust business once and for all. You are standing in my way.”
‘He laughed then. “Were one a violent man, one would kill you somehow or other,” he said. “But one is not so minded. Or to put it more frankly, one doesn’t have the nerve. But one certainly has it in one to take revenge if one doesn’t get one’s way.”
‘He smiled offensively and said, “Come now, Charlie. You know I’ve got a nasty streak. Surely you realize you can’t afford to take the risk that your son and heir gets locked up for life. Awful blot on the family escutcheon, for one thing.”
‘Then he leered again. “Sorry, Charlie. But one does like to get one’s own way.” And I thought of all those occasions over the years when Willie had wanted his way and I’ve given in because if I didn’t he whinged to the trustees, and I thought how the little excrescence was more than capable of shopping Piers through spite just to get at me. So I got up and said, “I’m an old man, Willie. I need time to think. Now perhaps you’ll be kind enough to advise me where’s the best place to get a taxi this time of night.”
‘He got up too, and advised me to go out the back if I could face the fire escape, and with exquisite politeness steered me to the back, switched on the light at the gate and waved me off. I wasn’t back at home five minutes before he rang and said, “Charlie, you must understand I mean it, and if I don’t have the right answer within forty-eight hours, that’s it.”’
‘What a bastard,’ said Amiss.
‘Indeed. But I feared he was probably telling the truth. Piers is not capable of cold-blooded murder, but I can all too easily see him having an altercation with Henry, getting a rush of blood to the head and slamming his head into the bowl. There were a couple of worrying incidents in his youth. No fatalities, you understand. But indications that his temper could suddenly turn uncontrollable and vicious.’
‘So then?’
‘Well, I couldn’t talk to Piers: this wasn’t the sort of thing one wishes to chat about over twelve thousand miles of telephone lines. But I knew in my bones that Henry had died at his hands, that Willie had colluded and that from my point of view there was only one way out, for I would never give in to blackmail of that kind.
‘So I decided. To kill Willie, I reasoned, was a bit like culling a diseased stag. Willie was rotten to the core. He was happy to destroy a great journal that had made his life interesting and comfortable for reasons of pure greed. Because I wanted to stop him, he was quite prepared to destroy my son, who had done nothing Willie disapproved of, and who—for all that I believe him to be a murderer—is not a bad man. Anyway, he’s my son.
‘So when my wife had returned and gone to bed I found the wire and tiptoed out of the house. I don’t need to tell you the rest.’
‘How did you get back through the garden gate?’
‘I’d left that open so my options would be too.’
‘What did you do in the war, Charlie?’
Papworth grinned. ‘Good question. Young people forget we did things. And some of the time I was a commando. I often think that having been in a war sometimes gives us the edge over the young. Certainly, had I not seen action, I doubt if I would have embarked on a new career as a murderer at the age of seventy-six. Apart from anything else, I wouldn’t have known what to do.’
‘What a pity…’ said Amiss, and stopped. Papworth raised an eyebrow.
‘The telephone call from Willie. If only…’
‘Ah yes, that fateful telephone call. If only I had admitted to receiving it, I wouldn’t be in the pickle I’m in. But you see I didn’t want to draw attention to myself, and in my innocence I didn’t know that the wretched telephone company now can snoop on who rings whom. Then I thought I
had covered it up all right, or rather I thought Imogen had covered it up all right, but unfortunately I had forgotten until now that it was that night you phoned about the printers.’
‘How much does Imogen know?’
‘Just that I told a stupid lie and that it could be incriminating. Naturally she didn’t ask anything more. One of her great merits is that she never seeks to know that which people don’t want to tell her. But though she is an honest woman, she would lie to anyone for my sake and do it well too.’
Amiss looked at Papworth. ‘Charlie, I know you are calm by disposition. But really you seem extraordinarily unperturbed by the prospect of ending up in court and in jail.’
‘I am really, but I thought it all through before I actually went back to the Wrangler building and set the ambush for Willie, and I was prepared to take the consequences of my actions. Having said that, I’ll wriggle out of this if I can, though I suppose there’s a fair chance that they’ll find some cab driver who remembers me or something else incriminating. If I have to, I’ll confess to having murdered Willie because he was trying to destroy The Wrangler. Obviously, I’ll say nothing about Piers. And I suspect that prison won’t be too bad since they’ll be kind to me for the few months I’ve got.’
‘The what?’
‘Of course, I haven’t told you this, have I? Piers knows I’m not in the most robust of health, but only Imogen knows I’m dying. Leukaemia. Indeed, one of the things that made it easier for me to embark on this crime was being terminally ill. It’s the best time to choose to do the sort of thing that gets you a life sentence.’
He cradled his glass in his wizened old hands. ‘Robert, I can’t pretend that I wouldn’t be grateful if you could keep this to yourself, but I understand that you probably can’t. You’re an honest man and a supporter of law and order. You know too that since I made you the offer of permanent editorship before you told me about your phone call, I’m not trying to bribe you. If you go to the police, as far as I’m concerned, you can still stay editor and I’m sure I can rely on you to send me copies of the journal when I’m in jail. But I know too that I can rely on you not to tell what I’ve told you in confidence.’
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