‘Oh no, for God’s sake keep away from me,’ she said. ‘The child is born blind or something terrible.’
‘Don’t worry. I’ll stay away.’
‘How long are you infectious?’
‘I should be better in two or three days. But I don’t know how long the quarantine period is. It’s probably just as well I haven’t been near you for the last week. Don’t worry though. I won’t come back till I’m quite clear of it. I’ll ring Doctor Lefeuvre and check.’
‘Who?’
‘Doctor Lefeuvre.’
‘Australian?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good God.’
‘Why. Do you know him?’
‘Yes. He was the one who did my abortion in the summer.’
‘What? But it wasn’t a legal one, was it?’
‘No. Marius got Nigel to fix it up.’
‘Was Lefeuvre the family doctor?’
‘I suppose so. Marius didn’t talk about doctors. He kept saying he was never ill.’
‘So it was probably Lefeuvre who was called in when Marius died.’
‘Yes, it was. He was at the inquest.’
‘He was? Jacqui, for Christ’s sake. Why didn’t you tell me this before?’
‘I didn’t think it was important. Is it?’
‘Jesus! But there was no time to explain. And no point in worrying her. ‘Jacqui, just sit tight. Don’t worry about anything.’ He slammed the phone down. ‘Juliet, can I have your car keys? I’ve got to go up to London immediately.’
Juliet emerged dazed from the kitchen area. ‘But you can’t take the Cortina. Miles’ll be furious.’
‘I haven’t got time to worry about Miles. Give me the keys.’
‘Juliet was amazed by the sudden force of his personality and held out the keys, as if hypnotised. ‘But, Daddy, you can’t drive with that arm.’
‘I bloody can.’
XVI
Being back in London was a disappointment. The mad drive up the M4 with pain like barbed hooks turning in his arm had all been for nothing. He had screeched to a halt in the residents’ parking bay in an unimpressed Hereford Road, let himself in, banged on his own door and, keeping his distance, ordered Jacqui to go off to the pictures for the afternoon. Then he’d driven round to the surgery of Drs Singh and Gupta, with whom he was registered, only to find that both were out on their rounds. He rushed to St Mary’s Hospital, Paddington, and, after the hours of waiting that are statutory in hospitals, finally persuaded a callow houseman to examine him and pronounce him clear of German measles. It was evident from the young man’s circumspect excitement that he thought he’d got his first genuine schizophrenic hypochondriac. Charles ended up with a clean bill of health and a parking ticket.
As he sat in his drab room in Hereford Road, it all seemed a bit futile. The dark fears of the morning had subsided into childish fantasies. He felt he should be watching the road from behind the curtains, waiting for the badmen to arrive at High Noon, while in the background a voice intoned ‘Do not forsake me, o my darling’. But since his windows faced the back of the house, it was impossible. And in the familiar banality of his room thoughts of approaching badmen seemed ridiculous. He just felt tired and ill again. The excitements of the day had put him back considerably. Pain throbbed in his arm with agonising regularity. He felt himself drifting asleep.
Suddenly the phone rang. Swedish feet in wooden sandals clumped down the stairs past his door, then up again, paused, knocked, said ‘Telephone’ and continued back to their room.
He went down and picked up the dangling receiver. ‘Hello.’
‘Hello. It’s Joanne Menzies.’
‘Oh. Hi.’
‘Charles, can we meet and talk? About Marius’ death.’
‘Yes, sure. Have you got anything new?’
‘Not really. But I’m just convinced there was something fishy going on.’
‘Yes. There are a lot of things that don’t fit. When do you want to meet? After work?’
‘I’m not at work.’
‘Oh.’
‘I came back after Christmas to the news that my services were no longer required by Mr Nigel Steen. A year’s salary in lieu of notice.’
‘That’s a substantial pay-off.’
‘Yes. Hush-money, no doubt. Where shall we meet?’
‘Do you mind coming round here? I’m not very well.’
‘Fine. What’s the address?’ Charles gave it. ‘I’ll be round straight away.’ He put the phone down and had a moment’s doubt. Was he wise to give Joanne Menzies his address? She seemed straight enough, but her motives weren’t absolutely clear. Oh well, if she told Nigel Steen, fair enough. Charles’ suspicions of Dr Lefeuvre made him think his address was already common knowledge. At least he was here now, and could supervise moving Jacqui to another hide-away. He rang Frances’ number to make his strange request, but there was no reply. It was only five o’clock. No doubt she was supervising the school debating society or another of her public-spirited activities.
Joanne Menzies arrived quickly and they started talking over a glass of whisky. Charles gave the shortest possible explanation of his sling-‘an accident on the film set’. He didn’t want to voice any suspicions until he felt a bit surer of Joanne’s allegiances. ‘So. What do you think is fishy?’
‘No one big thing, Charles. Just a lot of dubious details.’
‘Like…?’
‘Like the way Nigel lied over that Saturday night, all the subterfuge over the petrol in the Datsun. Like the way he’s been behaving since his father’s death-and the week before, come to that-’
‘How’s he been behaving?’
‘Very twitchy. Jumps whenever the phone rings. As if there’s something he’s frightened of.’
‘What else?’
‘The way I’ve been dismissed. All right, I was Marius’ personal assistant and there’s no reason to assume that Nigel would want to take me over in the same role. But it was rather sudden. And a year’s salary is excessive-out of character too for someone as mean as Nigel.’
‘Hmm. So you think that Nigel murdered Marius?’
‘That’s the obvious thing to think.’
‘Except for the findings of the inquest.’
‘Yes.’ Joanne spoke with the same contempt Jacqui had shown for the high achievements of forensic science.
‘And the fact that Nigel had no motive. It was in his interests that his father should live at least until the seven years were up.’ Joanne’s face revealed that she didn’t know about the gift, so Charles gave a brief resume of the legal position. He finished up, ‘You know, we are not the only people who are suspicious of Nigel and would attribute any crime to him. But the fact remains that, in the matter of Marius Steen’s death, we have not a solitary shred of evidence to go on. Just prejudice and dislike.’
‘Yes. I’m sure he’s done something, though.’ Her conviction was reminiscent of Jacqui’s, overriding little details like facts.
‘All right, Joanne, let’s talk through it all again. Actually, one thing you said interested me. You said Nigel was twitchy the week before the murder-I mean, the death.’
‘Yes.’
‘I thought he was in Streatley that week.’
‘Only part of it. He went down on the Thursday to go through some business things with Marius, then came back on the Friday late afternoon-just after you came round about your play. Was that another blind, by the way?’
“Fraid so.’
‘Why?’
‘Too complicated to explain.’ He didn’t want to bring in the Sweets and the implied charge of murder against the dead man. ‘So look, let’s trace through the movements of the two of them. Where were they on the Sunday, that’d be what…?’
‘The 2nd of December.’
‘Right.’
‘I think they were both in Orme Gardens. Then Marius drove to Streatley that night to read the scripts on his own.’