FRAUD

by PETER DAVEY

  The second bag was even less promising, consisting mainly of household rubbish – plastic bottles, tins, cartons, vegetable peelings, yet more paper. But amongst it she spotted a white A4 envelope on which was scrawled the single word ‘Miranda’.

  She gingerly extracted it from the muck and shook it to dislodge a lump of squashed tomato. It was unsealed and she peered inside then pulled out the contents. It proved to be three letters typed on A4 paper and held together by a paper clip. She detached the first:

  Dear Mr. Haymer

  You do not know me but my name is Miranda Cole and, as you will have gathered from my letterhead, I am a literary agent. I hope you will forgive me for writing to you out of the blue but I received an email from Tom Newcomb in which he expressed the absolute conviction that you are the true author of Nicola Carson’s novel ‘Loss’ – or whatever title you originally gave it. Tom, who, it must be said, has a rather vivid imagination, is of the opinion that you were intimidated by Nicola Carson’s ‘bodyguards’ into withdrawing your lawsuit. I cannot comment on that. I feel that it is probably too late, sadly, to do anything about ‘Loss’ now, but if you have written any other novels I would be very interested to see them.

  I am sending this care of the Post Office in Wemborne since I have no more precise address for you, so I hope it finds you.

  Yours sincerely,

  Miranda Cole

  She looked at the second. A certain familiarity must have developed between them in the interim – possibly they had met – because it was far less formal:

  Dear Ted

  I hope you are well. Having now read the whole of ‘Three Summers by the Sea’ I am tremendously impressed and deeply moved – it is a complex, multi-layered and beautiful novel which is crying out to be published.

  I have to say, however, that I was surprised by how different it is to ‘The Tyranny of Love’. It is a far better book but also, sadly, in the present economic climate, less commercial and may prove difficult to place as a first novel. Publishers have all pulled in their horns and are taking on very few new authors indeed. Please rest assured that this is purely a reflection of the times and not of your wonderful novel.

  I will continue to try my utmost on your behalf and will contact you the moment I have any success.

  Best wishes,

  Miranda

  Then she came to the third:

  Dear Ted

  Fantastic news! Nicola’s dramatic appearance on television has completely reversed our fortunes. All the publishers I previously contacted have, without exception, got back to me clamouring for the rights to ‘Three Summers by the Sea’ and any subsequent novels you might produce. We need to go for a rights auction.

  I am so thrilled to be able to share this news with you and look forward to hearing from you at the earliest opportunity.

  With very best wishes,

  Miranda

  Slowly, thoughtfully, she pinned the letters back together and set them aside. She then spent two more hours going through her husband’s detritus – reading notes, snatches of manuscripts and letters – then getting it all back into its bags (except the letters from Miranda Cole) and tying them up again. She had relived some poignant memories, had wiped away an occasional tear, but she was no nearer to finding out where he had gone.

  Despite Frank’s assurance that the caravan was an empty shell devoid of clues, she got the key from him and went there to check for herself. She scoured through the drawers, opened the cupboards, looked on top of the cupboards, under the bed. Nothing. It was as though the place had not only been vacated but had never been lived in. She sank down with a sigh on the bench seat and drifted into thought, gazing at the cheap vinyl walls and listening to the murmur of the wind on the marshes.

  6

  After a great performance the electricity seems to infuse the entire theatre right down to its remotest, shabbiest corners. Dominic sensed it acutely as he edged his way with the excited, chattering crowd down the stairs towards the rear exit and the door marked ‘PRIVATE’ which yielded onto another, much narrower staircase leading to the dressing rooms. The crowd had momentarily jammed in the little vestibule before the street exit and, confronted by the obstruction, he made for the gents. But as he swung the door open he found himself face to face with the last person on Earth he expected to see. They stared at each other in disbelief.

  “Oh... fuck!”

  “Oh shit!”

  Their mutually insulting greeting caused a hiatus. Then Dominic sighed. “Look, Ted, I don’t want us to fight. Let’s go and get a drink.”

  “I don’t think we’ve got much to say to each other, do you?”

  “Yes, I’ve got something to say to you.”

  “I have to catch the train.”

  “Ten minutes. There’s a little bar round the corner. I can actually afford to buy you that double brandy now.”

  Ted considered the proposal. “Won’t your other half wonder where you’ve got to?”

  “I’ll tell her I’ve run into someone. She always takes hours to get out of costume anyway. I’ll just pop in here then go and talk to her. If you wouldn’t mind waiting a couple of minutes.”

  “Look, I’ll go and have a drink with you on one condition. That you don’t tell anyone you’ve seen me. Especially Anne, if you’re still in touch with her.”

  “I promise.”

  As he was hurrying up the stairs to the dressing rooms, he felt sure Ted wouldn’t wait for him. But when he got back he was, amazingly, still there – and alone – the crowd having now dispersed. Hunched in a battered old Barbour, he was shifting his weight from one foot to the other and looked as though he wished he were invisible.

  The bar they went to was not around the corner at all – it was a good six minutes’ walk away – but at least it was in the direction of the station. At first they walked in awkward silence then Dominic said, “It was good of you to come.”

  “I didn’t come for you. Or for Nicola. I came for myself.”

  “Right. And what did you think?”

  “I thought it was good. But then I knew it would be.”

  “Just good?”

  “Look, Dominic, this is my thing. I don’t want to ruin it by having to dredge up a load of inadequate superlatives.”

  “No. Okay. Sorry.”

  The lights in the bar were dimmed, soft music was oozing from somewhere and a residue of customers were scattered among the tables. When Dominic had bought the brandies and settled in his seat, Ted said, “So what did you want to say to me?”

  “I wanted to apologise. For the way I spoke to you. And to ask your forgiveness.”

  He looked surprised. “My forgiveness? For what?”

  “For not getting ‘Tyranny’ published all those years ago. I know I was only an assistant editor but I should have been more assertive, more insistent, more confident of my convictions. If I’d done that, you’d be an established author by now and none of this would’ve happened.”

  No doubt feeling the warm glow of brandy doing its work, Ted seemed to relax a little and contemplated Dominic with a look almost of amusement. “So, I gather you’re a bit of a celebrity in your own right, now. As Nicola’s current ‘squeeze’ – I believe that’s the expression.”

  “It’s a lot more than that, Ted.”

  “Anyway, it should help get your writing career off the ground.”

  “That would be a nice bonus, I suppose.”

  “Don’t let it become your identity, though.”

  Dominic frowned. “My identity?”

  “The consort of the famous woman who’s earning ten times what you are. It can be very destructive.”

  “Yes. I know what you mean.”

  After a pause, Ted asked, “So how is she? Nicola?”

  “She’s fine. Great.”

  “Good,” he murmured then took a sip of his brandy.

  “Ted, I am aware of what a terrible thing I did. And hardly a day's gone by that I haven't regretted i
t.”

  “Dominic, you were a rookie! And it was just a manuscript! One of thousands you probably had to wade through every day of the week. You made a mistake, a misjudgement, just like editors are making all over the world all the time. Forget it!”

  “Just the same, I’d do anything to be able to be turn back the clock and persuade Alistair what a gem I’d found in the slush pile, just like he was always telling me I might.”

  “It wasn’t a gem. It had good bits in it but it also had massive flaws. It may have had its moment in the sun but it was never going to be a great novel. ‘Three Summers by the Sea’ on the other hand, that is a half decent novel, if I do say so myself.”

  “That was the other thing I wanted to talk to you about. I’d like to help you get it published. I’m in a perfect position to do that now, if you’ll let me.”

  Ted looked up at him in surprise. “Why?”

  “To try to... make amends for what happened.”

  Ted gazed at him for a while. “Look, Dominic, if you’re going to be a serious writer you have to stop using expressions like ‘if only this hadn’t happened’ or ‘if only that hadn’t happened’ or ‘if only I hadn’t done what I did, things might have been different’. What’s happened’s happened. What’s going to happen is going to happen. That’s how life is. And that’s what makes life extraordinary. And that’s what makes writing extraordinary too because it’s a mirror held up to life. If I’d had a positive response from Alistair Milner that day instead of that horrible letter... okay, I'd have been feeling elated instead of suicidal. I'd have gone up to the Queen’s and been patted on the back and bought lots of celebratory drinks. Chances are I’d never have even noticed Nicola and if I had I would never have empathised with her the way I did. It was my despair that drew me to her and her to me. I’ve often looked back on that day and wondered if it was the worst day of my life. But, then again, it could’ve been the best day of my life because when we were walking home together under the stars she suddenly burst into tears and we put our arms round each other. And I connected with her in a way I’d never connected with anyone before because it was the first time in my life that someone needed me. Anne never needed me. She loved me but she never needed me. I never even felt my children needed me. I remember them, from time to time when they were little, asking where I was and Anne telling them I was in my study playing with my novel-writing kit. It became a kind of family joke – Dad playing with his novel-writing kit. She meant no harm by it, but somehow it summed up the way things were. She was the one who was out there dealing with real life, I was playing a game. But with Nicola it was different. So don’t waste time trying to make amends or wondering how much nicer things might have been if you’d acted differently. You did what you did. And it’s all right.”

  “Ted, it’s not all right... there’s something else I have to say...”

  “Well it’ll have to wait,” he said, glancing at his watch, standing up and draining his brandy all in swift succession. “If I don’t catch that train I’m going to be spending the night under Westminster Bridge. Thanks for the drink.”

  He stretched out his hand and saw a look almost of anguish on Dominic’s face. “Look, Dominic, whatever’s on your mind, forget it. I forgive you. Life’s too short. It’s time to move on.”

  “Okay. Thanks Ted.”

  “I’ll see you around. And give Nicola my love.”

  7

  “It's very good of you to see me at such short notice.”

  “It’s a pleasure,” said Miranda Cole, shaking Anne’s hand. “Do sit down.”

  “The reason I came,” she began as she took the seat in front of the desk, “is that I found some letters you wrote my husband. And I gathered from one of them that his work is suddenly in demand.”

  “It certainly is. I must admit I'm surprised and rather alarmed he hasn't got back to me yet. I’ve tried phoning his mobile but had no joy, and he doesn't seem to have an email address. He certainly is a hard man to track down.”

  “Well, actually, that’s one of the reasons I wanted to see you. He's disappeared and I'm very worried about him, quite apart from the fact that I don't want him to miss this opportunity.”

  “Disappeared?”

  “Yes, none of his friends have the faintest idea where he's gone. And our children haven’t heard from him for months. I know it's a long shot but I'm getting rather desperate and I just wondered if he might have mentioned anything to you about his plans.”

  Miranda Cole shook her head. “I'm sorry. I had lunch with him once here in London and he just seemed delighted that someone was taking an interest in his work. But I've had no contact with him since I wrote him that letter.”

  Anne became silent and thoughtful. “I'm sorry to have troubled you then.”

  “It's no trouble. And I sincerely hope you find him. And when you do, perhaps you could ask him to contact me as soon as possible. It’s a fickle market we’re dealing with and the interest in his work won’t last forever.”

  Anne hesitated a moment. “There is one other thing I have to ask you. Ted and I both know the young man who is now Nicola Carson’s boyfriend. His name’s Dominic and I happen to know he’s also searching for Ted. I’ve been trying to contact him on his old mobile and landline numbers but both have been discontinued, as has his email address. And I just wondered, since your Nicola Carson’s agent...” Seeing a look of mystification come over the woman's face, she added, “Perhaps I'd better explain.”

  She then told her everything that Ted had told her that night in The Lemon Grass, omitting only his nocturnal foray into Nicola's bedroom. And the jiffy bags stuffed with cash. The look of mystification deepened into one of utter consternation.

  “So it’s true, then? Nicola didn’t write ‘Loss’?”

  “No. She didn’t.”

  Miranda Cole had gone pale and was slowly shaking her head. “I’d always clung to the hope that what your husband said in that interview was the truth. I should’ve listened to Tom. I thought he was just… and yet she lied in her statement on television?”

  “Yes. She lied to save Ted's reputation.”

  Miranda Cole fell silent but Anne could sense, behind the delicate, intelligent features, a brain hard at work examining all the implications of what she had been told. “Mrs. Haymer,” she said finally, “I really appreciate your sharing this information with me. But I think it might be better for all concerned if we forget we ever had this conversation.”

  Anne considered her words. “I don’t think Ted’s going to forget, though. That's why he hasn't contacted you. I think that after everything that's happened he wants to try and achieve success without unfair advantages.”

  “When you find him you have to persuade him otherwise. In my experience one should never underrate unfair advantages – most people who've achieved anything in this life have had them, and it would be a tragedy if your husband's talent went to waste.”

  “Yes, I think I agree with you,” murmured Anne.

  Miranda Cole observed her for a moment. “I probably shouldn’t be telling you this. But, as you pointed out, I’m still Nicola’s agent and I do happen to know that she and her boyfriend are staying at the Cadogan Hotel in Greenwich.”

  *

  Anne went straight there from Miranda Cole’s office. It was only four-thirty in the afternoon and, since the performance wasn’t until seven thirty, it was possible Dominic and Nicola would be in their room.

  The hotel seemed pleasant enough but was not, she imagined, the sort of place Nicola was used to. The tubby young man in a dark green uniform behind the reception desk greeted her with a cheery smile but when she mentioned the words ‘Mr Sealy’ he became distinctly cagey. Clearly the staff had been told to keep the couple’s presence low-key. When Anne became insistent, however, he reluctantly phoned through to their room. “Mr Sealy will be down in a moment, madam.”

  Some imitation leather sofas and armchairs were positioned around low tables in a ba
y to the left of the entrance and Anne perched in one of them. An empty beer glass stood beside a tumbler containing a twist of lemon. This was definitely not The Savoy.

  A few minutes later she spotted Dominic approaching across the reception area, looking amazed and a little awkward. Though wearing only jeans and a T-shirt, he seemed somehow far better dressed than when she had seen him last. She stood up.

  “Anne! What a lovely surprise!” he said, placing a hand on her arm and pecking her on both cheeks. “Nicola’s taking a nap.”

  She was not entirely sure why he had told her that. “I’ll be seeing her tonight, anyway,” she said. “I managed to get a ticket for the play.”

  “Oh, fantastic!” Then he looked at once anxious and apologetic. “Anne, I’m really sorry, I’d have loved for you to sit with me and go backstage afterwards but it may not be possible at such short notice. The seating’s booked solid and security’s incredibly tight – what with Nicola being a bit... controversial.”

  “It’s fine, Dominic! It never occurred to me. And I have to catch the train anyway.”

  “Would you like to go and get a drink at a pub? Or a coffee?”

  “No, no, this is fine.”

  He glanced nervously around and said, “Well, at least let’s find somewhere a bit less public,” then ushered her into the lounge where he chose a quiet corner near a fireplace.