A deep breath telegraphed the start of Lilian’s weeping. ‘I think you’re very cruel to me, Graham. You know I’m desperately upset about how Charmian behaved. And now you … I expected a bit of support from you … I wouldn’t have changed my will if I’d known — ’
‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ Graham stumped off towards the garden. Going through the utility room, he saw the sticky labels Merrily used to identify food in the freezer. He tore one off and wrote on it with felt pen: ‘POISON. NOT TO BE TAKEN.’
He stuck it over the bottle’s original label. Out in the shed he hid the bottle deep in the corner behind a pile of seed trays. Too risky to put it in the dustbin. He’d dispose of it another time.
He looked out of the dusty window to the lights of the house next door. How warming, welcoming other people’s lights looked. Perhaps, he thought wryly, that was how the lights of his house looked to outsiders, the glow of a happy family within. Huh.
It was going wrong. Lilian’s finding the sherry shouldn’t have happened. He had taken a stupid, unnecessary risk.
In fact, his whole approach had been wrong. Slipshod. Inefficient.
He had killed the old man effortlessly and that was now a source of fierce pride. But killing Merrily would take more cunning. In the euphoria of having made the decision he had been careless, underestimated the difficulties that faced him.
Just because of his failure to get George’s job, he must not let his standards slip. He had always prided himself on efficiency, and now he had to demonstrate that he was more efficient than Robert Benham. Since he was prevented from deploying his skills at the office, then he would apply them to his wife’s murder.
No more carelessness.
Detailed, systematic planning.
He was determined that the murder was going to work.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
It was Merrily herself who showed him how to do it.
On the Sunday evening, after Lilian had finally gone off to what she insisted on calling her ‘lonely little room’, Graham was watching something less than riveting on the television, when he thought of a new potential economy and went up to his ‘study’ to work it out on the calculator.
He had assumed Merrily to be pottering around in the kitchen, so was surprised to see her kneeling on the floor in front of his desk, sifting through the contents of the drawers. She turned round guiltily at his approach.
‘Lost something?’ he asked.
‘No.’
‘Then what are you looking for?’
‘I’m looking for some evidence of what you’ve done.’
That gave him a momentary frisson, but then he realised that she was once again referring to his imagined infidelity. God, her stupidity infuriated him.
‘What sort of evidence had you in mind?’ he asked lightly. ‘It might be anything. You never know what’s going on behind a man’s bland exterior. Vivvi found a whole library of pornographic magazines at the back of Will’s sock drawer.’
He understood. Merrily had been talking to her friend. Vivvi was, if possible, more affected than Merrily herself and the current form her affectation took was feminism. In her case all this involved was wearing designer dungarees, talking about menstruation a lot and refusing to cook meals when she felt like being taken out by her long-suffering husband.
‘I’m sorry to disappoint you. You won’t find any pornography here. I suppose I could get some if you fancy it,’ he added ironically.
‘It wasn’t pornography I was looking for in your case.’
‘What then?’
‘Letters.’
‘What sort of letters?’
She stood up and faced him. Defiance did not add to her charms. ‘Vivvi’s mother,’ she began, ‘works at Sotheby’s. She’s a porcelain specialist.’
‘Ah.’ Graham was utterly bemused by this. Merrily, he thought, as she went on, has gone off her rocker. Maybe I could get her certified and solve the problem that way.
‘On her way to Oxford Circus last Monday evening she walked past a wine bar. She saw you coming out with a woman.’
So that was it.
‘Whom you kissed,’ Merrily continued inexorably.
Graham’s first instinct was to explain. It was only Stella from the office, after all. There was no sexual interest on his side. Merrily’s spy had got the wrong end of the stick.
But another instinct stopped him. There was something of value in Merrily’s suspicion. He could not yet identify what it was, but he knew he must foster her distrust.
‘She was talking rubbish,’ he blustered, too vehemently. ‘It must have been someone else she saw.’
‘You were late that evening. I remember. And you’d had a drink.’
‘Yes. O.K., I had. But just with someone from the office.’ He carefully made the truth sound like a lie.
‘I don’t believe you, Graham.’
‘Well, you bloody well should. You’re not going to find any love letters in here.’
‘No?’
‘No. There aren’t any.’
‘Then you won’t mind my looking.’
She spoke with triumph, but in fact was playing straight into his hands.
‘Yes, I bloody do mind you looking! It’s an invasion of privacy. This is my room. These are my papers. Get out!’ And he hustled her to the door.
She turned on the landing and looked at him piercingly. Lilian Hinchcliffe would have been proud of the way her daughter was playing the scene.
‘Very well, then,’ said Merrily.
She used her littlest voice, but there was no doubt that her words were a challenge. She would be back for further snooping.
With a show of anger Graham slammed the study door. But when he sat down in his swivel chair, he was smiling.
Merrily having given him a lead, Graham found that the rest of the components of his plan slotted quickly into place. He had the feeling that his luck was in, that he was working well. His training programme was right and he would peak at the proper time. It was the same good feeling that had always come to him, until the last year, in the run-up to examinations and job interviews. He felt that he was in charge of events, almost that the world span at his bidding.
Robert Benham had, unwittingly, given him another vital component. The trip to Brussels, designed to frustrate Graham’s progress at work, was going to prove an important boost to his other career. It would provide what is essential to any serious murderer, an alibi.
Graham also realised, his mind working gleefully well, that the trip could be used to increase Merrily’s suspicions of his fidelity.
He had mentioned Brussels to her once or twice, but now if she brought up the subject he veered guiltily off it, apparently unwilling to give details of the nature of the conference. He also made tactical purchases of new pyjamas and a different aftershave which he hid with minimum efficiency at the back of his shirt drawer.
Stella had to play her part, too, though she was unaware of it. Meeting her alone in the corridor one day, Graham said yes, he’d love her to cook supper for him one night. She responded eagerly, suggesting the next evening. No, he didn’t think he could make that … or he might be able to. . He’d have to consult the diary at home. Could she ring him that evening to check? Merrily would be out till ten.
Merrily, who had made no arrangement to go out, took the call, as intended. Graham watched covertly as she reacted. Stella, taken off her guard, must have said something before she rang off, because it registered on Merrily’s face before she turned accusingly to Graham.
‘Wrong number, was it?’ he asked with innocence.
‘I’m not sure,’ said Merrily slowly.
He continued the campaign when he saw Stella at the office the next day. Yes, he’d gathered what had happened. Merrily had come home unexpectedly early. Yes, it had given him a nasty turn, too. Meant he’d have to tread a bit warily for a few days. So supper might be a risk. But how about a drink after work?