by John Wilson
He turned to descend and then heard familiar footsteps on the stairs above. Julia was wearing a long black velvet dress. A diamond necklace shimmered at her neck. She hadn’t expected to see him there.
– Adam! You look terrible.
– Julia. It’s good to see you.
– I can’t talk. I’m late. I’ve got to rush. The party’s breaking up.
That familiar evasion was there. For obvious reasons he knew her capacity for deception. They needed to talk and he could see that she wasn’t prepared to do so.
– I got the note. He can’t possibly know.
– I can’t talk, Adam.
– He couldn’t possibly know.
– Did you destroy the note?
– Of course I did. How could he possibly know?
– He’s my husband, Adam. He’s not a fool.
– But there’s nothing.
– There’s always something, Adam. We could never hide everything. I can’t see you anymore.
– I need to talk to you.
– Things are going to move more quickly than you know. I can’t speak with you.
Adam remembered Pemberton’s professional tactics.
– Look. This is important. Do you know a man named Jackson?
– I’m in a hurry, Adam.
– Jackson. Tall, corpulent. Late forties. Tends to wear a low-brimmed fedora.
– I don’t think he’s part of my social circle.
– He’s a private detective. Jeremy always uses him. If he suspects anything you can be sure that Jackson’s been watching us both.
Julia had been attempting to pass him and head on down the stairs, but at this she froze.
– Oh God!
– You recognise the description?
– Someone like that has been hovering around the Temple. I’ve seen him loitering when I go to morning communion.
– Has he been coming into the church?
– No. I’m sure he hasn’t. But over the last few weeks someone like that has been there when I go in and when I come out.
– Christ! Does Jeremy know about the church?
– I don’t think so … I don’t know anything anymore.
– We need to speak.
– I really must go. I’ll be missed. We can’t be seen together. We can’t meet again.
There was no way Jeremy could know about them. Nor would Julia tell him or even hint to him. She had far too much to lose. But Adam knew her ability to dissemble. If she wanted to end it, this would be as good a way as any to do so. A surfeit of caution to protect her marriage and her family. He had watched the door closing over many months and now the last chink of light was disappearing.
– I don’t think you love me anymore. I don’t think you ever loved me.
– If it makes you happier to believe that, then believe it.
– We’ve got to talk
– We can’t.
They had been talking for five minutes and time was running out. It was his last hope:
– Okay. I understand. But listen. If you’re right that something is brewing we need to be sure that we are saying the same things. Can’t we just meet once so that we can deal with all those points where we are vulnerable? I accept it may be dangerous. But it’s more risky not to.
– I’m late, Adam … but I’ll think about it.
And then she was gone. He watched her dash down the stairs and noticed, bleakly, that the black dress was backless.
****
Adam allowed her a few minutes. When he returned to the reception rooms the party was indeed coming to a close. There was a drift towards the door, where Pemberton stood with Julia at his side, their backs to him as he re-entered. He squeezed past the farewells, taking care not to acknowledge either Julia or her husband, and re-joined his wife. She was still speaking with Preston and Channon. Cara stood silently by them and continued to smooth imaginary creases in the blue velvet.
– Are you all right? You dashed off rather suddenly.
– Yes. I’m sorry about that. I’m fine.
– You were gone a long time, Adam.
– Was I? Just cleaning myself up. We ought to be going, Catherine.
– Peter’s going on to the Dorchester. Sir Henry’s promised to take him and Cara onto the Café de Paris afterwards. Such insouciance.
– Don’t be such a prude, Catherine. I wish we could persuade you and Adam to join us. Life can’t come to a standstill because the Germans are dropping a few bombs. Trust me on this. I don’t think London’s their main target at the moment anyway. Chips knows Poulsen and he can get us in. The Café de Paris is probably the safest place to be during a raid.
Chips Channon wore white tie and glowed with self-confident assurance:
– Poulsen knows his market. We need more entrepreneurs like him. He’s been laying down the champagne all year. They reckon he’s got 25,000 bottles of the stuff and I think we should relieve him of a few magnums.
Adam had heard of Sir Henry “Chips” Channon. He’d been in the news earlier that year over the Halifax affair but was as well known for his social life. He knew also of the Café de Paris. Martin Poulsen had re-opened it the previous month to considerable fanfare – “the safest and gayest restaurant in town, twenty feet below ground”. It was beyond Adam’s pocket.
– It’s very enticing, Sir Henry. But I think we’ll take our chances in Dulwich. Come on, Catherine, or we’ll miss the train.
He was anxious to be gone. He knew that the mention of trains and Dulwich told Channon all he needed to know about them.
– Perhaps we’ll be able to persuade the Pembertons, then, Peter?
Adam ushered Catherine to the door and they said their goodbyes. Pemberton’s arm rested stiffly on Julia’s waist. They seemed brittle.
– Thank you both for coming. Samuels will get your coats. And your gas mask, Catherine. Perhaps we can have a discussion about the “ABC mystery” on Monday, Adam?
– Goodbye Catherine. Goodbye Adam. Thank you for coming.
Was there more warmth in the word “Catherine” than in her utterance of his own name? Adam wondered. A glassiness in her eyes? A momentary veil of sadness over her features before she brightened for the next guest? They pulled on their coats and headed out into the darkness. Air raid sirens began sounding as they made their way to Victoria.
****
Sixteen letters. Four words – three and a half words. How could so little change so much: “J knows. Destroy this.” They sat in silence on the train and the letters and the words spooled and shifted through his mind: “this knows J. Destroy.” “J knows this destroys.” “Know J destroys this.” “Destroy. Destroy. Destroy.”
Chapter Five
(Monday 16th December 1940)
Adam emerged from Temple tube at 8.15 on the Monday. Fifty-eight hours since he was last there. Fifty-five and a half hours since they had left the Pembertons. Three thousand four hundred and eighty minutes. He felt as though he had been awake through all the hours. Heard the seconds of every minute. Sleep was never easy when bombs were falling, even at a distance. But the dreams weren’t usually so bad. Images in his mind blended with the noise overhead. Some droned above him incessantly. Others fell like strings of incendiaries through his mind. Planes left the imprint of their sounds in his memory long after the raids had ended …
… Julia, in her backless black dress, descending a never-ending stairway away from him. “Goodbye Adam.” Veils over her eyes.
– I don’t think you love me anymore. I don’t think you ever loved me.
– If it makes you happier to believe that, then believe it.
“Destroy this.” A glass ashtray with blackened paper in it. “J knows.” A sheet of white paper with a red heart shape in the middle of it, flames curling up the edges. Blackness heading for the heart.
– There’s always something, Adam. We could never hide everything.
And around every corner there was Jackson. The corpulent detect
ive rooting out petty secrets.
“On the evening of the 21st October 1936 at about 7 p.m., acting on information received, I made my way to the Feathers Hotel in Chippenham. In the car park I saw a blue Bugatti motor vehicle, Type 49, registration number IPF 262, which I knew to be registered in the name of Mrs Julia Pemberton. By telephone enquiry I established that she was staying the night in Room Four which was on the first floor at the front of the building. At about 8 p.m. I saw the lights go on in Room Four and a person I recognise as Mrs Pemberton drew the curtains. At about 8.30 p.m. I saw a man I recognised as Mr Adam Falling arrive by taxi and enter the hotel. I know Mr Falling as a barrister and I have given evidence in cases in which he has acted.
At about 6 a.m. I saw a taxi arrive at the hotel. Mr Falling emerged from the hotel and got into the taxi. I followed the taxi back to Chippenham station. Discreet telephone enquiries confirmed that no one by the name of Falling had checked into the hotel that night.”
He’d seen many of the man’s reports. But he couldn’t have been there, or at The Stafford, or any of the other places. Pemberton couldn’t have known. And that thought droned overhead all weekend: How could Pemberton know?
– There’s always something, Adam. We can’t hide everything.
– I can’t see you anymore.
Flames advanced across the white paper and the red heart turned brown, then black, then disappeared.
Destroy this.
****
He picked his way past the ruins and through the Temple to Stirrup Chambers. People were filing into the Church for the morning service. Julia was probably in there already. He wanted to go in and sit with her. Speak to her. But the image of Jackson, lurking somewhere unseen, restrained him. It must wait. If he busied himself with preparing that morning’s hearing at the Westminster County Court, that would pass the time.
Pemberton was in Adam’s room and seemed unsurprised when Adam entered. He was standing languidly before Adam’s shelves surveying the books, his gold spectacles set at a raffish angle.
– Ah. Good morning. Adam. Thought I’d come up and see you about our ABC mystery. Interesting books. I tend to keep my literature at home. No time for anything but law when I’m in Chambers.
– I like a bit of reading when the work is slow.
– All sorts of interesting authors here: Evelyn Waugh … Conan Doyle … even some Aldous Huxley. Altogether avant-garde. Wilfred Owen. Siegfried Sassoon. I like the war poets. My sort of era. It was as black as they painted it. All that death. Never got round to getting any of the books myself though. Down and Out in Paris and London. Now I’d never come across this Orwell chap.
– He’s a personal favourite of mine. More for his journalism.
– Interesting. Interesting.
Adam didn’t know where this was leading but felt vaguely uneasy. Pemberton had never shown any interest in his literary tastes before. He wasn’t the literary sort. He glanced at his ashtray and saw, with a little shock, that it was empty.
– Thank you for inviting us to the party on Friday. Catherine and I very much enjoyed ourselves.
– Oh. Not at all. It was a great pleasure to have you there. Bit of a risk with the date of it, eh? Friday the thirteenth. “Unlucky for some.”
– Did Peter persuade you and … Julia to go onto the Café de Paris?
– He had a very good try. As did that Channon chap. But Julia was fairly whacked and we had an early night. Jenny and a few of the officers went along though. Had a very good time by all accounts. Did you have a good weekend?
– Usual stuff: Catherine did her WVS and I was on duty with the Home Guard. Pretty uneventful. And you?
– Rather disruptive actually. Julia’s been very preoccupied lately. She hides it fairly cleverly. Only someone who knows her well would notice (said with emphasis). Says she’s worried about the children so she absolutely insisted on driving out to see them on Saturday. Still there actually. Probably won’t come back until tomorrow. Changed her shifts around.
Adam hid his disappointment.
– Ah well. At least you can be sure that she and the children are safe. Look, Jeremy, I would like to discuss this McKechnie case with you but I’m due in Court fairly soon. Can it wait until this afternoon?
– Yes. Of course. Come down and see me when you’ve a minute.
He made for the door.
– Oh. By the way. I took the liberty of cleaning your ashtray for you. I know there’s a war on but we must still try to keep up appearances.
– Thank you, Jeremy.
Pemberton opened his hand to reveal the blackened paper.
– It’s funny, you know. You can burn a piece of writing paper but somehow, sometimes, the water mark survives.
A pale ghost of the letter “P”.
Chapter Six
The Temple Church, consecrated in 1185, was one of the oldest “round” churches in England. The rounded shape of the nave, fifty-nine feet in diameter and standard for the churches of the Knights Templar, was based on the Holy Sepulchre Church in Jerusalem where the Templars were founded. An enlarged chancel was consecrated in 1240. Dark purbeck marble was used extensively inside the church and marble tomb effigies lined the inner walls. In the nave itself several prominent knights were buried. Over their tombs, marble sculptures of the dead soldiers, their helmets still in place, a sword and a shield still ready across the body, protected their remains. Some had their legs crossed in supplication, an indication that they had died in the Christian faith. As if to be buried on sacred ground would absolve them of their many sins. Legs crossed at the ankle indicated that the dead knight had been on one crusade. Two crusades if crossed at the knee. Three if crossed at the thigh. Well, that was what was said anyway. They had lain there silently since the thirteenth century. The discovery of America. The dissolution of the monasteries. The Great Fire and the plague all came and went and still the knights remained. They had survived all the wars untouched and continued to lie in silent supplication awaiting the final judgment, whilst under the marble the bones turned to dust. Now an air raid shelter had been established in the crypt beneath them.
Regular visitors to the church hardly noticed them. There would always be time to study them more carefully. Marble soldiers lying silent. Some with their legs crossed. Inevitably, it had been Julia’s idea. Communication had been difficult. He could not telephone her at home. Samuels would always answer the phone. She could not call him at work. It would be even more dangerous to call him at home. Letters were out of the question. Their arrival at home or chambers would be noted even if they were destroyed after they had been read. There could be no evidence of any kind. It could not be known that they communicated with one another. That they met. Adam had desperately wanted to know what that first kiss meant. What licence it gave? Whether that was all? What should he do next? What more, if anything, did Julia want? But whenever he saw her, which was infrequently, she was with Jeremy or the children. There was nothing in her demeanour that gave anything away. She was the dutiful wife, the loving mother. But for someone who was watching there was the slightest whisper of unspoken desire. Then, in the early autumn of 1936, as he was on the way to the library, he saw her emerging from the morning service.
– The crossed-legged knights!
And before he could reply or question her, she went on her way. He watched her disappear up Inner Temple Lane and then, edging past Lamb Building, went on to find the books he needed. Unable to concentrate, he went back to the church. The knights lay there as they had always lain. Grey and dark. He looked at them anew but they were unchanged. He understood.
The following day he listened for the bells chiming the hour and, when he felt that the service would be long over, he crept out from his room and went to the church. Rays of light from the upper windows, under the coned roof, penetrated the gloom of the nave. He was alone. The knights lay as still as dead time, as they had lain when lawyers would conduct important interviews with clients in their p
resence. Grey and quiet. He walked from knight to knight. From grey to grey until he saw a flash of white within a stone shield. Thick white paper folded into a small square. The note was unsigned. He had never seen her writing before. Black ink in strong curved lines:
– Green Park. Next Wednesday. 12.30 p.m. Destroy this.
Destroy this. She was only to write those words once more, and that would be over four years later.
He rushed back to Chambers to check his diary and saw to his dismay that he was booked to be in Court in Edmonton all of that day. His one chance seemed to have gone. He took a plain piece of paper and wrote a hurried note:
– Can’t do Wednesday
And he gave details of his diary for the following two weeks. Following her example, he did not sign it. He knew, if she read it, she would destroy it, so he did not repeat that injunction. Folding it up, he took it and placed it where her note had been. Then he waited. A complex set of papers sat on his desk but he could not concentrate. He moved the papers around. Read the lease, making desultory notes. Read the correspondence. Went to the library and shuffled around the books. Went back to the church. The note was still there. That was the pattern for the day and, by home time, he was no further forward with the lease. The note was still there within the shield. Should he remove it? This was madness. He took it out. Unfolded it. Re-read it. Crumpled it up and left. Halfway to the tube he changed his mind, smoothed it out, took it back and replaced it.