The English Boys

by Julia Thomas

  The film producer Sir John Hodges and his wife, Antonia, with whom Daniel had become familiar, regarded the proceedings with something bordering on outrage. The Hodges had produced the Hardy film in which he, Hugh, and Tamsyn had starred, and they were now in post-production, making arrangements to promote the picture. A great deal had been expected of it. On the other side of them, Marc Hayley sat next to his date, Anna Parrish, who was talking in a low voice on her mobile.

  One by one, they were called in to speak to the police, until eventually Daniel was the only person left in the room. In spite of himself, his heart beat faster as he wondered if the police could possibly think he would kill someone he cared for as much as Tamsyn.

  He waited to be assigned to a police officer, practicing his statements in his head in spite of himself: I have no idea what happened. She was perfectly fine when I saw her; eager to get married. We talked, like any normal day. While thoughts swirled in his tired brain, Inspector Murray himself walked over, and rather than taking Daniel into a separate room like everyone else, he pulled up a chair and sat next to him. The poor lighting threw shadows in the tracery of lines on the older man’s face.

  “You’re Daniel Richardson,” he stated.

  “Yes, sir,” Daniel replied, waiting for him to take out a pen and pad of paper, but the Inspector merely crossed his arms.

  “How long have you known Miss Burke?”

  “Almost a year,” he answered.

  “I understand you were close.”

  “Yes,” he managed. “I introduced her to Hugh, in fact.”

  “And you’ve been friends with Hugh for a number of years.”

  “Yes, since we were young.”

  Murray’s eyes narrowed. “How did you feel about them becoming a couple?”

  Privately, Daniel had thought them mismatched, but he wouldn’t say that to the inspector. Instead, he answered, “They were happy. They were my friends. I was happy for them.”

  “Can you tell me what happened this morning?”

  “I have no idea. I went to talk to her, to wish her luck. I don’t think I was in there more than five minutes, if that.”

  “What did you talk about?”

  “How beautiful she looked, mainly. She seemed anxious about the dress.” He neglected to repeat Tamsyn’s assertion that he was jealous of Hugh. It would only implicate him unfairly.

  “Did you see anyone else in the corridor before or after you left?”

  “I don’t think so.” Daniel leaned forward, his shoulder muscles tense. “No, wait. I did see Noel Ashley-Hunt. He was looking for Hugh. In fact, we both were.”

  “And then?”

  “He asked me to look for his son. I found Hugh a few minutes later in the chapel.”

  “How long did you and Hugh talk?”

  “Not long. A few minutes at most. It was almost time for the ceremony.”

  “Did you notice anything out of the ordinary? Anyone running or rushing away from that room?”

  “I’ve wracked my brain, but I can’t think of anything. I was a bit distracted.”

  “Ah, yes,” Murray said. “You were having a rather public quarrel with Sarah Williams.”

  Daniel looked at the inspector. “We went out last week, but I realized right away it was a mistake and I don’t want to see her again. Unfortunately, she took it personally.”

  “She’s definitely a very angry woman. Quite a number of people interviewed mentioned that she struck you in the hall. You’re fortunate that it establishes your whereabouts near the time of the murder.” Murray touched his lip in thought. He reached into his coat pocket and extracted a business card. “If you think of anything else, I want you to give me a ring.”

  “That’s it? I can go?”

  Murray nodded. “You may go, but I’ll be in touch.”

  It was late by the time the cab pulled up in front of his building, and he was exhausted.

  Daniel turned up his collar as he got out of the taxi. The mild weather had been interrupted by a burst of cold wind and the threat of rain. He walked up the steps to the entrance, relieved to be home, and took the lift up to his flat.

  It was his first flat, this cavernous set of rooms in the white stone building off Kensington High Street, just around the corner from his favorite pub. It was sparsely furnished, which suited him, a contrast to Hugh’s more formal house in Holland Park, which resembled a nineteenth-century gentleman’s club full of jardinières and walking sticks and good leather chairs. Daniel had often wondered how Tamsyn fit in there. She cluttered up the place with pink and purple knitted scarves and boots littering the floors and gaudy bangles lying atop Hugh’s first-edition copy of Daniel Deronda. What did they see in each other, really? he wondered as he unlocked the door and stepped inside. He turned and bolted it behind him, as if to lock out everything that had happened that day. He went straight to his bar and looked at the dismal contents before shrugging off his jacket and collapsing on the sofa, his fists tucked into his eye sockets.

  After a few minutes, he rubbed his face and opened his eyes. He had no idea what he was going to do. A world without Tamsyn Burke was unimaginable. She had been the only one who could make him laugh at any time or any place, particularly the wrong place, simply with one of her devilish looks.

  “You’re going to go mad if you sit here and think about it all night,” he said aloud to himself. However, he didn’t stir. Instead, he stared at the large empty wall across from the sofa, on which Tam had once threatened to paint zinnias. He ought to have let her. He suddenly wanted something of hers, like one of her endless scarves, something he could hold in his hands. He would ask Carey about it at the funeral. God, he thought, groaning. She’d have him in church twice in one week. It was one more bit of proof of her hold over him.

  There was a knock at the door. For a moment, he didn’t move, imagining Tamsyn on the other side in one of her mad miniskirts and Aran Isle cardigans. Knowing it wasn’t, he was tempted to leave it. It was probably his mother, with his father and brother in tow, worried that he wouldn’t eat.

  “Richardson,” came a call from the other side of the door.

  Daniel recognized Marc Hayley’s voice and raised a brow. Hayley was Hugh’s friend, and for a moment he wondered how he had gotten his address. Then he remembered: Tamsyn had thrown a party at his flat a few months before. She’d strung lanterns from the ceiling and thrown open windows, despite the fact that it had been the middle of winter. She’d pranced about the room pouring vodka and speaking in a Russian accent all evening, acting like a prostitute trying to get someone to take her home for the night. She’d been ridiculously wonderful and his chest grew tight thinking about it.

  “Richardson, are you in there?” Hayley called again.

  “Hold on,” he answered. He forced himself to get up from the sofa and go over to unlock the door.

  Hayley stood there with his dark, curly hair flopped down in front of his face like one of the characters he played in films. All that was missing were the breeches and boots. “What a day,” he said, heaving large breaths from running up the stairs. “What a fucking bad day. There’s only one thing for it.”

  “What’s that?” Daniel asked.

  “Getting pissed.”

  He stared at Hayley for a long moment, realizing he was right. Anything would be better than sitting here choking on every small memory, even having a drink on an empty stomach with a prat like Marc Hayley.

  “All right,” he said. “I’ll get my coat.”

  They tumbled back out into the street, where it was now dark. Shopfronts were lit, enticing buyers inside to buy their wares. It had begun to rain, and couples ambled about under umbrellas, looking in windows and talking in low voices. In fact, the whole world seemed to be going about business as usual. It was infuriating. Everything was different now. From this day on, Daniel would divi
de his life into two parts: Before Tamsyn, and After. And After was a place he really didn’t care to be.

  Four

  The Duke of Marlborough public house was just a few streets from his flat, and though Daniel hated bringing Marc Hayley there on the principle that one doesn’t shit where one eats, he was too tired to think of another decent pub. Rain soaked the collar of his coat, but he ignored the insistent drizzle and walked alongside his companion, looking at familiar sights along the way for comfort on this dreary night. They passed St. Mary Abbots Church, and though he had never attended services, nor was he religious, there was something he liked about the ancient building with its tall archway and heavy wooden door. It gave him comfort when he needed peace. He sometimes walked inside the gate and sat on a bench, buffered from the bustle of the High Street. He had occasionally met Tamsyn there, bringing large cups of coffee on chilly days, and though they were hardly removed from the street, it felt as though they were in another world. A flower shop had taken up residence against one wall, with buckets of roses stowed behind the stone walkway. It was a quiet place to sit, unmolested by hordes of shoppers or the occasional rabid fan. Then there was the highly entertaining game of Fashion Disaster, when he would listen to Tamsyn rate the attire of various passersby, even while she herself wore great woolly boots with tassels and amorphous gypsy frocks. It always made him laugh, because she did it with a straight face. He once told her she frightened mere mortals.

  Daniel pushed his fists harder into his pockets. Nearing the pub, he realized his mobile had been silent all day. Most of his calls lately had been from Tamsyn or Hugh. Tamsyn, in particular, had spent the last month bothering him relentlessly with wedding details. Her mother was in Wales and Carey was occupied with her studies, but Daniel knew that even if her sister could have spared the time, she wasn’t the sort to worry about particulars like cake and beaded slippers and what size font was appropriate for the invitations. Hugh, meanwhile, was openly disinterested and frequently told Tamsyn “whatever you want,” a phrase Daniel had thought would serve him well once the two were married. Tamsyn didn’t seem to mind her bridegroom’s reticence.

  “Men hate planning weddings,” she’d said once.

  Daniel had laughed at the irony. “Precisely.”

  Even though he hated it as much as the next man, now he was glad he had been there for her when she’d needed him most. At least he could say that.

  “This is it,” he said, nodding toward the large green door in front of them. There wasn’t anything special about this pub, but he liked it all the same, from the plain bar towels down to the pictures on the wall: bland images of Surrey, with sheep dotting the hillside and clouds hanging low over a green valley. The frames were non­descript and ordinary. In fact, everything about the place was ordinary, as if one were walking into one’s mother’s kitchen, where every glass and plate and even the cracked ceiling overhead were familiar and comforting.

  Daniel glanced over at the man behind the counter who ran the place. He poured pints without ever changing his facial expression, whether it was for some of their actor friends or a group of beautiful girls. When he wasn’t wiping glasses or pulling pints, he leaned against the bar, talking on his mobile to his wife. Daniel placed their order and went to sit at one of the sturdy wooden tables, studying Hayley as he did so. They didn’t know each other well, though they had been thrown together now and again. At the Ashley-Hunts’ house, there were a few framed photos of Marc and Hugh together when they were much younger. Occasionally, Daniel wondered if he had usurped Hayley’s position in Hugh’s life.

  Hayley sat down beside him without removing his dripping coat, his leonine curls shaking much as they did on the big screen. He was a tall man but moved with fluidity and grace, and his Roman nose and square jaw never failed to attract attention. There was something hard about his hazel eyes. He had been successful in his acting career, but more often than not had been cast as the villain in American films. He had the perfect looks for it: good-looking enough to engender sympathy, but also cruel-looking enough to be the picture of evil when his character’s true motives were revealed. One couldn’t trust a man like that, Daniel thought: too self-assured, too forceful.

  He waited for Hayley to begin, rather than encourage him with pointless questions.

  “What a fucking awful day,” Hayley repeated, taking a draw of his bitter and sucking in the foam.

  Daniel nodded, wondering why he had bothered to come. If the flat hadn’t seemed so damned empty, he wouldn’t have consented to be the sounding board for Marc Hayley’s morbid curiosity. He realized that he didn’t want to be alone, either.

  Hayley looked at him from the corner of his eye. “Blasted luck for Hugh. It’ll scar him for life. I keep seeing the blood on his wedding kit. He’ll never get over it.”

  “He’s gone home with his parents,” Daniel said, not certain what else to say. “They’ll look after him.”

  “Yes, they’ll take care of everything. But the long term. It’s a nightmare. Will he even want to act again?”

  Daniel put down his glass, surprised. “Why wouldn’t he?”

  Marc snorted. “He’s just lost the woman he was going to marry. I imagine that will change everything.”

  “Perhaps it will.”

  “You knew the girl well, didn’t you?”

  “Yes,” Daniel said, wondering what he was implying.

  “I only met her once. What was she like?”

  “She was unique, to say the least. I’ve never met anyone else like her.”

  “Yeah. They broke that mold, didn’t they? I don’t mean to malign the girl’s character, but she was a bit of a one-off, if you know what I mean. I couldn’t believe it when Hugh told me he was marrying her.”

  “When was the last time you spoke to Hugh?” Daniel asked, trying to change the subject.

  “He called me a few days before the wedding. He seemed fine.”

  They sat in silence for a minute, pulling on their pints. Outside, the rain began to slam against the window and a bolt of lightning reflected on the bottles behind the bar. Daniel might have thought it an omen if the worst hadn’t already happened.

  “Before that,” he pursued, feeling rattled. “When had you last spoken to him?”

  “I was here in February, although we email occasionally. I’ve been in LA doing a vampire film. They’re fucking obsessed with vampires there. You can hardly get away from it. Anyway, I asked him if he wanted to try his luck there.”

  “Is your film going to be released this year?”

  “In a few months, if all goes well.”

  Daniel understood what he meant. He’d already been involved with a few producers who were struggling to make ends meet and having difficulty getting the product into the public domain. It was a tricky business. He’d been lucky, considering the relatively short time he’d been acting, but there were plenty of others he’d known who couldn’t get anything going at all. Even Tamsyn had been given her breakout role due to Hugh’s clout and power of persuasion.

  “And when did you meet Tamsyn?” he asked, though he had an idea.

  “At one of your parties, I should think.” Hayley smirked. “I remember thinking, Who the hell is that, hanging all over Richardson? She hadn’t targeted Hugh yet.”

  “By then, they were already together. We were just friends.”

  “I don’t think the poor bastard knew what hit him. I mean, could she possibly have been less suitable for a man of his class? Now, you or I, that might have been understandable. But Hugh? He doesn’t usually mix with the less desirable elements of society.”

  Daniel ignored the multiple insults and concentrated on finishing his pint. He wanted to sit there and drink until the back of his neck went numb, then lay his head upon a table and sleep for hours. If only he could wake up the next day to find it Saturday morning all over again. Had Tamsyn truly
been killed by one of the twenty-seven people the police had interviewed that day? Someone who had been brazen enough to risk being caught in front of family and friends? Did Marc Hayley have some obscure motive of his own? Had he been jealous of Hugh?

  “I keep thinking we were probably in the same room as the murderer this evening,” Hayley said suddenly.

  “It hardly seems possible,” Daniel replied. “It must have been someone who escaped out a window or something.”

  “No. She was stabbed in the chest. That’s face to face, a crime of passion. Imagine being killed by someone you invited to your wedding.”

  Hayley got up and ordered another round, bringing the drinks and setting them on the table with a slosh. He was already a little drunk. “Who was the last person to see her alive? I heard someone say it was you.”

  Daniel put down his pint. “That statement precludes the existence of someone else as the murderer, does it not?”

  “I’m not suggesting—”

  “I don’t know what the hell you’re suggesting, but I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

  “We’re a bit testy, aren’t we?”

  Daniel tried to calm down. It was pointless getting into it with the likes of Marc Hayley. “What do you expect, after what we’ve been through?”

  “Fair enough,” Hayley answered. “I just meant, did you see anything unusual? Did you see someone else go into that room?”

  “That’s what the police wanted to know.”

  “What did you tell them?”

  “I don’t think I’m supposed to discuss it. Isn’t that what they told us when we were being questioned?”

  “What does it matter, if you had nothing to do with it?”

  “I didn’t. Just leave it at that.”

  “I thought we could figure it out together.”

  “You’ve jumped to a lot of conclusions: Hugh didn’t love her, she wasn’t good enough for him, maybe I had something to do with it. You don’t know what you’re talking about, Hayley. I think this conversation is over.” Daniel started to rise from his chair.