‘No, not good.’ He stood up and went to the drinks cabinet. There was a bottle of vodka and a small bottle of scotch. ‘Whisky. Don’t often see it. May I?’
‘Please. I think it was a gift from a patient.’ It was very early to be drinking.
He poured himself a small glass and drank it thoughtfully. There was something melancholy about the way he did it. ‘His daughter,’ he said into his glass.
‘Hazel.’
He kept staring into the drink. ‘How old is she?’
‘Fourteen.’ Forgive me for hoping that her vulnerability would help turn his mind.
He rubbed his brow and drank again, before staring back into the glass. I began to understand his air of sadness. ‘Do you have–’
‘She died.’ There was a long silence before he went on. ‘In ’47. When things weren’t like now. Less stable.’
‘What happened?’
He shook his head and poured a little more into his glass. It looked like an action he had performed many times. ‘If he’s gone, what happens to her?’ he asked.
‘I have no idea,’ I said, truthfully. ‘Lorelei’s mother is alive, but she’s old. She can’t look after a child.’
He drank for the last time and put down the glass. He remained quiet for a while. ‘If we find that he is working against the state, will you drop it?’ he asked.
There was a long pause while I thought of what it would be like if that turned out to be true. ‘Yes. I suppose I would have to,’ I said. There would be no point going on. He would be lost no matter what I did and it would only make things worse for Hazel and myself. I hoped to God it wouldn’t come to that. ‘They questioned me too, last night,’ I said.
He stopped. ‘The Secs?’
‘Yes.’
I described how they had shoved me into a wire cage in the back of one of their foul vans.
‘You got off lightly,’ he said, after thinking it over. ‘I’ve heard some of what goes on in their HQ. The cells below.’ He shook his head. ‘Though that officer, Grest, I’ve come across him before. From what I hear, if you’d given him a tenner he would’ve let you walk. I would try that next time.’ He sat down. ‘Does your husband often make house calls?’
‘Sometimes. Why?’
‘Oh, nothing. Just that this Comrade Taggan went into work that day, after your husband went to see him.’
‘So?’
‘Well, I thought doctors only make house calls for people who are too ill to get out.’
‘I expect if they’re very important, Nick will go to them.’
‘Yes, you’re probably right. Could anyone else verify your husband’s whereabouts? His secretary?’
‘I doubt it. Charles doesn’t go on calls with him.’ I gazed at him. ‘Do you know yet how she died?’
‘The force medical officer said at the scene that it looked to him like drowning – no injuries on her – but he couldn’t be certain until he had the body back at the morgue.’ I shivered at the harsh image.
‘And what did he say then?’
‘Nothing. By then NatSec had taken over. So I don’t know any more than you on that score.’
‘Wasn’t it just an accident?’ I appealed to him. ‘There was that Champagne bottle next to her. So she was drinking and slipped in the bath.’ If someone could prove that it had been just an accident, they would have to release Nick – unless, that is, they could find evidence that he had been involved in subversion. If he had been involved with a dissident group – maybe even one of those encouraged by the Americans – it would be a very serious situation.
Tibbot sounded sceptical. ‘Well, it happens – someone falls and knocks their head. But there wasn’t a mark on her. And her eyes open like that… Strange.’
‘So what do you think?’ I was just desperate for something to hold on to. It was like he was playing with me, holding out the prospect of an innocent explanation that would give Nick his freedom, then pulling it back.
‘Well, I think we need to know two things: first, why NatSec want your husband, and, second, why his former wife died. You can put money on it that one will tell us the other. Was she political?’
‘I don’t think so, but I only met her once.’
‘Did she make any political statements?’
‘No, nothing like that. Not that I heard, anyway.’ That evening I had met her, and the letters of hers that I had read, had left me with the impression that she was, by nature, interested in little more than her own world, floating above the rest.
‘Can you remember anything else about the scene of death that you didn’t say before?’ Tibbot asked.
‘No.’
‘There must be something. Think.’
‘There isn’t!’ And in a moment it all hit home. I needed air.
I ran out of the room, out the back door, and stood sucking in the air, damp as it was, in an attempt to cool my brain. In a neighbouring garden a little boy was kicking a football around, shouting to an unseen friend about the tally of goals between them. The friend yelled back at the same childish volume.
I calmed myself down and looked towards the house. This man, Tibbot – I knew nothing about him. Should I be telling him so much? For all I knew, he would report it all straight back to NatSec. It was a risk. But I thought it over a hundred ways and each time I decided that, no matter how dangerous it was, I had little choice. I needed to help Nick and I couldn’t do that alone, I needed someone who had been in such a maze before and could guide me through.
Still, I hadn’t yet told him about the book and carton I had found at Lorelei’s house, and I decided to hold off for now until I was a little bit more certain about him.
The boys nearby shouted again as one of them seemed to score a goal and, after another minute getting my breath back, I returned.
The second I stepped back inside, however, a sight made me stop dead. Tibbot was standing with the hall telephone in his hand. I imagined the line running straight to NatSec. ‘Who are you calling?’ I demanded.
‘No one,’ he replied, taken aback by my tone. ‘Someone’s called you.’
I snatched the receiver out of his hand. ‘Nick?’ I said urgently.
I glanced up the stairs towards Hazel’s room. The sound of the radio news was drifting down: ‘…since the Republic erected a barrier to prevent residents of north-west London from looting our stores for low-priced but excellent-quality food…’
‘Mrs Cawson?’ came the cautious reply. ‘It’s Charles O’Shea.’
It wasn’t Nick. Shattered, I dropped the receiver and walked away. I didn’t care how I must have appeared to Tibbot as he picked up the handset from the floor. ‘Can I help you?’ he muttered into it. I leaned against the wall as Charles’s voice buzzed from the other end. Tibbot looked over at me and covered the mouthpiece. ‘He wants to speak to you.’
I reached for it. ‘It’s all right,’ I said, recovering a little. ‘Hello, Charles.’
‘Who was that?’
‘A policeman.’
‘You’re with a policeman?’
I glanced at Tibbot. He went into the parlour. ‘It’s fine. You can speak.’
‘Dr Cawson is still where he was?’ he asked.
Tibbot had warned me that there were certain things you didn’t talk about on the telephone and Charles too was being guarded. ‘Yes. It doesn’t seem to be changing.’
‘Is there any more information? Regarding his former wife?’
‘No.’
‘I understand.’ He paused. ‘I tried my contacts in the Party; they are looking into it for me.’
‘Of course.’ I suspected now that if he really did have any friends in the Party, they were on the lowest rung of the ladder.
‘I’ll continue to keep the practice running as best I can. I would, of course, appreciate it if you could keep me informed about any developments.’