Brought to Book

by Anthea Fraser

  The car stayed on her tail all the way to Marsborough, following her on to the ring road rather than turning towards the town centre, and even taking the same exit. Ten minutes later, she was tempted to toot in farewell as she turned into Fairhaven, the cul-de-sac where Lindsey had her flat.

  The short road contained four detached houses on either side. The original intention had been to build more, together with a school and a parade of shops, but money ran out and the plans fell through. Designed to appeal to all members of the community, the houses were of different sizes and styles, and the one where Lindsey lived had been built as two flats. As Rona drew into the drive, she appeared at a first-floor window, waved briefly, and ran down to let her in.

  ‘You knew I’d fall for the supper bait, didn’t you?’ Rona commented, letting Gus out of the car.

  ‘It usually works. Chilli OK?’

  ‘Excellent. I’m doing well today; I had lunch out, too.’

  ‘At the Harveys’?’ Lindsey was following her up the stairs.

  ‘Yes, provided by the efficient au pair. I could do with one myself.’

  They emerged on to the small, square landing, and Lindsey gestured her towards the sitting room. It was an attractive room at the front of the house, with bow windows that gave a view beyond the cul-de-sac to the surrounding countryside. The furniture – sofa, chairs, bookcase and coffee table – came from the home Lindsey had shared with Hugh, as did the clock and several of the ornaments. They had split the contents when they separated, and she’d been happy for him to have the dining suite, which in any case was too large to fit into the flat. In its place, a small table stood in one corner, as though trying to appear inconspicuous.

  ‘So,’ Lindsey said, pouring out the tea, ‘how did it go with Mrs Harvey?’

  ‘All right, I suppose.’

  ‘You don’t sound too sure.’

  ‘You know me; I always set my sights too high, and come away with much less than I’d hoped.’

  ‘No lead on the writer’s block, then?’

  ‘No, but interestingly, Meriel said Theo changed completely during that time – became tense and irritable, lost weight, couldn’t sleep.’

  ‘Probably stressed out because he couldn’t write.’

  ‘But as she said, which was cause and which effect? One bonus is that the darling man wrote a diary almost from day one, but – and you’re not going to believe this! – parts of the later ones are in code! What do you make of that?’

  ‘Perhaps he suspected his wife of reading them. And he was right, or how would she have known?’

  ‘She was a bit shame-faced about it. He first used it in the last book before his block, but the diary entries go on for years, even after he’d started writing again.’

  ‘You think they conceal some dark secret?’

  ‘It’s a possibility, wouldn’t you say?’

  ‘Then you’ll have to try your hand at code-breaking. Did you bring the diaries away with you?’

  ‘No, she didn’t want to part with them. Said she’d expected me to work on them in his study – and Linz, there are dozens of them! It would mean that long drive every day, slogging away at Theo’s desk with Meriel hovering in the background, and then, when I was completely shattered, having to face the drive home. And it could go on for weeks!’

  ‘So what will you do?’

  ‘Try to talk her into letting me borrow them.’ Rona finished her tea and put down her cup. ‘Anyway, that’s enough about me. What’s on your mind?’

  Lindsey leaned back in her chair, avoiding her sister’s eyes. ‘I’ve seen Hugh,’ she said flatly. ‘He turned up outside the office.’

  ‘When?’ asked Rona, who knew.

  ‘On Tuesday.’

  ‘You took your time telling me.’

  ‘It was only the day before yesterday,’ Lindsey protested, ‘and frankly, I haven’t been able to think straight since.’

  ‘How was he?’

  ‘In charm mode. Took me for a drink at the Clarendon.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Well, it was really a follow-up to his letter; he wants us to give it another try, and although I refused to discuss it, I’m beginning to wonder if it would be such a bad thing.’

  ‘Don’t even consider it,’ Rona said sharply. ‘Remember what you said only three weeks ago, when you showed me his letter? That you never wanted to see him again, and how relieved you’d been when the divorce went through?’

  ‘Yes, but now that I have seen him, it’s different somehow.’

  ‘How did you leave it?’

  ‘I told him not to contact me again, and he said he wouldn’t give up till I married someone else. Which, if you remember, was Mum’s solution.’

  Rona sighed. ‘Anyone on the horizon?’

  Lindsey shook her head. ‘And I do so hate being alone, Ro. Just to be sitting with him at the Clarendon, even with all that past history between us, felt so good. Oh, I tried to deny it, and drove home in a fine old state, reminding myself of all the bad times. But there were good times too, before everything went pear-shaped, and he can still make my knees go weak, damn him. What’s more, he says he still loves me, and I think I believe him. After nearly two years alone, you can’t imagine how good that sounded.’

  Rona’s alarm deepened. She was in no doubt that their coming together would lead to unmitigated disaster, but if she opposed it too strongly, she might push Lindsey into asserting her independence. The best solution would be to fix her up with someone else, fast. Even if it didn’t last, it would take her mind off Hugh, and the danger might pass. Mentally, she ran through the unattached men she knew – a depressingly short list.

  She said lightly, ‘Since your firm handles divorce, I’d have thought you’d have a choice of unhappy hunks desperate for TLC.’

  ‘None remotely interesting.’

  ‘Then Max and I will fix you up with a blind date.’

  ‘Don’t you dare!’ Lindsey stood up, hooking her hair behind her ears. ‘I feel better already. It always helps, talking things over with you.’

  Rona dared pursue it no further. ‘Don’t make any quick decisions,’ she warned. ‘You’ll probably change your mind several times in the next few days.’

  For the rest of the evening the conversation was on less traumatic subjects, and by the end of it, both of them felt more relaxed.

  ‘Have you a free evening next week?’ Lindsey asked, as they walked out to the car. ‘The Acorn Company are doing The Norman Conquests, and I’d like to see it again.’

  ‘Right, let’s go. As you know, Max refuses point-blank to darken the doors of amateur dramatics.’

  ‘Tuesday?’ Lindsey suggested. ‘I’ll get the tickets.’

  ‘Fine.’ Rona opened the rear door and looked round for Gus, who, having done a rapid inspection of the small front garden, was lifting his leg against a rhododendron bush. ‘Sorry about that!’ she said. ‘Still, it saves me having to take him round the block when I get home.’

  Lindsey gave her a quick hug. ‘Thanks for coming, Ro.’

  ‘And thanks for supper. See you on Tuesday, then.’

  As Rona turned on to the main road, a car which had been waiting at the far end of the cul-de-sac switched on its lights and glided silently after her.

  Justin Grant gave up all pretence of reading the newspaper and let it fall into his lap as his eyes moved restlessly about the room. Hoist’s Planets Suite was playing softly in the background, and on the sofa to his left, Vivian sat engrossed in her novel, the lamplight gilding her hair.

  She was still a striking-looking woman, he reflected, and, intelligent as well as decorative, had over the years been the ideal consort at functions where it had been necessary to impress people. He had known before they married that she was both uninterested in sex and pathologically jealous – an unfortunate combination – but had accepted such traits in exchange for the advantages her connections would bring, especially at the outset of his career.

  An
d it had paid off; gifted though he was, he would not have become so quickly established had not his father-in-law introduced him to people of influence. Now, there was talk of his being offered a knighthood in the next honours list.

  Aware of the steadiness of his gaze, Vivian raised her head and smiled at him. ‘Tired, darling? Is there anything I can get you?’

  He smiled back, aware of the depth of his affection for her. ‘I wouldn’t say no to a small whisky. It’s been a tiring day.’

  She rose at once, moving gracefully across the room to the cabinet where they kept the drinks. ‘You’re always exhausted after your hospital days,’ she commented, coming back with a glass and a crystal jug of spring water.

  He nodded agreement, though in fact it was not his hospital visit that was weighing on him, but his abortive call on Meriel and her woman writer. God only knew what would come to light during the course of this book, and Meriel had suffered enough; he had no wish for her to learn of Theo’s extramural activities – or, for that matter, his own. And on a personal level, if any word of the latter became public, he could kiss goodbye not only to his comfortable marriage but to his chances of a knighthood. The British public was still largely unforgiving of public figures who transgressed.

  If those blasted phone calls hadn’t delayed him, he’d have arrived at The Grange during the interview, and might have learned something of the proposed format. He’d tried to pump Meriel while what’s-her-name walked her dog, and been alarmed to discover they’d been discussing the diaries, which, so Theo had claimed, gave a true and frank account of his life, and would act as an aide-mémoire for an eventual autobiography.

  ‘I hope it’s only your life you’re being frank about!’ he’d half-joked once, but Theo had merely given his usual bark of laughter. ‘Have to wait and see, won’t you, old son?’ And would be drawn no further. Not that Justin’s own misdemeanours were on a par with Theo’s, but they’d be more than enough for Vivian.

  His thoughts slipped sideways to the biographer herself. Rhoda, wasn’t it? No, Rona – Rona Parish. Attractive girl; he wondered how amenable she’d be to the odd overture. There was a ring on her finger, but that wasn’t necessarily a deterrent these days, and if he could win her round, she might be prepared to withhold any references that would cause distress, either to Meriel or himself. It would at least be worth a try, and the attempt in itself could prove enjoyable.

  He sighed, thinking how much simpler life would be if only his beautiful wife were more receptive in that area. She loved him, he knew, but a chaste kiss on the lips was the most he could count on.

  She hadn’t sat down since handing him his glass, and was now bending to retrieve her book from the sofa.

  ‘I think I’ll go up, darling,’ she remarked. ‘And don’t be too long yourself – you need your sleep.’

  She bent to kiss him and he repressed the quiver of desire that still occasionally tormented him. ‘See you in the morning,’ she said. She’d had a separate room since the birth of their son some twenty years previously, and his visits to it were few and far between. True, she had never refused him, but her patent distaste for the procedure ensured that he troubled her only in extremis.

  Her jealousy had also posed problems over the years, he reflected as she left the room, and he’d soon learned not to talk too long to women at parties, nor pay them any compliments, however banal; while such liaisons as he’d had over the years had had to be conducted with the secrecy worthy of a government department.

  Oddly enough, Meriel alone was immune from suspicion, Vivian apparently assuming that because they were cousins and had played together as children, he took only a brotherly interest in her. Which, he thought now with a wry smile, was ironic, considering they had discovered sex together when he was seventeen and she two years younger. Still, that had been a boy and girl thing that had not outlasted their teens, and Vivian’s peace of mind was justified.

  Rona Parish, however, was a different matter entirely. He took another sip of whisky, rolling it round in his mouth to extract maximum flavour. Should he wait until she approached him for an interview, or forestall her by offering some snippet about Theo, to be imparted over a discreet diner à deux? Yes, he decided, better to set his own scene. He didn’t fool himself that she’d be an easy conquest; there was an independent air about her, a determined lift to her chin and a challenge in those brown eyes that would make pursuit of her the more enjoyable. At the very least, he hoped to persuade her to deal tactfully with any untoward revelations the diaries might bring forth. And if she proved amenable to a closer association, so much the better.

  He finished his whisky and, setting his glass down, stood up and stretched. Then, his mind still on possible delights to come, he went round the room switching off lamps, checked the lock on the front door, and went up to his solitary bed.

  Five

  The following morning, Rona wrote six letters requesting an interview. At the top of her list, as always, were the older people, in case they didn’t stay the course – Theo’s ninety-three-year-old father, an aged aunt, and one of his tutors at university, with whom he’d still been in touch. With luck, they’d agree to see her, but she was by no means as confident about his first wife and sons.

  Having posted the letters, she caught a train to London and spent the rest of the day at the British Library looking up newspaper reports of his death, the inquest that followed it, and the different versions of his obituary that had appeared in the nationals. There was little in any of the accounts that she’d not known before, but at least she had laid the foundations by collating such information as was in the public domain. It was now up to her to winkle out the rest.

  In the train home, she glanced through the notes and photocopies she had taken. A common theme was, of course, Theo’s famous block and the spectacular success that had followed it. Various explanations were propounded for his change of style, and would need to be considered in turn, but she found none of them convincing. Better to start with an open mind, and see where her interviews would lead.

  She had phoned Max to tell him which train she would be on, and he met her at the station.

  ‘Thank goodness it’s Friday!’ she said, putting up her face for his kiss. ‘We’ll actually have time to talk to each other!’

  Thursday phone calls, fitted into Max’s busiest day, allowed for only the briefest of exchanges, and the previous evening had been no exception.

  ‘Weren’t you seeing the Widow Harvey yesterday?’ he asked as they walked towards the car.

  ‘Yes, and guess what? Her cousin showed up again.’

  ‘The one who advised you to drop it?’

  ‘In a roundabout way, yes. I’d love to know what he’s so worried about. He was obviously hoping to sit in on the interview, but he got his timing wrong, so it was a wasted journey.’

  ‘But yours wasn’t, I trust?’

  ‘No, it was quite an interesting session, though Meriel seems more interested in psychoanalysis than a straight biography.’

  They had reached the car, and as they drove home, she told him of Meriel’s anxieties, and about the diaries and the code that appeared in them. ‘I’m just about to start the book it was devised for,’ she added.

  ‘Then all will be revealed,’ Max observed.

  ‘How do you mean?’

  ‘Well, obviously the hero will crack it in the end.’

  She spun to face him. ‘My God – of course! Why didn’t I think of that?’

  ‘A bit pointless, though, isn’t it, going to all the trouble of encrypting your diaries, then using a code any of your readers could work out?’

  ‘His readers wouldn’t be reading the diaries.’

  ‘I bet his wife did.’

  Rona said slowly, ‘You think she knows more than she’s told me?’

  ‘All I’m saying is she knew parts of his diaries were in code, and that he’d used one in a book. She wouldn’t be human not to have had a crack at it.’

&
nbsp; ‘Then why didn’t she tell me, when she knows I’ll be going through them anyway?’

  ‘Ask me another. Have you got them at home?’

  ‘No, she wants me to work on them there.’

  ‘Well, they should provide at least some of the answers.’ He turned into Lightbourne Avenue and drew up outside the house.

  ‘I certainly hope so,’ Rona said. ‘According to Meriel, he purposely used a code that wasn’t too complicated, so readers could crack it if they tried.’

  ‘How very patronizing!’ Max remarked, getting out of the car.

  It had been misty all day, and now a cold, needle-sharp rain was falling. They hurried up the path and he opened the door, to be nearly knocked over by a boisterous welcome from Gus.

  ‘Sorry you’ve been alone all day,’ Rona apologized, fondling his velvety ears. ‘Be a love, Max, and walk him round the block before you take your coat off; he hasn’t had any exercise since first thing this morning.’

  ‘Bloody dog,’ Max said amiably, handing her a carrier bag.

  ‘What’s this?’

  ‘Ingredients for the weekend’s meals. Don’t panic; all you’re required to do is take them down to the kitchen.’

  ‘What would I do without you?’ she said.

  ‘Starve!’ he retorted, and, fastening Gus’s lead, went out again into the wet evening.

  Over supper in the sunshine-yellow kitchen, with rain sluicing against the glass doors and darkness outside, Rona told Max about her visit to Lindsey.

  ‘She’s worried Hugh won’t take no for an answer,’ she finished, dissecting her herbed lamb cutlet. ‘You know how stubborn he can be.’

  ‘Perhaps he thinks “no” means “maybe”,’ Max suggested. ‘It has in the past.’

  Rona shot him a look. She’d not betrayed her twin’s confidences, but it seemed Max guessed she was having second thoughts. ‘I wish she could meet someone else,’ she said.

  He refilled her wine glass. ‘To change the subject, one of my students was asking about this biography of yours. She’d read that snippet in the paper, and it seems her family has a weekend cottage not far from Harvey’s.’