At the Dark Hour

by John Wilson

  And then there was Jackson, loitering in Cloisters. Storman had hung back. The detective looked like a dog with a scent. His excitement betrayed him. He was oblivious to Jack’s presence. He shifted in the shadows around the columns. Storman followed his eyes to the doors of the Temple church. Adam emerged and headed up Inner Temple Lane. And Jackson had followed.

  Storman thought back to Pemberton’s party. He had known Jeremy for twenty-five years. Adam for fifteen. He could see where the key was catching in the lock. Jeremy had never invited Adam and Catherine to one of his soirées before. And he was agitated, in a way that Storman had never previously noticed. Too keen to speak with Adam. He had watched the exchange between the two when the Fallings had arrived. Adam and Jeremy facing one another. It was like a still life against the glittering tableau of champagne, chandeliers and candles. Jeremy speaking to Adam, outwardly courteous. Catherine to one side in that blue dress, her eyes flitting around and taking stock. Something had troubled him at the time and he cast a fly with Adam, to no effect. What was it? And then it clicked; and the lock turned.

  A crackle of menace. Something defensive in Adam. Catherine sniffing the air. And at the end of the party, as he said goodbye to the Pembertons, there was something that did not fit. He was not to know that Adam had thought them “brittle”. But “brittle” was apposite. There was an air of static around them.

  ****

  Adam was still asleep, his breathing stertorous. What was he doing in a flat on the third floor of Dr Johnson’s Buildings on the approach to New Year? Why was he so perturbed by the year ahead? The mix was volatile. Jeremy or Catherine or Adam or Julia could have drawn wrong conclusions. Emotions were on hair-triggers. To intervene would be to complicate. He would wait. And he would watch. When he addressed a jury he would often call upon Shakespeare: time would unravel what plighted cunning hides. Patience was a virtue. He would watch and he would wait.

  But if a proper interpretation of all this was that Jeremy was going to petition his wife and to cite a member of Chambers as Co-Respondent, that would have consequences. It would affect Chambers. And it would affect him. Adam, wherever the truth might lie, would have to leave.

  ****

  Night was beginning to fall. Storman brought down the blackout and lit an oil lamp by the bed. Fragments of light glittered out from the fractured paperweight.

  – Jack? Is that you? You’re still here?

  – How are you, Adam?

  – I’m done in, Jack.

  – Barry’s gone to find a doctor. You’ll be all right.

  The kitten uncurled with the voices, stretched and began moving towards Adam with the starched prance of the newly woken feline.

  – What do you think I should call her, Jack?

  – Haven’t a clue.

  – I was thinking of “Jules”.

  – I don’t think that’s a very good idea.

  Adam had raised himself on an elbow but slumped back. He looked hurt and puzzled.

  – What do you suggest?

  – How about Cordelia?

  – Why?

  – It has a certain alliterative resonance. The name was going through my head. You could call her Delia for short if you were in a hurry.

  And so Cordelia – or Delia – became the name of the cat. Storman stood by the blacked-out window. The lamp threw his shadow against the walls. It flickered behind him. Cordelia nuzzled up to Adam and he stroked her.

  – Is there any more milk, Jack?

  – I don’t want to ask any questions, Adam; but you shouldn’t be here alone. You’re not well. Come and stay with us.

  Adam’s eyes levelled on Storman’s. Ice blue, they had regained their depth.

  – That’s very kind. But I wouldn’t be good company. I need to be on my own. I want to be near the church.

  There was steel in the answer. Jack let it hang in the air. The kitten had fallen asleep. He was cold. Adam was looking at the cat.

  – Jack?

  – Yes?

  – Hypothetically … I mean … if I found myself … involved in a divorce case … would you act for me?

  – It would depend who else was involved. I’d be happy to … but I know Catherine rather well and …

  – It’s nothing to do with Catherine … Catherine will stand by me.

  – It depends who else is involved, Adam.

  Adam flickered. He was not a fool.

  – But if you couldn’t act for me. Who would you recommend?

  Like the balls in a bagatelle board, the pieces were falling into place.

  – There is a man I know who, I think, would be able to help.

  – Who is it, Jack?

  – We’re talking hypothetically, Adam, I don’t want to put any names into the mix.

  – Please, Jack. If you can’t tell me who he is can you at least tell me something about him?

  – I can’t say much, Adam. It would not take much for you to recognise him.

  – Please Jack. Tell me something.

  – He’s my call but he’s never taken silk. I don’t think he ever will. But he’s a better barrister than I’ll ever be.

  – Why has he chosen not to take silk?

  – The choice is not ultimately his. Let us just say that the Lord Chancellor does not look on him with favour.

  – What’s he done wrong, Jack?

  – He’s done nothing wrong in my opinion, which might be a minority view, but his lifestyle is somewhat … unconventional.

  – Why would he be the right man then?

  Adam’s eyes had narrowed and his gaze was like a splinter of ice. Storman could see him thinking. Anything more and his friend would work it out.

  – Adam! This is all hypothetical, isn’t it? I’ll say more if it’s absolutely necessary.

  He looked at his watch. It was getting dark. When would Barry arrive with the doctor?

  Chapter Twenty-six

  (Monday 30th December 1940)

  Across London Jeremy Pemberton KC entered his study and locked the door behind him. Samuels had put the blackout shutters in place and lit his desk lamp for him. There was a sheaf of his writing paper squared off on the red leather top. This marked the end of Christmas for him and the beginning of something far more serious. He had left Julia and Jenny with Agnes in Julia’s dressing room, and as he closed the door the sounds of their voices receded to nothing. He picked up the photograph of Joan as he made his way to the desk and gazed at it for long minutes before replacing it reverently. His notepaper glowed under the green shade of the desk lamp, and his spectacles, similarly, gleamed gold as he sat down.

  He picked up a sheet of writing paper and held it up to the lamp to remind himself of the distinctive “P” in the watermark. Monday the 30th December 1940, only two days until the New Year. He had followed his solicitors’ advice and done his best to make Christmas seem as normal as possible for Jenny – and for Julia’s children. Julia had given nothing away. There had been no sign that she was in any way perturbed and she just seemed pleased to have her children back with her in London. Jenny had seemed to him oblivious to what was about to happen. He must speak with her in the next few days and explain to her why he had to do what he was doing.

  He took out his key and unlocked the side drawer of his desk, taking from it a carefully folded silk handkerchief. He placed it on the leather next to his writing paper and unfolded it carefully so as to disturb the ashes as little as possible. The ghost of the letter “P” was still plainly visible and, holding up a fresh sheet again to the lamp, there could be no doubt that it was a burnt-up piece of his own writing paper. Only Julia had access to it and she had made no mention of using it or of writing to Adam. There could be no acceptable reason for her to write to him. It was a small piece of evidence. But in Pemberton’s view, in the right hands, it was damning.

  He unlocked the middle drawer and pulled out a small pile of buff envelopes – reports from Jackson. The last of these was dated the 24th December. Ja
ckson had been very pleased with himself and brought it to the house personally. Pemberton read again the detective’s account of his adventures the previous Monday. Jackson’s clever pursuit of Falling as he attempted to shake him off by taking a train to Romford; the trip to Green Park, and the extraordinary turn of events as Falling went to Shepherd Market to pick up a prostitute and then, in an even more surprising twist, took her to the Stafford Hotel. Jackson had done well. It was only disappointing that the evidence, as a whole, suggested that Adam had been in the habit of taking the same girl back to the hotel and that there was nothing to connect Julia with the Stafford. He wished they had been able to dig out the fact that Falling had frequented the Stafford earlier in the year but, unfortunately, Jackson had only been able to discover this after weeks of leg-work.

  It had been Pemberton’s idea: he knew the sort of hotels that Julia would be prepared to go to, if his hunch was right; and he had made up a list of those that were within a certain circumference of Eaton Square. It had only been on Monday the 16th December that Jackson had hit the jackpot: Falling had been going there regularly, sometimes more than once a week from the May of 1940 until about October, and then had stopped. Pemberton assumed that prior to that he had been signing in under a false name. It was a pity that the sordid truth was that he was seeing some prostitute – the girl had confirmed it to Jackson – rather than Pemberton’s wife, but it didn’t spoil the general thrust of his case. Here was a man who was unfaithful to his wife. The fact that a member of his Chambers had taken to consorting with prostitutes was a sufficient reason to give him notice to leave. Falling was finished.

  But something was nagging at him: why, after a two month abstinence and when Falling ought to have known better, had he gone back to the Stafford at all? Pemberton had started to apply the pressure and it was clear to him that it was beginning to get to Adam. He thought back to his exchange with him on the Monday after his party, when he had dropped heavy hints about his choice of books. More importantly he remembered Adam’s reaction when he showed him the burnt paper and the watermark – the uncontrollable tremor in his left hand. Pemberton had almost gone as far as to accuse him of an improper association just by showing him the burnt note paper. He had made even heavier hints that afternoon when Falling had returned from Court and it was plain that Falling was very nervous. Why compound things for himself? At that stage on the Monday morning Pemberton himself was unaware of the fact that Falling had been going to the Stafford. And by the following Monday Adam had gone back there. It wasn’t possible that he could have found out what Pemberton knew.

  He put the report back in the envelope and placed all the buff envelopes next to the silk handkerchief holding the ashes. He took the letter from his solicitors out of the drawer, unfolded it, and was running a cursory eye over the advice they had given when, on reaching the final page, he froze. There could be no doubt about it: the flourish of the signature was smudged. He placed the page down under the lamp and took out a silver magnifying glass – a gift from a grateful Countess. Under the light it was clear: a small initial smear had been made worse by the attempt to clear it. He could picture Julia reading the letter – saw her tears falling – it could only have been Julia. It was a pity we didn’t have the science to link a person to their tears. So Julia had known about the Stafford, had known that he was planning to petition her in the New Year and cite Falling. He thought of the way in which she had mimicked marital harmony to all over the previous ten days and he felt a surge of rage.

  If she had known, it was possible that she had alerted Falling. That would explain why he would have behaved in the way that he did. But he was certain that she had not been in contact with Falling. He had briefed Samuels discreetly, as he had Arthur, his senior clerk, and both had made it clear to him that there had been no unexplained phone calls or letters. If they were communicating with one another it must be in some other way. He threw the magnifying glass across the room. He wasn’t prepared to wait until the New Year. He would arrange for Julia to be served tomorrow. Jackson could go up to Edenbridge on New Year’s Day and serve Adam in front of his wife and daughter.

  Pemberton picked up the photograph of Joan again. She had been so lovely and intelligent. Long dark hair and a beautiful pale complexion with a hint of roses. And every day Jenny was looking more like her – it was almost as if Joan was growing up again before his eyes. He missed her so much.

  He took out his Mont Blanc and began to compose a letter to Falling – giving him notice to leave Chambers. He would have to change the locks to his study.

  ****

  – How does it look?

  – They all look good on you!

  – I’m going to try the green one on again. I’m so excited.

  – Are you sure it’s safe to be going out?

  – It’s one of the safest places in London – and that coloured man and his band will be playing.

  Jenny let the red dress fall from her so that she was wearing only her underwear. In her haste her brassiere had fallen slightly so that Julia could see the trace of a nipple, rosebud pink, before she adjusted herself.

  – We took such a pounding last night. They could well be back tomorrow night.

  – Oh don’t be silly. And besides, there’s this young captain who has an eye on me.

  – You’d captivate him in any of these dresses.

  – It’s so good of you. They all fit me so well. We could be sisters.

  – Yes.

  The truth was that Julia regarded her step-daughter more as a sister than anything else. When she first met Jeremy Jenny had only just started crawling. Jeremy always referred to her as “our daughter” but Julia always found it awkward to call her that. As far as she was concerned Agnes was their daughter and Jenny was Jenny. She was very fond of her. Puberty had been kind. She had never been an ugly duckling. Her limbs had lengthened and her body had filled out without acne or lack of proportion. Her teeth had been, briefly, too big for her mouth but now she had the most wonderful smile and her eyes were deep and brown.

  – What’s wrong with Daddy?

  – What do you mean?

  – He’s such a fool. He doesn’t think I notice things.

  – Jenny! What are you talking about?

  – You’ve both been behaving oddly lately and I can’t put my finger on it.

  – What do you mean?

  – You weren’t like this when I was younger.

  – We haven’t changed.

  – You’re both stiffer. It’s like you’re both acting.

  Sometimes it takes someone who knows you and is observing you to bring home the little truths. Julia was shaken. She had been trying so hard to be natural.

  – You look more and more like your mother every day.

  – Do I? What was she like?

  – I never knew her. I meant the photographs of her.

  – Daddy keeps saying that to me. You’re beautiful too.

  – I wish we had some colour pictures of her. I can’t really picture her moving and laughing.

  Jenny held the green dress in her left hand. She looked so vulnerable as she stood there in her underwear, the weight slightly on her right hip. There was a puzzle in her eyes. If Joan was half as kind, half as sympathetic, as her daughter, Julia could understand why Jeremy missed her so much. With every year of her step-daughter’s life she understood more why her husband missed his first wife. And why, every year, as Jenny grew, the memory of Joan grew stronger with him. Julia was sure it was this as much as anything else which powered his animus. That pushed her away from him. Jenny would know any day now.

  – You look so sad.

  – Daddy misses your mother.

  – What’s happening with you and Daddy?

  – I think that something’s about to happen. But you must understand. If it does, it’s not your fault. It’s nothing to do with you.

  Jenny dropped the dress. Agnes was chattering to herself amongst the discarded outfits. The
air was heavy with the scent of hyacinths. Stephen and Sebastian were up in the nursery with the nanny playing chess together.

  – What do you mean, it’s nothing to do with me? What’s happening?

  – I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it that way.

  Jenny had sagged down onto a chair. Her eyes were troubled.

  – Listen. Daddy has got an awful lot on his mind. When we get older we think a lot more than we did when we were young. We sit and stew and sometimes we get it wrong. We can look back and wish that things were different.

  – What’s happening?

  – Do you know a man called Adam Falling?

  – Never heard of him.

  – He’s a member of Daddy’s chambers. He was at the Christmas party.

  – Daddy’s never spoken of him.

  – He was the very thin man who wasn’t wearing a uniform. He kept coughing.

  – Oh, him! Has he upset Daddy?

  – Listen. Jenny. I’m sorry. This is all so absurd. But I think Daddy thinks I’ve been having an affair with that pathetic little man.

  – But that’s so stupid!

  Julia could see that the whole idea was fantastical to her step-daughter – as she had hoped it would be.

  – Please don’t tell Daddy I’ve told you this. If nothing comes of what I’m saying he’ll think I’m being pathetic and silly myself.

  – But you’ve never mentioned him. If I was in love with someone I’d be talking about them all the time.

  Jenny had been talking incessantly about this captain who she was going with to the Café de Paris in recent weeks and Julia knew that what she was saying about herself was true. Age teaches us camouflage. She wished she could be young again.