Loretta Lawson 01 - A Masculine Ending

by Joan Smith

  Loretta decided that, rain or not, she could do with some fresh air. Apologizing to her companions, who were clearly surprised by her lack of interest in their discussion, she said she had a headache and needed a walk. She arranged to ring Mary’s hotel that evening for details of the time and place of the next day’s Fem Sap meeting, and left the bar.

  Outside, the drizzle had started again, leaving the pavements wet and dirty. She wished she had brought an umbrella; her dark pink quilted jacket, with its bright pink silk lining, was warm but hardly waterproof. Nor was her straight black skirt likely to be improved by the addition of muddy splashes. However, now was not the time to worry about her appearance, and she was at least glad to be out of the stuffy bar. She stopped at the next corner to consult her map, and headed towards the river.

  Loretta asked for directions to the Café Costes on her arrival at Les Halles, and found it with ease. It was only twenty to three, and she decided to kill time by having a look at the Pompidou Centre. It always struck her as more like an oversized model for a central heating system than an exhibition centre, and she was not sure how much she liked it. Irritatingly, she could not recall the name of the architect; it floated just out of reach in the recesses of her brain as she rode the escalators to the top of the building, it remained elusive as she looked down on the rainwashed slate roofs of the city, her obsession with unimportant detail a measure of how tense she was feeling. Deciding it was time to go back to the café, she returned to the top of the first escalator.

  As she reached it, she was jostled by several youths who overtook her and chased each other down the moving staircase. She grabbed the handrail, and breathed deeply. She had flinched as though she were about to be attacked. What was she expecting? she asked herself. A Hitchcock-style attempt to throw her from the top of the city’s most famous twentieth-century landmark? She must get a grip on herself.

  A couple of minutes later, she was pushing open the door into the Café Costes. Even in her highly charged state, she had to admire the stunning decorations. The café was on two levels, the upper floor forming a balcony overlooking the ground. In front of her was a flight of stairs to the upper floor, surmounted by a luminous clock face, its second hand at least four feet long. The staircase was pale green, fanning out to double width at the top, flanked by magnificent pink pillars at the bottom. There were mirrors everywhere, concealed lights, a pink ceiling; it was like stepping into a 1930s film set, although Simone had told her the work was recent. Looking round, she saw that most of the tables on the ground floor were occupied. She did not recognize any of the drinkers, nor did they seem to recognize her.

  She ascended to the balcony floor, turning left at the top and doubling back on herself. She was standing at the end of a double row of tables, half of them set back against the wall to her right, the rest overlooking the floor below. Two or three tables along, his arm outstretched along the balcony rail, she saw Jamie Baird. She walked slowly towards him, taking in his unusually seedy appearance. He hadn’t shaved, and he was wearing an old green jumper. The words which came into her head seemed unduly melodramatic, so she said nothing, simply pulling out a chair and joining him.

  ‘You came,’ Jamie said unnecessarily. She guessed he was as nervous as she was. Down below, she watched a waiter collect coffee cups and a Ricard water bottle from an empty table. ‘I took the liberty of ordering you a drink,’ he said, pushing a glass towards her. ‘I hope you like kir.’ She had never drunk it before, but thought vaguely that it had something to do with blackcurrants.

  Thanks,’ she said, speaking for the first time. She took a sip, liked it, and drank more. Ideas were jostling for place in her mind and yet, amid the confusion, one stood out with absolute clarity.

  ‘You killed him,’ she said matter-of-factly. Jamie nodded. They sat in silence, for all the world like a pair of lovers whiling away a damp afternoon. Loretta was sorting through the gaps in her knowledge, wondering what to ask first. As the shock receded, her nervousness came back in full force, and she remembered that she was not merely enjoying a drink with a friend. She realized that one question was more urgent than any of the others.

  ‘Why did you want me here?’ she asked baldly.

  Jamie gave her a measuring look. ‘Haven’t you guessed?’ he countered.

  ‘You’re hardly likely to throttle me in front of all these people,’ she replied lightly, aware that her heart was pounding. Unconsciously, she moved her chair back slightly, poised for flight.

  ‘Of course not,’ he replied with equal lightness. ‘But what d’you think you’ve been drinking?’

  Loretta opened her mouth and glanced round wildly. She started to rise from her seat, looking for signs to the lavatories. If she could get there in time and put her fingers down her throat… She saw how clever he had been. If she was too late, he’d be gone by the time her body was found. She was about to run when he placed a hand on her chest and pushed her back into the chair. ‘How does it feel?’ he snarled, his voice contorted by anger.

  As she sprang to her feet again, he caught her arm and spoke more calmly. ‘Relax,’ he said, ‘I didn’t put anything in your drink. Look, it really is OK.’ He lifted her glass and drained the remains of the kir. Loretta fell back into her seat, fighting off the urge to vomit. ‘Here, drink some water,’ he said, pouring it into her glass from a bottle on the table. ‘I haven’t poisoned this, either,’ he added in a tired voice, demonstrating the truth of what he was saying by taking a sip from the glass.

  Loretta took a mouthful and looked at him wonderingly. ‘Why did you do that to me?’ she asked at last. She was astonished that he was capable of such cruelty,

  ‘I couldn’t resist giving you a taste of your own medicine,’ Jamie said, pulling a face. ‘Not very polite of me, was it? Not a gentlemanly thing to do. But you put me through hell in the last couple of weeks, teasing me with what you knew. I didn’t plan it this way, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

  ‘Teasing you?’ Loretta repeated blankly. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘Come on, you were putting the frighteners on me,’ Jamie sneered. ‘Leaving the postcard from your husband where you knew I’d find it.’

  Loretta gasped. So that was why Jamie had fled from her flat. The thought had never entered her head. ‘And coming to Oxford to make sure I knew you were on your way to Paris. I suppose you were hoping I’d break down and confess, and save you the trouble. It would have added no end to the value of your story, wouldn’t it? Dead don, murderer tells all. What would you have got for it? Ten thousand, twenty? No doubt you were leaving that side of it to your husband. Did you get the evidence, by the way? I presume that’s what you’re really here for. Have you found anyone near the church who recognized your description of me? Just as a matter of interest.’ He stopped, breathing heavily. He had worked himself into a passion of fury. Loretta was staring at him in amazement.

  ‘Jamie,’ she pleaded, leaning across the table and putting a hand on his arm. He shook it off. ‘Jamie,’ she repeated urgently. ‘This is madness. Until I walked up those stairs and saw you sitting there, I hadn’t the slightest idea you had anything to do with the murder. Really I hadn’t. I was astonished when you rushed out of my flat on Sunday. I thought…’ She tailed off. There was no point now in telling him what had gone through her mind. She fell back in her seat.

  Jamie’s eyes were fixed on her face. ‘You mean all this -’ he swept his arm in an arc round the room ‘- all this was for nothing? You had no idea?’

  She shook her head. ‘None at all.’ Silence fell. Suddenly, Loretta felt her cheeks burn. ‘Is that why you were keen to see me again after Bridget’s party?’ she demanded. ‘Because you thought I suspected?’

  Jamie lowered his eyes. ‘It wasn’t just that,’ he said defensively. ‘I was puzzled about why you had consulted Hugh, but that’s not the only reason I came to your flat. I could have left much earlier in the evening if that had been the case, as s
oon as you’d put my mind at rest. You didn’t force me to stay the night.’

  Loretta closed her eyes and forced back tears. Was he telling the truth? Perhaps it didn’t matter. ‘Are you related to Melanie?’ she asked in a sudden flash of inspiration.

  ‘Cousins,’ Jamie said briefly. ‘But more like brother and sister. We were brought up together after her parents died.’

  ‘And your parents have a house in Buckland Dinham,’ Loretta said, working it out piece by piece.

  ‘So you did know?’ Jamie challenged her, suspicious again.

  ‘No, I hadn’t even made that connection until now,’ Loretta said sadly. ‘I found out Melanie’s address. Cherry Cottage that is, and my ex-husband went down there. But your parents weren’t in. The woman in the village shop couldn’t remember their name, except that it started with a B. I was expecting Gandell, of course, or Grant. I’d got as far as discovering that was the name of the aunt who identified Melanie’s body.’

  Jamie nodded. ‘She lives near Leominster, actually. My parents were in Italy when Mel died.’

  A waiter appeared, and Loretta asked for some tea. She needed it. Jamie said he’d have black coffee. ‘What I don’t understand,’ he went on, ‘is why you were interested in Hugh’s death in the first place. I assume I’m right in thinking your notes were an invention?’

  ‘Yes,’ Loretta agreed. ‘I was there, you see. At the flat in rue Roland. I was supposed to be spending the weekend there, the weekend you … killed him. I arrived very late on the Friday night, and saw him in bed. I thought he was asleep. I’d no idea who he was. Or that he was dead. I went to a conference next morning, and when I got back he was gone. All I found were the sheets. He left a book there, by the way, in the bookcase in the living-room. That’s how I was able to find out who he was.’

  ‘God, you must have just missed me,’ Jamie said, appalled. ‘What time did you get to the flat, that first evening?’

  ‘I’m not certain,’ Loretta admitted. ‘Some time after midnight. What time did it… happen?’

  ‘Around eleven,’ Jamie said curtly. ‘But you really didn’t know?’ he asked again, changing the subject. ‘D’you know, I even thought you’d spotted the picture of Mel when you came to my room. I was sure you knew who she was.’

  So that explained the identity of the girl in the photograph, Loretta thought. She hadn’t been a girlfriend, after all. She was oddly comforted. The waiter returned, and she sipped her tea. It was very hot. ‘You killed him to revenge her?’ she asked, putting the cup down.

  Jamie looked up from stirring his coffee, surprised. ‘Good God, no,’ he said. ‘It was an accident. Self-defence, even. The idea of murdering him never entered my head. I just wanted to make him suffer… like Mel did.’ Loretta recalled the look in his eyes a few moments before when he was pretending to have poisoned her. She felt uncomfortable. ‘He led her on, you know,’ Jamie blurted out, suddenly emotional. The old-fashioned phrase sounded oddly on his lips. ‘He made her think he was in love with her. He denied it afterwards, when he wanted to get rid of her, but she told me all about it in her letters. We were very close, you see, and she wrote to me a lot in her first couple of terms. Whatever he said later, at first it suited him to have her around. But when she became a nuisance, and wanted some commitment from him, he gave her the brush-off. He was quite brutal about it. He told her exactly why he wasn’t interested in her. Mel was … distraught. She went back to her room and swallowed a whole bottle of pills. She should have got in touch with me,’ he said fiercely. ‘If only I hadn’t been away at that damn school… She tried to protect Hugh, even at the end,’ he said. ‘She left a note for my mother, saying she’d fallen in love with him and it was all her own fault. That was the note the coroner saw, and very convenient it was for Hugh. But she posted a letter to me as well. I got it at school. She was dead then, of course. She told me what had really happened. I think she didn’t want to die without anyone knowing her side of the story. And I got this idea I was going to avenge her. I know how foolish it must seem. It does to me, now. But I was much younger then. I’d led a sheltered life, you see, we both had. All my experience came from books. I saw her as Dido, calling for revenge after being betrayed by Aeneas.’

  Loretta’s knowledge of Virgil was limited; she knew just enough of the Aeneid to understand the reference. What an unworldly pair they had been, she reflected.

  ‘I got to Oxford quite easily’, Jamie said, continuing his story. ‘Everyone in the family always expected I would, so there was nothing odd about that. I knew from school that I had the sort of looks some men find attractive, and I thought I’d use that to make Hugh suffer. Though I’m pretty sure I’m heterosexual,’ he added, blushing slightly. ‘It seemed the perfect way to get revenge, you see - to make him fall for me, and then reject him. Everything was on my side. He’d have to be very careful -I was under age, as well as one of his students. It would be easy to string him along until he was really obsessed, and then turn him down as unpleasantly as he’d done to Melanie. I think it started off as a fantasy, but it worked better than I ever dreamed. He really did get a crush on me, and at the same time he was terrified of the slightest breath of scandal. So he suggested a romantic little trip to Paris at the end of the summer term. He said he had the use of a flat over there, and we wouldn’t even have to risk staying in a hotel. Then I got cold feet, and said I couldn’t go. He bombarded me with letters and phone calls at my parents’ house when the long vac. started, and in the end I decided I’d have to go through with it to get him off my back. I was afraid he’d turn up in Buckland Dinham, or something like that.

  ‘We arranged to travel separately to Paris - as I said, he was very nervous - and meet at rue Roland. He was already there when I arrived, and we went straight out to dinner. We got back to the flat - Hugh was expecting the big consummation scene, of course, and I’d no idea how much he’d had to drink. When I told him I didn’t want him, and tried to leave, he went mad. I don’t know whether it was rage or lust - probably a combination of the two. He wouldn’t let me get to the door. He grabbed me, and started shouting. I don’t think he even took in what I was trying to say about Mel. I was struggling, trying to get away from him, and he hung on to me like a limpet. The next thing I knew, we were fighting. I felt blood on my face, from where he’d punched me. I couldn’t believe it was happening.’ He stopped, shuddering at the memory.

  It was clear that Puddephat had never mentioned his crazy scheme to live with Jamie, Loretta thought grimly. If he had, things might never have got this far. She waited for Jamie to continue.

  ‘I suppose I just panicked,’ he said eventually. ‘I wanted him to stop hitting me, and I grabbed the nearest thing to hand, which happened to be the bread knife. Even then, he didn’t stop straight away.’ He paused again.

  A frenzied attack, Loretta remembered. That was how someone from Scotland Yard had described it to Tracey. She shivered.

  ‘Why did I ever go through with it?’ Jamie blurted out. They sat in silence for a moment. ‘I wrapped him in a sheet and got him on to the big bed,’ Jamie continued. ‘I covered him up to make it look like he was sleeping. I couldn’t believe it had happened, I wanted to look into the room and find he was just asleep. I stuffed all his things into his suitcase, he didn’t have much, and put it under the bed. Then I cleaned up the blood -I knew if I didn’t do it there and then, I’d run out of the flat and never come back. It made me so sick I left as soon as I’d finished. I went straight to a bar, and had so much to drink I ended up being arrested. I spent the night in a police cell. Can you imagine how I felt when I woke up? Thank God I didn’t talk in my sleep. Or if I did, it was in English and they didn’t understand. They didn’t let me go until the shift changed at 10 a.m. By then, I’d sobered up enough to know that I had to do something about the body. I went back to rue Roland, and on the way to the flat I passed a church. There was scaffolding on the outside and it looked as if a lot of work was being done on it. The wo
rkmen had left the door unlocked, and there was a wheelbarrow just inside. I went and bought some overalls, two sets, and took them to the flat. I dressed Hugh in them -’ he made a moue of distaste, - ‘and put the other set on myself. Then I got the body into a large sack I’d found in the church, and dragged it to the service lift. It was a struggle to get him in, but I managed it. At the bottom of the stairs, I heaved him on to the wheelbarrow. Then I set off for the church. If anyone stopped me, I was going to pretend to be delivering something that the workmen needed on Monday morning. I wasn’t thinking straight, or I’d have seen how suspicious that would have seemed - an Englishman in brand-new workmen’s overalls trundling a heavy object along the street on a Saturday afternoon. But I was lucky. I only passed one person, an old man, and he didn’t look twice at me. Perhaps he thought I was putting in a bit of overtime.

  ‘After I’d hidden the body in the church, I went back to the flat. I collected together all my stuff, and Hugh’s, and checked into a hotel about five minutes’ walk away. Then I slept for the next eighteen hours. When I woke up, I made little parcels out of Hugh’s clothes, and spent the day dumping them all over Paris. I burned his passport - that took some doing, I can tell you.’

  ‘And then you went back and cleaned the flat again,’ Loretta said.