Brought to Book

  She shook herself. She was becoming paranoid. Rob seemed a pleasant, easy-going man, and Lindsey was more than halfway in love with him. She really must rein in her imagination, or she’d finish by being as jumpy as Meriel. But her disquiet continued, and after only a mouthful of the doughnut, she pushed it aside.

  Take the other scenario, then: suppose Rob had followed her that day, had engineered the meeting at the theatre: what possible reason could he have? The fact that she couldn’t think of one didn’t reassure her. And if there was something suspect about him, could Lindsey be in danger?

  Rona went hot and then cold, even as she told herself not to be ridiculous. Linz wasn’t even remotely connected with Theo Harvey – except through herself. Suppose, then, that Rob had approached her in order to get indirectly at Rona? Suppose that something Linz had innocently let slip had worried him sufficiently to try to force her capitulation by poisoning Gus?

  This was ludicrous, she told herself roundly, the height of fantasy. Yet someone had poisoned Gus, and that was equally unbelievable.

  She stood up abruptly and, abandoning her tea, paid quickly at the check-out and ran down the stairs to Guild Street. She’d go home and pack an overnight bag, then, on the way to Max, call in at Chase Mortimer and have a word with Lindsey. About what, she didn’t know; she’d have to play it by ear, but her urgent need to see her twin couldn’t be ignored.

  ‘Ro! This is a surprise.’

  ‘I’ve come to ask why you were skiving off this afternoon,’ Rona said lightly.

  ‘Actually, I was out seeing a client. Did you try to get hold of me?’

  ‘No, I saw you from the Gallery Café. With Rob.’

  Lindsey laughed. ‘Guilty as charged. Believe it or not as you choose, but we met quite by chance on my way back.’

  Rona had intended to mention the car, but something held her back. Instead, she said, ‘I also wanted to tell you about Gus.’

  ‘Oh yes; you said he’d run off. Did he find his way home?’

  ‘Eventually; more dead than alive.’

  Lindsey’s smile faded. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘We found him lying on the path this morning. Someone had poisoned him, Linz.’

  Lindsey’s eyes widened in horror. ‘He’s not . . .?’

  ‘He wasn’t at lunchtime; I have to ring again in an hour or so.’

  ‘But good God, Rona, who would do a thing like that?’

  ‘Who indeed? And why?’

  Lindsey reached over and put a hand on hers. ‘I’m so sorry. I do hope he’ll be OK.’

  Rona drew a steadying breath. ‘Anyway, tell me about your weekend. You said you’d been with Rob on Saturday; did you see him yesterday, too?’

  Lindsey made a face. ‘No; he had to be on hand to welcome some delegates who were arriving for a conference. So you’ll be pleased to hear that after your pointed comments, I went round to see the parents.’

  ‘Good for you,’ Rona said from a dry mouth. What was Rob really doing, yesterday afternoon and evening? She forced herself to add, ‘And how was Pops?’

  ‘A bit more subdued than I expected, to be honest. He’d just had another bout of indigestion. I added my voice to yours and Mum’s, and I think he’s seeing the doctor today.’

  ‘Thank goodness.’

  ‘Anyway, that was my weekend, how about yours? Any new angles? Oh, and I meant to ask you: did you ever get your hands on those diaries?’

  Rona’s heart flipped and her voice came out as a croak. ‘What diaries?’

  ‘Theo Harvey’s, of course. The ones that were in code and that his wife wouldn’t let you take away. You told me about them over supper at the flat.’

  So she had. Oh God, so she had! Had Linz mentioned them to Rob? And how could it possibly matter if she had?

  ‘I’ll get round to them,’ she answered obliquely, and hurried on, ‘Yes, we had some interesting talks with the locals, that opened up several new leads.’ She paused; yesterday, she wouldn’t have hesitated to give Lindsey all the details and discuss the possibilities with her. Now, the uncertain shadow of Rob lay between them, and instead, she switched to more comfortable ground. ‘It’s a nice little cottage he had up there, in gorgeous countryside, and we had some good walks. Gus—’ She broke off, her eyes filling.

  Lindsey squeezed her hand. ‘Rob and I went for a walk, too, up Furze Hill. It was a lovely afternoon.’

  ‘You two seem very thick,’ Rona remarked, dabbing at her eyes. ‘Do you know anything about him? His family, for instance, or where he lives?’

  Lindsey glanced at her in surprise. ‘You think I should look into his antecedents?’

  ‘It’s just that you’ve got very close very quickly, that’s all.’

  ‘Love at first sight! We’re living proof that it happens.’

  ‘But really, what do you know about him?’

  ‘That he works for a promotions company, that he divorced after six years of marriage and has no children; that he’s a super guy and a wonderful lover, and that I feel happier with him than I’ve done with anyone for a long time. Next question?’

  Rona said with difficulty, ‘Does he ever ask about me?’

  ‘Of course he does. He’s never met twins before, and they – we – intrigue him. He’s always asking about what we have in common and the differences between us.’

  ‘And what in particular “intrigues” him about me?’

  ‘Oh, your writing, and the progress you’re making with the bio, and especially the fact that you and Max live apart. He asked if you weren’t nervous, alone in that large house at night.’

  ‘How does he know it’s a large house?’ Rona’s voice cracked and Lindsey frowned.

  ‘I must have said so. God, Ro, what is this?’

  ‘Did it ever strike you as – weird, the way you met?’

  ‘What the hell do you mean, weird?’

  ‘Well, his just happening to be sitting next to us at the theatre.’

  ‘Someone had to be next to us, so why not him? And I’d dropped the programme, if you remember, that’s why he approached us. And no, I didn’t do it deliberately! It was fate, that’s all.’

  Rona drew a deep breath. ‘No doubt you’re right. But – go easy, Linz. You really don’t know him well, and I couldn’t bear it if you were hurt.’

  ‘Relax. He’s not going to be here for long, so we’re making the most of what time we have.’

  Rona felt a flood of relief. ‘It’s not serious, then?’

  ‘Who knows?’ Lindsey replied, deliberately flippant. ‘If it is, we’ll find a way to be together.’

  There was a tap on the door, a head came round it, and was withdrawn with an apology.

  Rona stood. ‘I must go.’

  Lindsey indicated her overnight bag. ‘What’s that in aid of?’

  ‘Max has decreed I should sleep at Farthings for the time being.’ She paused. ‘So Rob needn’t worry on my account.’

  ‘I’ll tell him,’ Lindsey said acidly.

  Rona felt a shaft of alarm. ‘Don’t let him know I’ve been asking about him, will you?’

  ‘Ashamed of the questionnaire?’

  ‘No, but—’

  ‘Don’t worry, Ro, my lips are sealed. How does the song go? “Lord help the mister who comes between me and my sister”?’

  ‘“And Lord help the sister who comes between me and my man!”’ Rona finished for her, and they both laughed.

  ‘See you,’ Rona said, and left her.

  Farthings was a small, whitewashed cottage whose front door – solid wood, with a brightly polished knob – opened directly off the pavement. Jostling it closely on one side was a larger building, also whitewashed, which now housed a solicitor’s office. On the other, an alley between the buildings gave access via a gate in the wall to the small, triangular piece of ground that served as a garden. The cottage beyond the alley was owned by a retired carpenter, who had done countless jobs for Max when he first moved in; and next door to the carp
enter was the veterinary centre.

  The front door opened on to a small passage with doors to left and right and another straight ahead. A steep staircase led to the studio above.

  When Rona let herself in, Beethoven’s Fifth was resounding through the house. She pushed open the door to the living room, not surprised that Max, who had his back to her, had not heard her entrance.

  ‘Boo!’ she said loudly, and he reduced the volume on the stereo before coming over to kiss her.

  ‘Hi, sweetie. How was your day?’

  ‘Like you’d never believe,’ she answered fervently.

  ‘Oh? How so?’

  She eyed him steadily. ‘Promise not to blow your top if I tell you?’

  ‘I don’t like the sound of that. Enlighten me.’

  She took a deep breath. ‘Well, I went to Stokely, as I told you. What I didn’t mention was that it was to meet Gary Myers.’

  Max’s brows drew together. ‘Myers? Are you out of your mind?’

  ‘And he told me that Theo didn’t write those last two books.’

  ‘Hang on, you’re going too fast. How did you track down Myers?’

  Her eyes fell. ‘I asked Archie Duncan for his address.’

  ‘And he gave it to you? Bloody marvellous! But – you stupid little idiot! Didn’t you realize the risk you were taking?’

  ‘I was nervous, admittedly, until I got to his house and met his parents.’

  ‘His parents?’

  ‘They’re a nice couple, Max, friendly and helpful. And when Gary arrived, he wasn’t at all as we’d imagined. A perfectly respectable bank clerk, in fact.’

  ‘Who happens to go around blackmailing people in his spare time? And—’ Her earlier words gradually filtered through to him. ‘What did you say about Harvey?’

  ‘That he didn’t write the last two. A friend of Gary’s did.’

  It took him a minute to process that. Then he said firmly, ‘You’d better sit down and tell me everything from the beginning.’

  ‘I will, but first, do you think we could call the surgery?’

  He glanced at the clock. ‘It’s not quite five, but we could try.’

  She went to stand beside him as the dialling tone was interrupted and a voice said, ‘Springfield Veterinary Centre.’

  ‘This is Max Allerdyce, Bob. We were wondering—’

  ‘Oh, Max, yes; I was about to call you.’

  Rona’s fingers dug deeply into his arm.

  ‘Good news, I’m glad to say,’ the vet was continuing. ‘Gus came round about an hour ago, and I’m pretty sure the worst is over. He’ll need a lot of TLC for a week or two, though; it was a narrow escape.’

  ‘That’s – wonderful,’ Max said inadequately, drawing Rona to him as tears of relief streamed down her face. ‘Can we see him?’

  ‘I’d prefer you to wait till tomorrow. He’s still very weak, and I’d like to avoid any excitement. Pop round just before nine, but you won’t be able to take him home for at least another day.’

  ‘Were you able to identify the poison?’

  ‘Yes, Warfarin, as I’d suspected. Altogether too accessible, unfortunately. He probably ate something put down for rats.’

  ‘Yes,’ Max said stonily. ‘Well, I needn’t tell you how grateful we are. We’ll be round in the morning. Thanks, Bob.’

  He put the phone down and Rona blew her nose. ‘Sorry about that. My nerves are shot to pieces today, and that was the final straw. Thank God he’s going to be all right.’

  ‘Amen to that. Now, I want a blow-by-blow account of this traumatic day of yours.’

  Once again she went through the story Gary had recounted, adding the reactions of her agent and editor. ‘So I’ve brought the ’97 diary with me,’ she finished. ‘I thought we could go through it this evening and see what we can find. If we don’t come up with anything, the whole project could be scuppered.’

  ‘It’d certainly cause a sensation, and be a fantastic boost to the book into the bargain. But my God, what a story!’

  ‘We must keep quiet about it, though, at least until we can back it up. Even then, we’ll have to be careful how we deal with it; I’ll have another word with Eddie.’

  Max smiled. ‘How will your father react to hearing his idol has feet of clay?’

  ‘I should think it’ll come as a relief; he didn’t think much of those last two books. Lindsey says he’s still not too good, by the way.’ She hesitated. ‘And speaking of Linz brings me to my second shock of the day, which concerns Rob.’

  ‘This new fellow she’s met?’

  Rona nodded, and, almost reluctantly, told of the car that had followed her turning out to be his. ‘It’s probably nothing,’ she added quickly, ‘but it just – left me with a funny feeling.’

  ‘One more question mark,’ Max commented. ‘Why the hell did you agree to write this book? I had a bad feeling about it from the first.’

  ‘It could make our fortune,’ she reminded him with a smile.

  ‘If we’re still alive to enjoy it,’ he rejoined grimly.

  They spent the evening and, after an emotional visit to Gus, most of the following day, poring over Theo’s 1997 journal. The first comments about Greg Nelson were in his ordinary handwriting; clearly, at that stage he’d had no intention of purloining the manuscripts.

  The pages allocated to the first half of August were filled with self-pitying comments on his continuing block and general disillusionment with life. Sometimes, the only line to appear was the single, bitter comment: Another bloody day. Then, towards the end of the month, his handwriting showed a marked change, became more formed and incisive:

  An interesting discovery today. At last got round to going through the final batch of mail from the box number, which, at Meriel’s insistence, I brought back with me last weekend, and found to my surprise that it contained a couple of manuscripts from Greg Nelson. I’ve only glanced at them, but it looks as though the boy’s talent is developing along the lines I predicted. In fact they’re quite exciting, and I regret not opening them sooner. In view of the delay, I decided to phone him, but his covering letter gives only the address. I’ll get on to the school tomorrow – they’ll have his number on file. He should certainly be encouraged.

  Then, under the following day:

  Phoned Write Track this morning, and learned to my distress that Nelson was killed in a road accident – shortly after sending me the manuscripts, to judge by the date on his letter. To add to the injury, his family had died in a fire some years previously, which no doubt accounts for the brooding quality in his work. So the upshot is that there’s nowhere to return the manuscripts. What an appalling tragedy – and what a waste of talent. I intend to read them through, though; in the circumstances, it’s the least I can do.

  Over the next few days there were several comments such as: This book is amazing! I wish I’d written it myself! And The talent he shows is truly staggering. Then followed a couple of pages of short, disjointed sentences, indicating that Harvey’s mind was elsewhere, and finally, at the beginning of September, he lapsed into code.

  ‘Damn!’ Max said. ‘This’ll slow us down, just as it’s getting interesting.’

  Rona pushed her hair off her face. ‘There’s nothing to go on so far. We know what he’s talking about, but no one else would.’

  Slowly and laboriously they started to decipher, and Theo’s anguish became plain. This just isn’t on, he wrote at one point; dead or alive, the boy deserves recognition. It was clear from the following pages that he’d fought tremendous battles with himself before finally giving in to temptation. One day he’d decide to go ahead, the next he’d change his mind. The following day, he was swayed again. At last he wrote:

  Although basically dishonest, no one would suffer from the deception, since there’s no one to whom any resulting advances or royalties should go. It would be a chance of ending this god-awful block that has dogged me far too long, and with luck will get me back in the swing of writing again.
Finally, though only I will realize it, it’ll be a belated tribute to young Nelson.

  ‘You can convince yourself of anything, if you keep at it long enough,’ Max observed caustically. ‘Do you think this is proof enough of plagiarism?’

  Rona shrugged. ‘The word “deception” is pretty conclusive, but we should probably try to get a bit more, just to cover ourselves. I don’t foresee any problem.’

  She stood up and stretched. ‘That’s more than enough for today, and you’re a love to give up your whole day to it. Shall we pop round to see Gus?’

  They were shown to the back of the building, to the area set aside for surgery and recuperation. At the sound of their approach, Gus raised his head a little, and his tail wagged feebly. They bent down to him, stroking his head and murmuring comfort.

  ‘How soon can he come home?’ Max asked the practice nurse.

  ‘Mr Standing says perhaps tomorrow, but he must be kept quiet for a week or two.’

  ‘What time’s your flight to Scotland?’ Max asked Rona.

  ‘Three thirty, from Luton.’

  ‘We can collect him together then, before you go.’

  Later, she stood sipping her vodka and Russchian, watching Max grill a couple of chops for their meal. The kitchen was small but functional, its modern equipment blending agreeably with the general ambience. Beyond it, a bathroom extension had been added, its appearance, too, in keeping with the age of the house.

  ‘All home comforts,’ Rona remarked, as he put the prepared vegetables in the microwave.

  ‘For most of the week, it is home,’ Max reminded her. ‘I certainly use this cooker more than you do the one in the Avenue.’

  ‘I wouldn’t argue with you there,’ she conceded.

  They ate at the small table at one end of the living-room, mindful of the time, since Max’s evening class began at seven thirty. The studio, which occupied the entire upstairs area, had originally been a loft, and Max had engaged his next-door neighbour to convert it specifically to his purpose. Skylights had been let into the roof – the local planning committee having satisfied itself they could not be seen from the street – and the area was cleverly designed to allow maximum space both for his own work and that of his class.