London Rain

by Nicola Upson

  She looked down at the picture of a woman – semi-nude, her hair partially covering her breasts, her face heavily made up. There was obviously a strong family resemblance between the two sisters: the eyes that looked out from the photograph were very like Vivienne Beresford’s, the mouth had the same strong determination. ‘So that’s Olivia Hanlon,’ she said, interested to see the woman she had heard so much about.

  ‘Oh no – look again. That’s Viv.’ Shocked, Josephine did as she was asked, and saw that he was telling the truth. She had sat in front of this face for an hour only the day before yesterday, but she would never have recognised it in this context. It was hard to believe that a woman would put her own sister in this position, and she wondered again about the relationship between them. Whatever it had been, the existence of this photograph was damning; if Gerard did manage to sell it, he would be made for life and Vivienne might as well walk straight to the gallows. ‘That was when Viv was in the family firm, before she turned respectable and married Anthony,’ he added. ‘Olivia never really forgave her for that, and you didn’t cross Olivia.’

  ‘You sound as if you’re not quite sure whether that’s to be admired or feared,’ Josephine said, and Gerard smiled. ‘What was she like, the Olivia you knew?’

  ‘Remember Queenie in The Wild Party? I always think of Olivia when I read that poem.’ He saw that the reference meant nothing to Josephine, and obliged her with a more prosaic description. ‘Olivia was a fascinating woman if you didn’t get too close. She was charming, vivacious, beautiful and warm, and if you imagine Viv without the streak of ice running through her, you’ll be on the right track. But Olivia had a streak of something else, something much more dangerous. I once saw her beat a man with the heel of her shoe until his lips went blue, but usually she didn’t have to go that far.’

  ‘No,’ Josephine said dryly, ‘I can imagine that a gun was even more persuasive.’

  ‘Oh, she never had to use that,’ Gerard said seriously. ‘She had this way of dealing with anyone who said or did something she didn’t like. She’d just look at them – narrow her eyes and set her jaw until her silence made them start to babble. There was something in that stare that could bring the hardest men to their knees. In the end, they were eating out of her hand. There was no sentiment in her, no forgiveness.’

  ‘No wonder Vivienne wanted to get out of that life.’ Gerard just smiled. ‘Do you really believe she killed Millicent?’

  ‘Without a shadow of a doubt. It’s in the blood.’

  Josephine remained silent, and it wasn’t simply her desire to keep Gerard sweet that prevented her from arguing; she realised now that believing Vivienne hadn’t killed Millicent wasn’t the same thing as believing her incapable of it. She had, after all, shot her husband in cold blood. ‘Were you at the party when Olivia died?’ she asked.

  ‘My dear, everyone was there. Paradise House was the centre of the universe back then, and if you weren’t invited, you were no one. There were no cameras allowed, obviously, but you could have whatever else you wanted there – that’s why Olivia called it that, and she had an unerring instinct for who to trust, so it was utterly safe. Drink, drugs, girls – or boys, if that was more to your taste. The cocaine used to arrive from France by homing pigeon, brought in a gram at a time. Sometimes, for the really special occasions, when larger quantities were required, she’d risk paying a girl to bring it in.’

  ‘And I’m assuming that this party was one of the special occasions?’

  ‘Oh yes.’

  ‘What was it like?’

  ‘Wild, like the poem.’ Gerard abandoned the camera, and if he suspected now that Josephine’s portrait session had simply been an excuse to talk, he didn’t seem to care. He pulled up another chair and sat down next to her. ‘All the rooms were lit by candles,’ he said. ‘I remember the shadows on the ceiling, dark figures in corners as people found their pleasure for the night, the smell of incense. And there was music, always music. Olivia was luminous that night, on fire. You could smell it on her. I remember thinking afterwards that it was almost as if she knew the night was all she had, and she had to make the most of it.’

  ‘Do you mean she was planning to commit suicide? I know that was one of the theories about her death.’

  ‘I’ve never believed that. Olivia was far too selfish to kill herself deliberately. But perhaps she knew she’d pushed her luck once too often, and that time was running out.’ He paused, reliving the night again, and Josephine waited for him to continue. ‘She moved from room to room with a tray, always the perfect hostess. Sometimes it would be champagne, sometimes cocaine, sometimes sex – if the tray came through with photographs, you could choose who you wanted. People hovered round her, as if they could soak up some of that light for themselves. Men wanted her, women wanted to be her – with the occasional variation on that theme, obviously – but we were all just cheap imitations. Less glamorous, less daring, less reckless – but Olivia made you believe for a while that you could be refashioned in her image. The drugs helped, of course. Everyone was wrecked.’

  ‘Was Vivienne there?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And was she in the same state as everyone else?’

  He considered the question for a moment. ‘She joined in at first – drink, not drugs – but then she stopped. I remember there was a moment when she came back into the room from somewhere and just sat down on the divan. She didn’t move, she didn’t speak – she just stared at a shadow on the wall in front of her. Someone put his hand on her arm, trying his luck, even though she left all that behind when she married, but she didn’t seem to notice. She just shivered, then got up and walked over to the tray of drinks that Olivia had left on the side and drank a glass straight down.’

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘I don’t know. It was summer and all the windows were open, and a breeze caught the curtain and knocked a vase off the windowsill. It smashed, and that distracted me. When I looked back, Viv had gone.’

  ‘And Olivia?’

  ‘She’d decided to go for a swim. People tried to talk her out of it because she’d had too much of everything, but she wouldn’t listen. She just told everyone to leave her alone and went out to the pool. That was the last time anybody saw her. The next thing I knew, there was a terrible scream from outside – I’ll never forget it. It was Viv who found her, face down in the water. After that, it was like rats leaving a sinking ship.’

  ‘You mean everyone left?’

  He looked at her, as if finding it hard to believe that she could be so naive. ‘Of course everyone left. The police were obviously going to be called, and no one wanted to be there when they arrived. Even the Prince of Wales was rumoured to be on his way that night, but he was quickly diverted when the hostess stopped breathing. Can you imagine the scandal?’ He shook his head in disbelief. ‘It’s astonishing how quickly you can sober up when necessary. Someone put the lights on and everything that had been mysterious and magical was suddenly squalid and depressing. Smeared glasses, candle wax and cigarette stubs on the carpet, bottles everywhere and underwear draped over the furniture. It was suddenly all so lurid and vulgar, like coming face to face with every one of your demons at once. I had to go upstairs to fetch something I’d left in one of the bedrooms, and it was even worse up there because the panic hadn’t quite reached the first floor. Tangled sheets and tangled bodies, in every possible combination. I remember finding it strange that naked flesh could be suddenly so disgusting.’

  ‘Anthony didn’t leave, did he?’ Josephine said, remembering what Archie had told her.

  ‘No. He cleared everyone else out and stayed behind to tidy up and talk to the police. That was brave of him, I always thought. His reputation was on the line, after all. And he must have done a damned good job. There were rumours and speculation, but no one could prove the scale of the party. The police didn’t stand a prayer of getting anyone to talk – not that they tried very hard. Some of them spent more time at the Golde
n Hat than they did at the Yard, and Olivia had been bribing one of them for years to turn a blind eye. We all had something to lose.’

  ‘Did Viv stay behind with him?’

  ‘No. She was hysterical, and he didn’t want her to have to deal with the police or with the press when they got wind of it. Billy drove her away. I’m not sure where, but he made sure she was safe.’

  ‘Billy?’

  ‘Billy Whiting. He works for the BBC now as a driver, but he was always close to Olivia. He cleared up her messes – and this was one hell of a mess.’

  Josephine found it strange that Gerard could recall the details of that night so readily, and she wondered if his account could be trusted or if it was something he had prepared especially for the newspapers. ‘You obviously remember it very well,’ she said carefully. ‘It must have made quite an impression on you.’

  ‘Yes, it did – although it helps that you’re the third person who’s asked me about it in a couple of weeks. Things keep coming back to me now. That happens, I suppose, when your past resurfaces – you mull it over.’

  ‘Did Millicent ask you about the party?’

  He looked at her in surprise. ‘Yes, she did.’

  And Josephine could guess the questions she had asked. From what he had said so far, she doubted that Gerard knew enough to give Millicent the answers she wanted about Olivia Hanlon’s death, but she asked him anyway, cautious in her phrasing. ‘Do you think anyone else was involved in Olivia’s death? Could it have been murder?’

  She expected him to compare the enquiry to Millicent’s again, but he didn’t. ‘I genuinely don’t know,’ he said, with a sudden air of finality.

  ‘And you wouldn’t tell me if you did?’

  ‘Probably not. Still, I hope I’ll get a research credit in your book for everything else I’ve told you.’

  ‘My book?’

  ‘Yes, the one you’re obviously planning to write on the Hanlon family. I’m sure it will make a fascinating read.’ It was a logical assumption, much more convincing than the excuse she had actually come here with, and Josephine wondered why she hadn’t thought of it herself. ‘In the meantime, I hope your publisher will be pleased with the photographs.’ He gave her a knowing smile. ‘Where would you like me to send them?’

  ‘To my club,’ Josephine said. ‘I’ll give Miss Tuff the address on my way out.’

  5

  Josephine spent a pleasant couple of hours with the Motleys, fulfilling her promise to keep them up to date with news of Marta, whilst keeping one ear on the stairs for Archie’s return. He arrived earlier than she expected, and beamed at her when she went out to meet him. ‘This is a nice surprise. Can I tempt you away from my cousins with a bottle?’

  ‘Don’t tell them, but it’s actually you I came to see. I wasn’t sure when you’d be back, though. I’ve been reading about your new case in the papers. Bodies in brown paper parcels? My God, if I put that into a novel, everyone would think I’d gone mad.’

  ‘Oh, it gets better,’ Archie said, leading the way upstairs to the top flat. ‘What the press doesn’t know yet is that Frederick Murphy has just walked into Poplar police station and given himself up. He still claims he’s innocent, but at least we’ve got him for questioning now.’

  ‘Do you believe him?’

  ‘No, not at all. He did exactly the same thing eight years ago. If we’re careful, we’ll make the charge stick this time and he’ll pay for what he’s done. It’s a shame that some other poor woman had to die in the meantime, though.’ He opened the door and stood aside to let her through. ‘Make yourself at home.’

  ‘Thank you.’ She hung up her coat and sat down in the chair she always favoured, opposite Bridget’s exquisite painting of light over the Dwyryd Estuary at Portmeirion, an image of which she never tired.

  ‘Have you had a good day?’

  ‘I’ve had an interesting day. I’ve been having my photograph taken.’ Archie looked at her curiously. ‘There was method in it, I promise. And you’d have laughed – in the space of one hour, the photographer told me I was like Edith Sitwell, Gwen Farrar and Greta Garbo. I’ve spent some considerable time since wondering which one I’d prefer, but I dare say when the photographs arrive there’ll be one of each and I’ll be proved a chameleon.’

  Archie laughed. ‘Look on the bright side. If Hitchcock destroys your writing career, you can ask him for a job as a double.’

  ‘Is that supposed to make me feel better?’ She waited until he had shed his coat, then said: ‘Talking of tall stories, I’ve got one myself and I need you to tell me if I really am insane this time.’

  ‘Always a pleasure. Do you want a drink with the diagnosis, or afterwards?’

  ‘Oh, as soon as possible. As I said, it’s been that sort of day.’

  He smiled and fetched some glasses. ‘Mrs Snipe has left supper, too, if you’re interested. Bacon-and-egg pie, new potatoes and salad, and there’s enough for an army.’

  ‘That would be lovely.’ She waited while he poured two glasses of wine, then settled back in her chair. ‘I’d better start right at the beginning. You know I went to see Vivienne in prison?’

  ‘Yes. I thought that was very courageous of you.’

  ‘It was more out of curiosity, if I’m honest.’ She paused and decided to come straight to the point. ‘I don’t think she killed Millicent Gray.’

  ‘No, neither do I.’ His frankness threw her for a moment and she hesitated. ‘I didn’t want to charge her, Josephine. The evidence is largely circumstantial, and – like you – I think she’s telling the truth. She doesn’t strike me as a liar or a coward, and I like her – not that that’s necessarily relevant to justice. But people higher up the chain – and at the BBC, of course – want this to go away as quickly as possible, and the easiest way of ensuring that is to throw the book at a woman we know has killed once. I’m just praying she’ll have a half-decent barrister.’

  ‘So who do you think did kill Millicent?’

  He shrugged his shoulders, making it clear how frustrated he was. ‘I don’t know, and that’s why I was so angry the other day. I’ve absolutely no chance of finding out because I’ve been taken off the case and Rygate’s watching me like a hawk. If I as much as breathe in the direction of the Beresfords, I’ll be up on a disciplinary and probably suspended.’ He smiled and took out a cigarette. ‘I have a feeling you’re about to share a theory with me. Is this the insane part?’

  ‘Probably. Is there any chance at all that it could have been Anthony Beresford?’

  Archie thought for a moment. ‘It’s doubtful. He has an alibi for most of that morning, and even though there are a couple of times when it might have been technically possible for him to get to her flat and back, the crowds and the sheer significance of what he was doing on that day make it unlikely.’ He explained the timings carefully to her, then asked: ‘Even if you put the practicalities to one side, though, why would Beresford want to kill his lover?’

  ‘I think she’d become more trouble to him than she was worth,’ Josephine said. ‘For a start, I don’t think it was Millicent Gray that Beresford was leaving Vivienne for. I think he’d met someone else.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘Millicent was contracted for lots of work at the BBC over the next few months, and didn’t you think it was odd that there was nothing of Beresford in her flat?’

  ‘Yes, but I put that down to discretion.’

  ‘She was single, Archie, and that was her private space – why did she need to be discreet about it?’ Still he looked doubtful, and Josephine didn’t really blame him. ‘There’s more to it than that, though. She said something odd to me. I didn’t take much notice at the time because my mind was on other things, but in hindsight it seems significant.’

  ‘What did she say?’

  ‘She overheard me arguing with Lydia about Marta . . .’

  ‘Arguing with Lydia?’

  ‘Yes. It’s a long story and you were far to
o busy with the Coronation for me to bother you with it. I’ll tell you over supper. But Millicent Gray obviously thought that we were allies. I can’t remember her exact words, but she said something like “you put up with the pain because you think you’ll be enough for them one day, but you never are”. I think she’d realised that her affair with Anthony meant far more to her than it ever had to him.’

  ‘Did you ask Vivienne about other women?’

  ‘Yes. She didn’t know of anybody, but I think she’s coming to terms with the fact that there was a lot about her husband that she didn’t know.’

  ‘All right, you’ve convinced me that it’s possible, but I still don’t understand why he would kill Millicent because of that. Wouldn’t he just leave her and pick up with the next woman along? I’m told it’s what he’s done before.’

  ‘There’s more, though,’ Josephine said, and Archie gave her a look that said he had known somehow that there would be. ‘Millicent Gray had found something out about Olivia Hanlon’s death – I’m sure of that. And I genuinely believe that’s why she asked to see Vivienne – she was going to tell her what had happened to her sister.’

  ‘What? You really are going to have to explain why you’ve jumped to that conclusion – and what it’s got to do with Anthony Beresford.’

  ‘All right, but you must promise not to be angry.’

  ‘Why would I be angry?’

  ‘Just promise.’

  ‘Cross my heart. Now tell me.’

  Josephine heard her own excitement reflected in his voice, and thought carefully before she spoke, wanting to make the story as clear and as convincing as possible. ‘After I saw Vivienne, I went back to Millicent Gray’s flat to speak to her neighbours upstairs. I thought they might remember something else about her affair with Anthony. They didn’t, but they still had the key to her flat, so I thought I’d have another look round.’