I had had all the time between Corse's visit and this meeting in which to think about it. For much of that time I had remained in the hotel. I had been expecting Scunton, or one of the others, certain they would fry and pressure me, or at least appeal to my brotherly feelings. But nobody had come. They had left me strictly alone.
Hall leaned forward. 'Were you listening while I was reading that?'
'Yes, of course.'
'You didn't comment.' His voice was crisper now. 'Then I take it you accept the report as being correct?'
'More or less.'
'What does that mean? That you have reservations?' He didn't wait for me to answer and his words had a bite to them as he went on, 'You realize your absence hasn't made it very easy for the police. In the magistrate's court they had to rely on the depositions of other witnesses. In your absence these could hardly be conclusive, but the magistrates were satisfied that there was a prima facie case, and because a child's life had been endangered, they committed the accused for trial at the crown court.' He paused, looking at me over his glasses. 'Well, now you are here, let's try again. Is that account correct?'
I hesitated. In the main it was, so what else could I say but Yes?
He nodded. That's better.' He looked at the report again. 'You notice there is no reference to the reason you were standing there in the dark watching the foreman's house. Also, of course, nobody knows what you may or may not have seen prior to the moment you broke down the door and got the little girl out.' He stared at me, the silence dragging and his long hands stretched out on the desk in front of him. 'Now, I am going to ask you three very simple questions.' His voice was quiet, but very determined, his eyes fixed on mine. 'I want answers to those three questions, and I want the truth.'
I suppose it was the reference to getting the little girl out, but all I could remember as I faced the hard stare behind those glasses was the sergeant's voice that morning, shaken by the violence of his feelings as he said — She could have been anybody's child — yours, mine, anybody's… 'I'll tell you the truth,' I heard myself murmur.
He nodded briefly. 'Just answer Yes or No please. First question: Were you waiting in the dark because you suspected an attack would be made on Entwisle, or his family, or his property?'
'Yes.'
'You saw the petrol bomb thrown. Can you identify the persons who threw it through the window?'
My voice sounded thin and remote as I answered, 'Yes.'
'And they are the accused you will see in the dock tomorrow — Harry Bucknall and John Leonard Claxby?'
'Yes.'
'Good. And now one final question: You realize, of course, that you will now be the chief witness for the prosecution, that if we succeed we will be putting two dangerous young men behind bars, I hope for a long time. I know something of your background and it could be that you will be under considerable pressure — not only from some of the men you know in this port, but also from within yourself. When you are in the witness box, will you give the same answers to those questions that you have given me here?'
I hesitated. But there was no turning back now. 'Yes,' I said.
'Good. George Sayre will be acting for the crown and he'll be glad to know we've got a statement out of you at last. Particularly as Lawrence Mendip is defending. A willing witness is always better from counsel's point of view.' And after that he took me through the events of that night, writing the statement out in longhand. When he had finished, he read it through to me, made a few alterations, and then called his clerk and arranged for it to be typed. While this was done I waited in the outer office. It took about half an hour, and then I was in his office again, reading it through. Finally I signed it.
He rose then, holding out his hand to me, a flicker of warmth in his eyes. 'I realize this has been very difficult for you, but truth is something absolute, a rock on which the conscience of man can rest secure.' His words, as I set them down, sound pompous, but they did not seem so at the time. And then he went on, 'A copy of your statement will have to be served on the defence as additional evidence and I should perhaps warn you that Lawrence Mendip has something of a reputation.' But then he added quickly, 'Of course, Sayre will have established everything by then and cross-examination can never shake a witness who is telling the truth.' He smiled encouragingly as he showed me to the door. 'I think you will find it all very simple and straightforward. I'll expect you at the Guildhall at ten tomorrow morning.' A brief nod and I was in the outer office, going past the counter, down the stairs into the crowded street.
Walking back to my hotel, my mind was on tomorrow and the court, wanting to get it over now. Tomorrow — one day in my life. And, once that was behind me, it would be finished. The past, everything… I could forget about politics, the tortuous, twisted minds that had shattered so many of my ideals. I could concentrate then on simple material things. I was thinking of the Duchess, still riding out there beside the rig, and Gertrude, down-to-earth, matter-of-fact, with not a political thought in her head. How much simpler life would be if one were not involved.
That evening I had an early meal and went out to the cinema. A man followed me, but not anyone I had ever seen before. And when he sat a few seats away I knew I hadn't imagined it and that it must be the police keeping an eye on me. The film was an old Charlie Chaplin and to laugh at the eccentricities of human behaviour did me a lot of good.
Back at my hotel, I had a quick drink at the bar, then got my key and went up to my room. I hadn't been there more than a few minutes when the phone rang and a man's voice said there was a woman in the lobby asking for me. I thought for a moment it must be a reporter, but he said, no, she wasn't anyone from the local press and she wouldn't give her name.
I think I had a premonition then, tension gripping me as I asked him to describe her. i knew who it was before he had even finished. 'All right,' I said, 'tell her to come up.'
'I'm not sure that would be wise, sir. She seems a bit disturbed. Better if you see her down here.'
'It's my wife,' I said.
There was a pause, and then he said, 'Very well, I'll send her up.' There was a click and the phone went dead, leaving me standing there, my nerves taut. So this was why they had laid off me. They were relying on Fiona. It was so typical, getting at me through her. Why didn't they come themselves? Did they think, after all these years, she still meant something to me?' There was a knock on the door, a light, almost hesitant tap. I opened it and she was there in the passage, facing me, her eyes enormous. She smiled. It was a tentative flicker of a smile that betrayed her nervousness. 'Come in,' I said and the tone of my voice was not exactly welcoming.
She came in, moving slowly as though uncertain of her reception. Her face looked very white. The pageboy cut was gone, her jet-black hair swept back from her forehead and falling to her shoulders. It made her look more feminine. It also accentuated the pallor of her skin — that and the little black coat she was wearing, the long sensitive fingers poking out of the sleeves, white with blue veins showing.
I closed the door and for a moment we stood looking at each other in silence. Finally I said, 'What do you want?'
She tossed back her hair, a new gesture to go with the new cut. 'That's a fine way to greet me.' The smile was suddenly easier, her nervousness receding. 'Aren't you going to kiss me?' And when I didn't move she laughed. It was a brazen, excited sound. She was enjoying the drama of the moment and I knew she had taken whatever it was she took. I could see it in her eyes, in the sudden changes of mood, the loss of control. 'I used to be able to turn you on, just like that.' She clicked her fingers, her mouth wide open, laughing at me.