Sour Grapes

by Natasha Cooper

  ‘I don’t suppose I shall ever get quite enough,’ said Emma frankly, ‘but you’ve been very helpful. If I think of something else, can I come back to you?’

  ‘I can’t think of anything I’d like more,’ he said, surprising her again. ‘And if I’m in your neck of the woods, I’ll get in touch with you or drop in. Jane must know where you live.’

  ‘Yes, she does. Do. It would be good to see you.’ As she stood up to shake hands with him, she added, ‘Look, before you do go, there is just one more thing.’

  ‘Yes?’ he said, still holding her right hand and gazing into her face as though he thought she was wonderful. She withdrew her hand and looked over his shoulder at the milling crowd behind him.

  ‘Jane told me that she thought the police had it in for Lutterworth because he was so arrogant. She seems to think that’s why they pushed him so hard to confess. I’m not convinced. I think there must have been more to it.’

  ‘Of course there was,’ said Hal. ‘It’s obvious.’

  ‘Not to me, I’m afraid.’

  ‘The police knew he was guilty.’

  ‘Knew?’ repeated Emma in surprise. ‘But how could they know? There weren’t any witnesses.’

  ‘They didn’t need witnesses. They knew he’d done it. You get a nose for guilt in their job. Emma, I’m afraid that if I stay any longer, much as I want to, I’m going to be disastrously late and cause trouble. I really must dash. But do ring me if you need anything. And…’

  ‘Yes?’ said Emma, wondering why anyone as confident as Hal Marstall should hesitate to ask anything of anyone.

  ‘If you should happen to find out that Lutterworth didn’t do it after all, will you let me in on the story before it breaks? As a quid pro quo? I can’t see that it would hurt your thesis.’

  ‘That seems only fair,’ she said, intrigued to see that he was not quite as sure of Lutterworth’s guilt as he had claimed. ‘I’ve promised to keep Jane fully informed. I’m sure she’ll pass anything on to you.’

  ‘OK. Fair enough.’ He took her hand again and smiled down into her eyes. ‘Emma, I really have enjoyed this evening. Thank you.’

  ‘You’ve been very kind to me. And I’m so grateful for everything you’ve given me on Lutterworth. I’ll never be rude about journalists again, I promise.’

  He laughed and kissed her cheek. When he had gone, she poured the rest of the mineral water into her glass and started to write up notes of her discussion with Hal to remind her of nuances that the taped record might not reveal. As she looked up, trying to work out exactly why she had thought Hal less certain of Lutterworth’s guilt than he pretended, she caught the eye of a man standing alone at the bar. He smiled invitingly at her and gestured to the bottle of wine at his side. She shook her head and went back to her notes, remembering how she had once hated sitting alone in any kind of bar or restaurant. It no longer worried her in the least and she was tickled by the sensation of progress that gave her.

  When she reread everything she had written about her impressions of Hal and the information he had given her, she decided that the most interesting thing he had said all evening was that the police had in some mysterious way known that Lutterworth was guilty and forced him to confess because of that. For the first time since she had heard about his case, she began to feel some sympathy for him. More than that, she found that she was angry on his behalf, and quite sharply angry at that.

  Her interest in lie-detection had been forged by several big criminal trials she had attended with Willow, and it had been honed later when she had talked to some of the barristers involved. She had come to understand that in most cases all the lawyers in court knew a great deal more about the defendant and the witnesses—and probably the crime too—than the jurors were allowed to hear. That had always seemed not only absurd to Emma, but also sinister. It was as though a game was being played out between the opposing lawyers, who were usually well known to each other, for the benefit of the jury, who were strangers to everyone concerned.

  The rules of the game allowed a great deal of obfuscation and forbade many of the things that might have brought out the truth that the lawyers already knew. Witnesses could be bullied and confused by clever counsel or made to look shifty when they were merely frightened or ignorant, all in the interests of persuading the jury to choose between the two contradictory stories they were being told.

  The fact that it was likely to be the lawyers’dramatic skill that would persuade the jurors, rather than the truth of what they were supposed to be judging, had always worried Emma. Whenever she was feeling at all optimistic about her chances of getting her doctorate, she would let herself hope that one day her work might play a part in stopping one violent criminal being acquitted or one innocent person being sent to prison.

  But the strength of her anger at the assumptions the police had made about Lutterworth’s guilt suggested that she might have had other reasons, less conscious and perhaps more personal, to be interested in uncovering the truth about people. Uncomfortable with her thoughts, she got up to go, leaving her glass of mineral water half drunk.

  The pavements outside the wine bar were sticky with drizzly rain and the air was unpleasantly dank. Emma shivered and buttoned up her jacket. A taxi cruised past with its orange light shining, but she hardly noticed. It had been some time since taxis had figured in her life. She had sold her car in her scramble to accumulate enough money to fund her doctorate and had to control her spending much too carefully to use anything but public transport.

  She knew that she ought to go straight to the station and catch the first available train back to St Albans and work, but Jag had said he would be busy and the thought of sitting alone in her little brick room was too depressing to contemplate. As she walked through the drizzle towards the tube station, she managed to convince herself that she positively ought to see Willow while she was in London.

  For one thing, it would be only polite to bring Willow up to date with news of what was happening. After all without her, Emma would never have heard of Andrew Lutterworth, her thesis would still be moribund and she herself would definitely be sitting alone in her dismal room waiting for something to happen.

  As soon as the door of the Mews opened, Emma knew that she had made a bad mistake. Willow looked extraordinarily tense and as unwelcoming as it was possible to look.

  ‘Hello?’ she said vaguely, apparently not even recognising Emma. ‘You’d better come in out of the wet. I’d forgotten you were coming. Sorry. How nice to see you.’

  ‘I don’t have to come in,’ said Emma at once, taking a step backwards.

  ‘No, no. Do. So silly of me to forget you were coming. Lucinda’s not very well.’ Willow’s voice sharpened. ‘Come on in quickly and stop the draught. I must go back to her.’

  Emma did as she was told, asking if there were anything she could do to help.

  ‘No,’ said Willow, already halfway to the stairs. ‘Go on into the drawing room and get yourself something to drink. Today’s papers are all there. I’ll be down as soon as I can.’

  Furious with herself for disobeying the old rules about not dropping in on anyone without warning, Emma found a newspaper she had not already seen that morning and sat down on one of the grey sofas to read it. Half an hour later, Willow reappeared, still looking harassed.

  ‘Look, is there really nothing I can do?’ said Emma at once. ‘Don’t you want me to get her some medicine, or fetch the doctor or something?’

  ‘No, there’s nothing. I’ve given her some Calpol. Her temperature isn’t much up.’ Willow rubbed her forehead as though it was aching. ‘I really am sorry. I even forgot to tell Mrs Rusham to produce supper for two. There’s bound to be some food in the kitchen, though. Let’s go and look.’

  ‘I don’t need any food,’ said Emma quickly. ‘And you didn’t have any idea I was coming so—’

  ‘Well, I do need food.’ Willow’s voice had a distinct snap in it ‘Sorry. I’m a bit worried. But I’d like someth
ing to eat and you’re looking pretty peaky yourself. It would do you good, too. Come on.’

  They found Willow’s supper in the fridge, but ignored it in favour of some fresh bread and half an unpasteurised Brie that Mrs Rusham had been carefully ripening under a muslin cover. To Emma’s consternation, they ate standing up in the kitchen. She had never known Willow to eat anywhere but at the dining room table unless she was ill, in which case she had a tray in bed. It looked as though Lucinda’s illness might be rather more serious than Willow had admitted.

  ‘That’s better,’ she said, after her fourth slice of bread and cheese. ‘Tea? Coffee?’

  ‘Some tea would be nice,’ said Emma, who had struggled to eat two slices without any liquid at all, ‘but honestly I ought to get back to St Albans if you really don’t need help.’

  ‘No, you’d better not go yet. What was it you came to tell me?’

  Emma smiled. ‘Nothing special. I was in London, seeing Jane and one of her journalists. I just thought it would be nice to see you and Lucinda again. We had such a lovely weekend. But I don’t want to get in your hair.’ She looked at the kitchen clock. ‘Look, I really ought to go in any case.’

  ‘Oh, right,’ said Willow, not quite able to disguise her relief. ‘Well, if you’re sure?’

  ‘Definitely.’

  ‘I wish I could give you a lift to the station, but with Lucinda ill…’

  ‘I’ll be fine. It’s an easy journey from here. I hope she’ll be better tomorrow. I’m sure she will.’

  ‘Yes. Probably. Sorry to be so unwelcoming.’

  ‘You weren’t,’ said Emma, kissing her. ‘It was sweet of you to feed me. I’ll ring in a day or two to see how you both are. Please don’t worry too much. Oh, how’s Tom?’

  ‘Frustrated. He rang yesterday evening as usual and it all sounds fairly awful in Strasbourg, as though the whole bunch are arguing and scoring points off each other just for the sake of it. The sort of thing Tom’s always loathed. He promised to ring again tonight. I’m not sure—. Oh, that’s probably him now. I must go and answer it. Take care of yourself, Emma. You’re not looking well. Good night.’

  All the way to the station, Emma admonished herself for being so stupid and ill-mannered. It was not until she was back in her cramped, untidy room, which felt lonelier than ever, that she admitted how much she had minded Willow’s lack of welcome. There was no reason why she should have attended to an unwanted visitor and, with a sick child, every reason why she should not, but still it hurt. Emma knew quite well that it was all her own fault. If she had not gone barging in, she would never have been rejected. Rationalising it all to herself, she made a mug of tea and forced herself to sit down and work until she had blocked out all the distress.

  Chapter Six

  Willow woke early the following morning and was out of bed and running along the passage to Lucinda’s room almost before she realised what she was doing.

  At the sight of her mother, Lucinda beamed and stood up in her cot, waving over the top of the bars and squeaking with pleasure. Willow tested the temperature of her daughter’s forehead. Finding it cool, she started to breathe more easily. Having scooped the child out of her cot, Willow kissed her brown curls and took her back to bed.

  They lay there side by side, chatting for some time. Willow used words, Lucinda mostly gurgles and grunts, but they both enjoyed it until hunger started to make the child petulant. Experience had taught her mother enough to decode the sudden change in the timbre of her chunterings, and together they went downstairs to get some breakfast.

  There was still half an hour before Mrs Rusham was due to arrive and so Willow filled the kettle for coffee while Lucinda sucked juice from a beaker. The coffee Willow made was never as good as her housekeeper’s, although they used exactly the same equipment and ingredients, but she drank it anyway and ate a piece of naked toast to keep the worst hunger pangs at bay.

  When Mrs Rusham arrived, she tightened her lips at the sight of the very trivial mess in the kitchen and announced that she would deal with Lucinda and make some fresh coffee while Willow dressed. Dismissed, she went back upstairs to have a bath.

  It was only then, lying relaxed and comfortable in the hot water, that she remembered Emma’s unexpected visit. At the time Willow had merely wished her elsewhere and had not paid much attention to what could have brought her to the Mews, but she began to wonder whether Emma had been upset about something. She had definitely looked more tense than usual.

  Annoyed with herself for not having noticed it at the time and asked the right questions, Willow got out of the bath, wrapped a towel around herself, and padded wetly across her bedroom carpet to the telephone that stood beside her bed. She dialled Emma’s number, hoping to reach her before she left the comfortless room she had described so vividly for the library or wherever it was she spent her days in St Albans.

  There was no answer. Willow sat in unusual indecision, making a damp patch on her duvet. In the old days she would not have let herself worry so much about anyone. For years she had believed that complete self-sufficiency was the most desirable goal she or any other human being could achieve, apart perhaps from hard and successful work, and she had defended hers against threats of all kinds. She had never been much good at admitting mistakes, but her discovery that the state of self-sufficiency was a desert rather than a sanctuary had been so startling that she could hardly avoid acknowledging it to herself, even though she would not have dreamed of confessing it to anyone else, except possibly Tom if she were feeling particularly pleased with him at the time.

  Trying to decide how best to make up to Emma for her poor welcome, Willow dressed and scrubbed her teeth until the coffee-flavoured staleness of the night was replaced by an almost burning peppermint taste. Then she went into her writing room to find a postcard, addressed it to Emma and quickly wrote on the other side:

  In case I don’t get you today, this is just to say how sorry I am that I was so preoccupied with L’s malaise when you came. She is now fine and so my mind is my own again. If we haven’t spoken by the time you get this, do ring me and we can fix to talk properly when you’ve time. I hope all is well—or well enough.

  Love,

  Willow.

  She stamped the card and gave it to Mrs Rusham to post when she took Lucinda for the customary mid-morning stroll in Green Park.

  The telephone rang while Willow was drinking Mrs Rusham’s perfect coffee and reading one of the three newspapers that were delivered to the house every day. She reached behind her for the receiver, stretching her shoulder uncomfortably.

  ‘Hello, is that you, Willow?’ asked Jane’s voice, sounding surprisingly wide awake. ‘How did Emma get on with Hal Marstall? Did she succumb to the famous charm?’

  ‘I didn’t even know she was meeting him,’ said Willow, struggling to decode what Jane was saying with such ebullience. ‘Who is he, anyway?’

  ‘One of our best crime reporters. I introduced them last night so that she could pick his brains about the Lutterworth case. Didn’t she tell you?’

  ‘No, but perhaps she was going to. She came round here last night, but I was in a state about Lucinda and wasn’t very receptive. Bother.’

  Jane laughed. ‘“Bother”! That’s a pretty pathetic expletive, even for you. I don’t suppose Emma minded. You’ve always said that she’s a lot tougher than she looks. That’s why I didn’t bother to warn her about Hal.’

  ‘Warn her? Warn her about what?’

  ‘Oh, just that he can be very seductive when he wants something. A lot of people have fallen for it and then been surprised when he’s abandoned them. He can be fairly callous.’ There was a hardness in Jane’s voice that warned Willow to be careful in what she said.

  ‘Perhaps that’s what sent Emma round here then. I wondered what it could be. She’s shrewd enough to see flattery for what it is.’

  ‘Good. At one moment when I saw him turning on the charm, I thought she looked fairly receptive. It did make m
e think perhaps I ought to stay on as chaperon, but I had to be somewhere else. I wonder what he thinks Emma could do for him.’

  ‘Presumably the obvious thing,’ said Willow crossly. She thought that it sounded as though Jane had been thoroughly irresponsible. ‘After all she is immensely attractive.’

  ‘I doubt it. Oh, I admit she’s pretty enough, but I suspect he inclines to something rather more sophisticated. No, I imagine he heard that voice of hers and thought it might be worth finding out who she knows and what she could tell him about them. That’s just the sort of thing he does: charms people into talking in case they come up with something he might want to use one day. If he weren’t such a good investigative journalist I’d—’

  ‘This is all sounding a bit personal, Jane.’

  ‘Yeah, well…I’m as much a sucker as the next woman when it comes to beautiful young men who tell me I’m wonderful for all sorts of reasons that are rather more subtle than the usual.’

  ‘Oh, Jane—’ Willow began, but the sympathy in her voice must have been too overt, for Jane quickly interrupted.

  ‘I must go. I’ve got a hellishly busy morning.’

  ‘I’m sure, but before you go, tell me one thing: did Emma say anything about where she was going next? I can’t get hold of her this morning, and I wondered where she was, whether she might have gone after Mrs Lutterworth. It’s what I’d be doing.’

  ‘I haven’t a clue where she is, but I shouldn’t have thought she’s done that. She told me she wanted to talk to the man himself before seeing his wife. I can’t remember why. I suppose I wasn’t listening properly.’

  ‘I must say I think that’s a mistake.’

  ‘Thank you very much for the compliment, Willow.’

  ‘Idiot. I didn’t mean your not listening, as you very well know. I meant Emma’s not wanting to talk to Mrs Lutterworth. After all, if her husband is innocent then she must be one of the hottest suspects.’