FRAUD

by PETER DAVEY

  “I told him in a vague sort of way that I didn’t know if he’d published while frantically trying to think on my feet. I told him I’d thought it looked quite promising too and had been meaning to run it past him. He asked me how long I'd had it lying around on my desk and when I said, 'A couple of days,' he gave me his standard lecture about getting blasé about the slush pile. He was always saying you might find a gem in there and if you did you had to get back to the author right away before someone else snapped them up. Anyway, he told me to get onto him right that minute, then he said, 'No, better still, I’ll call him myself.’

  “I flew into a blind panic. I practically screamed at him not to phone him, and he looked at me in amazement and asked why not. I said something feeble like I’d lost the covering letter – which was true – I only had the address on the manuscript.’ He looked daggers at me and said he'd write to him then.

  “When he'd finished dictating the letter to Debbie – Sonia was off that day – I whipped the manuscript away and shoved it in my bottom drawer, hoping it might somehow dematerialise, that the whole thing might vanish and I’d wake up to find it had all been a horrible nightmare. But I knew in my heart of hearts it was only a matter of time before the shit hit the fan and my career in publishing was over.”

  “So what did you do?”

  “Nothing. I just waited. And hoped. And prayed. About a week later I passed Alistair in the corridor. He gave me one of his withering looks and said, ‘I still haven’t heard from that Edward Haymer’ and we both knew what that meant. But, of course, Ted would’ve been living in his caravan by then. They’d have sold their house and the letter never reached him.”

  “So let me get this straight. Alistair Milner liked ‘Tyranny’?”

  “He was over the moon about it. He’d have published it like a shot.”

  Nicola sank down into the chair opposite him as she began to fully comprehend what was being said to her. “So why didn’t you track him down and tell him?”

  “I couldn’t. I knew if Alistair found out I’d let Sonia write that letter then sat on his novel for more than a year, he'd never have forgiven me. And he’d have fired me.”

  “So... if it hadn’t been for you, Ted would’ve got ‘Tyranny’ published under his own name and under its proper title. And all his other novels too. He’d be an established novelist by now. He’d have self-respect. He’d still be with his wife and living in a decent house instead of that dump of a caravan. And ‘Loss’ would never have existed. And I...”

  “Like I said, it’s all down to me. Everything’s down to me.”

  There came a knock at the door. “Who is it?” Nicola snapped.

  “Sorry, Miss Carson. Security. I wasn’t sure if you were still in there.”

  “Well I am!”

  “Okay. No hurry.”

  It took her a moment to recover from the intrusion. “It still doesn’t explain what you were doing with Anne Haymer.”

  “Well, there’s more. Much more. You see, those sample chapters of Ted’s stayed in my bottom drawer right up until I left the Dragon’s Head. When I was clearing out my desk I came across them and started reading them for the first time. It was only then I realised the full magnitude of what I’d done because that book was a masterpiece. It was also incredibly marketable – exactly what the Dragon’s Head needed at that moment because it was in the shit financially. Then, by sheer chance, I happened to glance at a copy of ‘Loss’ a few days later and I couldn’t believe my eyes. I could see at once what had happened though I had no idea how it happened. So I tracked Ted down to try to find out.”

  Her eyes widened. “So you know Ted?”

  “Yes. I know Ted. I’ve known Ted all along. I thought that if I could establish the novel’s true authorship it would help to... make amends for what I’d done.”

  Gradually, little by little, it came together inside her head: his wish that they hide away in some distant paradise for the rest of their lives; the ease with which he found Ted’s caravan on Whitesands Marsh; his reluctance to go and enquire at The Queen’s Head where he would have been instantly recognised.

  “It was you,” she murmured incredulously. “It was you who persuaded him to sue me. It wasn’t his wife at all... it was you. That’s what your book was going to be about. You weren’t planning some arse-kissing biography, you were planning to expose me. That’s why you put on that shy, gormless act and lied your way into Malvern Hall. That’s why you were so nice to me all those weeks. You were trying to sweet-talk me into confessing! And that's why you insisted on giving me that fucking dictaphone – you wanted to get it on tape.” Her mouth was hanging open, her head was swaying helplessly from side to side. “Jesus...”

  “No. No! It wasn’t like that! Okay, I'll admit when I first came to Malvern Hall it was to get a confession out of you but things changed when I got to know you. I came over to your side! I... fell in love with you! And I didn’t know the truth because Ted had been lying to me!”

  “Get out of here!”

  “Nicola please! Let’s just talk about this! It’s not as though you didn’t have an agenda as well! You admitted it. You were going to stage your own death, remember? And then disappear. And I was the one you’d chosen to help you! And if that was my motive, why didn’t I write the book and use it?”

  “Because you had me by then! Who needs a golden egg when they’ve got the whole fucking goose?”

  “Nicola...”

  “Get out of here!”

  *

  He went back to the hotel, not knowing where else to go. And there he waited, wandering between the rooms, smoking, waiting for her to return, knowing she would not return. His phone buzzed, announcing a text. It said simply:

  Staying with friends

  At least she had sent him that text. He tried to derive some comfort from that. But he knew in his heart of hearts it was not done to comfort or reassure him, it was her way of telling him to leave her alone.

  He didn’t even try to sleep that night. He could not stay in their room, surrounded by her things, by the scent of her, by the sound of her voice echoing in his brain. He wandered the streets of London, hour after hour, returning finally to the hotel where he sat in a chair, smoking.

  There came a knock at the door. Emerging from a medley of nightmares dominated by Nicola – furious, despising him, hating him – he was surprised to find himself lying fully clothed on the bed. He glanced at his watch and was even more surprised to find it was after eleven. Then he remembered he had found her Nitrazadon in her case and taken two of them. The knock came again, a little more timidly. He hauled himself up, swayed and stumbled and steadied himself then went to answer it, finding himself staring at a dark, curly-haired woman who looked about forty. She seemed very awkward.

  “Hi. You must be Dominic.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m Rebecca. Rebecca Goodman. My husband’s a close friend of Bill Grainger, Nicola’s agent. Nicola stayed with us last night in Wimbledon and she... she asked if I’d mind calling round to collect her stuff. But if it’s not convenient...” she added hastily.

  Dominic looked around in bewilderment. “Um... I’ve only just woken up. I was about to take a shower.” His appearance must have corroborated his words, even though he was dressed.

  “Yes, of course. I can come back later if you like.”

  “Just give me an hour.”

  “And I was told to say...”

  He waited for her to finish her sentence.

  “I was told to say that the bill’s been paid up to today – the hotel bill.”

  “Right.”

  He closed the door and rested his forehead against it. He had no intention of taking a shower, he just needed some time to orientate himself, to try to come to terms with the situation, to accept that this pleasant, polite woman had been sent not only to collect Nicola’s things but to inform him – in code – that it was all over.

  He was unclear whether he was supposed
to pack her stuff himself or whether this woman was going to do it. He found himself fondling her blouses, her bras, her knickers, her tops, the delicate scent of Chanel invoking the memory of the day he had first met her, the day he had gone to Malvern Hall and they had sat together on the terrace that mild March afternoon, smoking his cigarettes. Then he opened another cupboard and gazed at her shoes and boots and sandals, his eye drawn to her red shoes nestling among its companions – her beautiful Ralph Lauren shoes – simple and stylish but getting a little old and scuffed now. He smiled faintly as he thought of how she loved those shoes with a passion that was almost childlike and had to have them with her everywhere she went. He reached out and picked them up and it was then that he broke down completely.

  Finally, angrily, he got out his own suitcase and threw Nicola’s red shoes into it, along with his own things. Then he zipped it up, collected his jacket, wallet and keys and left the room.

  *

  The hubbub of conversation died as the lights were dimmed and the audience turned its attention to the curtain which was about to open. They waited. They whispered to one another. Then, to their surprise, a spotlight swung stage left to reveal a grey-haired man in an evening suit emerging from the wings then followed him as he walked briskly to centre stage and turned to face them.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, “it is with great regret that I have to announce that Nicola Carson is unable to take part in tonight’s performance...” The end of his sentence – “... due to illness” – was drowned in a howl of disappointment bristling with anger. Nicola Carson was the reason most of them had bought their tickets. He held up his hands in a gesture of conciliation, beseeching calm, forbearance and forgiveness. When the outburst had died down a little, he added, “However, we have a superb understudy in Hannah Jameson, so the show will go on!”

  *

  Dominic slowly unlocked the door, knowing the emptiness which awaited him inside. He tossed the keys onto the kitchen table and stood in the middle of the room, gazing around. The place was exactly as they had left it the night they had fled in Sarah’s boyfriend’s car. One of Nicola’s cigarette packets lay empty on the counter, some dishes were stacked on the draining board. It was as though time had frozen – a time when everything had been different, when planet Earth had been a billion miles from where it was now.

  He grabbed the kettle and filled it even though he did not want coffee. He moved to the little table and sat down to wait for it to boil. If he could just address himself to small tasks, one after the other, maybe he could keep going, at least for the moment. He had no money but could not think of getting a job. Maybe he could take the Mercedes back to the dealer where they would probably give him a third of what Nicola had paid for it. That would sustain him for a while. Beyond that... He heaved a sigh and put the future out of his mind.

  He reached into his pocket, pulled out his mobile and gazed at it. He scrolled through the numbers until he found the one he was looking for and pressed dial. His heart was pounding as he lifted it to his ear. A woman’s voice said, “Malvern Hall Rehabilitation Clinic.”

  “It’s Dominic Sealy. I was wondering if it might be possible to speak to Dr Lennox.”

  “Hold the line a moment.” He waited – his heart in his mouth – then the woman came back and said, “Yes, as a matter of fact he wants to speak to you. Is it possible you could get down here?”

  “You mean, he wants to speak to me in person?”

  “If you wouldn’t mind.”

  “So Nicola’s with you?”

  The woman hesitated. “Well, that’s confidential information. But yes, she is.”

  “When shall I come?”

  “As soon as possible.”

  It was twenty past six in the evening and he set off almost at once in the Mercedes they had chosen together. Nicola had insisted it should be open top. And white. Her scent lingered there too, in the sumptuous cream leather upholstery. As instructed, he announced himself through the intercom and the electronic gate buzzed and swung open. The receptionist was off duty at that hour and the woman who unlocked the door and asked him to sign in was a stranger to him. She wore a grave expression – whether it was habitual or for his benefit he did not know.

  They walked to Dr Lennox’s office, she knocked, admitted him and closed the door behind him. Dr Lennox was seated at his desk, writing something on a form, and gestured to him to sit down. They did not shake hands. Finally he set down his pen, sat back and stared at him.

  “So. Here we are again.”

  “Dr Lennox, is there any chance at all I can see her?”

  “None whatsoever. She was in a bad way when she arrived but one thing she was quite coherent about was that you shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near her. She’s a little calmer now and I’ve spoken to her at some length. But I need to get as complete a picture as possible of what’s been going on, so I’d like to hear your version of events.”

  Dominic opened his mouth to speak then closed it again. He was silent for an age. Dr Lennox did not hurry him. “You remember the morning Nicola left here and came to stay with me?” he said at last, “and you asked me if I was worthy of her trust?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well I wasn’t. I was lying to her – and to you – from the start. I never ran a fan club website – that thing you saw on the internet was a fake. I worked in publishing and it was I who discovered she had plagiarised ‘Loss’. But there was no way I could prove it. In the hope of finding proof, I shared the information with Edward Haymer and it was I who persuaded him to sue her. When the lawsuit fell through I was frustrated so I hatched the idea of coming here, pretending to be a fan, and befriending her in the hope she might confess or at least let something slip to incriminate herself. I never imagined in my wildest dreams we’d... become involved. I should’ve told her the truth then, I know I should, but I was just so amazed and flattered that a girl like that should be interested in me and I was terrified she’d turn against me. And I was concerned for her. I remembered what you said about how easily a bi-polar sufferer can be pushed over the edge.”

  Dr Lennox was still staring at him. “And what about all the other lies you told?”

  “I’m sorry?”

  “That morning you referred to, you claimed to be taken completely by surprise when Nicola announced she was coming to stay with you. And yet I now know that it was you who persuaded her to leave here and help you write the very book that was going to destroy her...”

  “No! That’s not true!”

  “... and that it was you who persuaded her to go on television and make that statement.”

  Dominic grimaced. “What? Why would I do that?”

  “To corroborate what you were going to put in your book before the storm of protest it would’ve unleashed. Not to mention the barrage of lawsuits. You knew you had no proof. So what better substitute for proof than to get the accused to go on national television and confess? Then, on the back of the scandal, you were going to come out with your book – the inside story.”

  Soundlessly Dominic mouthed the word “What?”

  “Everyone now agrees Nicola did write ‘Loss’ – her publisher, her agent, Connaught International, academics, critics. The truth is what Haymer – whose conscience presumably got the better of him – said in his statement – that he showed her his manuscript and she was influenced by it. The plagiarism thing was nothing more than a scandal you whipped up out of that to launch your pathetic career.”

  Dominic was slowly shaking his head. “I don’t know what she’s been telling you but she’s clearly delusional. Or she’s punishing me. She admitted to me she didn’t write that book! She wanted to admit it! She needed to confess!”

  “Of course she did. Because you’d convinced her that the influence she’d received from Haymer’s manuscript amounted to full-scale plagiarism. It’s a common phenomenon among patients in a vulnerable condition. They meet someone who makes them feel safe and secure and they fall
entirely under their spell. And it makes them very easy to manipulate.”

  “Oh... crap! I never manipulated her! And I never persuaded her to go on television! I tried to dissuade her! She had to persuade me! That’s the truth!”

  “The truth?” Dr Lennox laughed. “After what you’ve just told me, I’m supposed to accept what you say as the truth?”

  Dominic was finally at a loss for words.

  “By the way, do you know what’s happened to her red shoes?”

  He was unable to negotiate the change of subject. “What?”

  “Her red shoes. They weren’t with her luggage and she’s very upset about it. They’re a kind of security blanket for her.”

  “No, I’ve no idea what’s happened to her red shoes. Some woman came to our hotel room to collect her stuff after I left. She probably stole them.”

  Dr Lennox heaved a sigh. “I think I’ve heard enough. All I know is that before you appeared on the scene I had a patient who was making a steady, if slow, recovery. Now, thanks to you, she’s back to square one – in fact, she’s even further back than square one. And I’ve only got myself to blame for ever letting you inside the gates, something I’ll never forgive myself for. You took me in – hook, line and sinker – and that takes some doing, I can tell you. Whether Nicola ever trusts anyone again after this remains to be seen. All I can say is that, as long as it’s within my power, I shall move heaven and earth to make her well. And I shall also move heaven and earth to ensure she never lays eyes on you again.”

  “That’s hardly likely to happen,” Dominic mumbled.

  “I hope not.”