‘I never said Sylvester-Sale was a libertine. I said Venetians were.’
‘He is dark and handsome, therefore it is not inconceivable that he should have Venetian blood. He might have had a Venetian grandmother. We saw him bend over Roderick with the glass of poison in his hand. All terribly straightforward and simple. He killed Roderick while pretending to be killing him. That was the cleverness of it. It is only in murder mysteries,’ Lady Grylls concluded, ‘that things are never straightforward and simple.’
‘Why did I choose to write murder mysteries? I don’t really know. It’s so difficult to explain.’ Antonia frowned. ‘I always wanted to be a writer and that seemed to be the only type of story I was drawn to writing. As it happens, detective stories were my favourite form of reading in my adolescence. Most people grow out of detective stories but I didn’t seem to.’
‘Did you only read murder mysteries of the classical kind?
‘Mostly. I liked the idea of suspicion falling on all the characters, even on the most unlikely. It seemed to suit my sceptical and somewhat paranoid imagination.’
The owlish young man cleared his throat. ‘I believe you were involved in a real-life crime — about the time you were writing your first detective novel — is that correct?’
‘I was,’ Antonia admitted. At once she wished she had held her tongue.
How could her interviewer know about it? As far as she was concerned, no one but she and Hugh knew about the murders at Twiston.** That murderer, as it happened, had got away with it. Could the murderer have confessed and been arrested without her knowing about it? No — it would have been in all the papers. Could the murderer have confided in someone? Antonia thought it highly unlikely, but then one never knew.
‘Did your involvement in a real-life murder have any effect on your development as a detective story writer?’
‘I am not sure. It may have done. I believe it served to cure the writer’s block from which I happened to be suffering at the time.’
‘Do you agree with the assertion that the whodunnit is an extremely artificial form and that it obeys rules as rigid and ridiculous as those of North Korean formation dancing?’
Antonia gave a little shrug and said she knew next to nothing about North Korean formation dancing. ‘Isn’t all fiction artificial? What is fiction but the selection of the writer’s internal compulsions, preoccupations, passions, fears and external experiences distilled in a form which he or she hopes will satisfy the reader’s expectations?’
‘Do you read much modern crime fiction?’
‘No, not much.’
‘Are you familiar with the names of Martina Cole and Dreda Say Mitchell?’
‘I am not … Should I be?’
‘Do your books conform in any way to Henry James’s definition of the purpose of a novel? To help the human heart to know itself. Or do you write exclusively for entertainment purposes?’
‘I write exclusively for entertainment purposes,’ Antonia said in a firm voice.
‘Do you ever try to enlist the reader’s support for views and theories of your own?’
‘No, I don’t. Sometimes my characters express opinions of books or authors which happen to be my own. On the whole, I am careful to keep my views as inconspicuous as possible.’
‘Do you exercise complete control over your characters?’
‘Complete and absolute. I like playing God to the page,’ Antonia said gravely. She tried to keep a straight face. She had started to enjoy herself.
‘Do you regard plotting as the most fascinating aspect of detective story writing?’
‘I suppose I do. But I also like to balance setting, characterization and plot, so that all three are interrelated and contribute to the whole. The kind of story I write,’ Antonia went on, ‘might have been written in the 1930s or early 40s, though I do make some concessions to modernity.’
‘Mobile phones and the internet play an active part in your novels, don’t they?’
‘They do … No, I must admit I know very little about police procedure, forensic medicine or the intricacies of the law. I write extremely old-fashioned detective stories … “Propulsively readable”? Who said that? Really? Are you sure?’ Antonia smiled. Must tell Hugh, she thought. ‘I had no idea … My detectives depend exclusively on their capacity for noticing things. My detectives are obsessively observant.’
‘How important is setting to you?’
‘Important enough. Though I try not to overdo it. Some writers tend to overdo the setting. Settings establish atmosphere and they can also influence the plot and the characters. Settings can enhance the horror of murder, sometimes by creating a contrast between the outward peace of the scene and the turbulence of human emotions.’
‘How would you describe your books?’
‘Do I have to? OK. I’d describe them as unpretentious celebrations of reason and order. Oh, and of logic as well. Logic is very important.’
‘E. M. Forster once wrote something like, The husband died, then the wife died is a story. The husband died and the wife died of grief is a plot. The wife died for no apparent reason is a mystery, a higher form. Can you improve on that? Can you come up with a definition of a murder mystery?’
Antonia scrunched up her face. ‘How about, The wife died and everyone thought it was of grief until — um — until they discovered the bullet hole in the back of her head?’
‘But if he did do it,’ Lady Grylls said, ‘there must have been a cover-up. You are absolutely right, my dear. They must have agreed to keep mum. All six of them, which is not as extraordinary as it may appear. Conspiracies are said to be a part of everyday life. Perhaps they were bribed by Clarissa to form one of those spectacular pacts of silence?’
‘Yes. That’s what I think,’ said Felicity. ‘They all had a conspiratorial air about them at the crematorium. They looked guilty as hell. Gerard pooh-poohed it. He says I imagined it.’
Lady Grylls shook her head resolutely. ‘You aren’t the fanciful sort. So let’s see what happens. The dashing doctor poisons Roderick and of course he is only too eager to sign the death certificate. Clarissa bribes everybody into keeping mum. The official version presented to the authorities will be that Roderick died of a heart attack. That is how it is to appear in The Times.’
‘There have to be two doctors’ signatures on the death certificate,’ Payne pointed out.
Lady Grylls waved her hand. ‘They managed to rope in another doctor. Couldn’t have been difficult, persuading a local chap to sign on the dotted line and so on, given that Clarissa now owns the island.’
‘I doubt somehow that Dr Sylvester-Sale killed Roderick by pouring poison into his ear,’ Felicity said.
‘Why not?’
‘In front of everybody else? Using a highly theatrical black glass decorated with a skull and crossbones? On camera?’
‘Perhaps they were all in on it from the start and the dashing doctor was their appointed executioner,’ said Lady Grylls. ‘Maybe they all hated Roderick so much, they put their heads together and came up with the idea of getting rid of him? Like in Julius Caesar or — or on that stranded Orient Express.’
Felicity Remnant conceded that it was an intriguing theory — but would they have filmed the killing?
‘I don’t see why not. People do the oddest things,’ Lady Grylls said. ‘Years ago I used to play bridge with a woman — her husband was in the diplomatic corps — our man in Vaduz, I believe — and she would do anything to avoid bidding diamonds.’
‘That must have been somewhat limiting. Did you ever find out why?’
‘I did, my dear, yes, eventually. She was rather coy about it at first, but in the end it turned out she stuttered very badly on the letter d.’