On the other side of the door, I could hear her slippered feet shuffling across the floor, and the soft thud of her walking stick against the marble. I could tell that she was only a few inches away. Now the letterbox was pushed open and a thin voice emerged:
‘Who is it? What do you want?’
Trying to make myself sound civilized and reassuring, I bent down to the letterbox and said: ‘My name’s William. I want to speak to Madeline.’
When she answered, I could see her puckered old lips mouthing the words.
‘Madeline’s not here. You’ll have to go away.’
‘I’m a friend of hers. A very good friend. I’ve been here before, lots of times. I must see Madeline tonight.’
There was a short silence, during which I thought that she had turned around and was going back upstairs; but then I heard bolts being pulled back and the turning of a key. The door swung open and Mrs Gordon was standing before me. She was a very small woman: she had to look up to study my face.
‘Why?’ she said.
Explaining, obviously, was impossible.
‘It’s personal.’
‘Madeline’s a very nice girl,’ said Mrs Gordon, opening the door further and letting me in. ‘I like her very much. You say you’re a friend of hers. I hope you haven’t got her into any trouble.’
She eyed me with suspicion. I could hardly blame her.
‘No,’ I said. ‘It’s nothing like that at all.’
‘She’s gone out for the evening,’ she said. ‘You can’t wait for her, because she probably won’t be back until late.’ Then she asked: ‘You did say you were a close friend of Madeline’s?’
‘Yes.’
‘Do you know what day it is?’
So the old bat was senile, it seemed. Still, I could see no harm in humouring her.
‘It’s Saturday,’ I said.
She looked at me with a very penetrating gaze.
‘Look — ’ She was making me uncomfortable, and I was anxious to leave. ‘I really don’t want to disturb you any more. Do you know where she’s gone?’
‘She’s round at her friend’s house.’
‘Her friend?’
‘You know, her friend. Piers.’
‘Piers?’
I practically shouted the name. As soon as I heard it, a sort of madness seized me, as any number of suppressed fears and hunches began to emerge from the shadows at the corners of my mind, where they had been lurking for months.
‘Where does he live?’
‘I’ve no idea.’
‘The bastard!’
Mrs Gordon raised her stick and prodded me in the stomach with it.
‘You’ll be careful not to use language like that, in this house.’
‘If that bastard… If she and that fucking bastard — ’
‘I think you’d better leave. Now.’
‘I know — her address book!’
I dodged round Mrs Gordon and made for the staircase.
‘Don’t you dare go up there!’ she shouted. ‘I’ll call the police.’
But I was already on my way up, and within a few seconds I was in Madeline’s room. It took me no time at all to find her address book, which she kept beside the telephone. I also guessed that she would be the kind of person who listed her friends by Christian name rather than surname. Sure enough, there was Piers, under P. I memorized the address and was about to close the book when for some reason I couldn’t resist looking to see if my own name was there: I turned to W.
Madeline had beautiful handwriting, there was no denying it. She had written my name in capitals, in red felt pen, and beneath it was the address of Tina’s flat and my phone number. Tears sprang to my eyes as I stared at it. And then I looked around her room, her room which was so familiar to me and which seemed so strange this evening because Madeline herself wasn’t there, and because everything, suddenly, had changed. The murder I had witnessed in Islington seemed insignificant now beside the suspicions which had started to crowd in on me, and it rapidly became too painful to sit there, assaulted by memories, fighting them off. I swore, got to my feet, and ran back downstairs.
Mrs Gordon was standing by the telephone in the hallway, with her back to the wall.
‘I called the police,’ she said. ‘They’re coming round.’
I said nothing and walked straight past her. I slammed the door behind me, then set off through the cold London night in the direction of Piers’ apartment. I still had my carrier-bag full of chocolates, flowers and champagne.
It wasn’t until much later that evening that I realized the stupidity of what I had done: I could scarcely, in fact, have devised a better way of incriminating myself further than by bursting into an old lady’s house, and frightening her to the point where she would call the police and issue them (presumably) with a description which tallied exactly with the one they had already received. Like a fish caught in a net, I had writhed and struggled and achieved nothing except to get into an even worse tangle than before. All I can say, once again, is — believe me: you don’t think of these things at the time.
I don’t know that I was thinking at all, as I strode along through the wealthy, imperturbable streets of South Kensington, across the Fulham Road and on through Chelsea towards World’s End. Once I was in the general area I had to ask for directions: but it didn’t take long for me to find the address. I found myself standing outside a tall, narrow terrace; it was in darkness except for the second floor, which was brightly lit and full of the noise of voices and loud disco music. A party seemed to be in progress.
Immediately, my spirits rose. If Piers was giving a party, then of course he would invite Madeline; and if she wasn’t seeing me that evening, then of course she would go. Perhaps I had jumped to entirely the wrong conclusion. Perhaps my vision of an evening alone with Madeline was still within my grasp, after all.
I rang the bell and before long a young, well-dressed young woman had come to let me in.
‘I’m a friend of Madeline’s,’ I said. ‘I’ve come to the party.’
‘Sure.’
She gave me an odd look, which I put down to my appearance. My raincoat was dirty and crumpled at the best of times, and now, with my plastic carrier-bag and my tousled hair, I must have cut a peculiar figure. I followed her up two flights of stairs and was left standing in the hallway of a small, crowded flat while she went to find Madeline.
‘Chuck your coat in one of the bedrooms,’ she said, ‘and put the booze in the fridge. I’ll just go and get her.’
I stayed where I was. None of the other guests tried to introduce themselves to me. They all seemed to be called things like Jocasta and Jeremy, and were all wearing outfits which must have cost more money than I would have thought of spending on a year’s wardrobe. They gave me a wide berth, and sneaked glances at me with wary, amused eyes which made my cheeks burn.
Shortly afterwards, Madeline emerged from one of the other rooms. She looked absolutely wonderful. She was wearing a navy blue velvet party dress with a low V-neck at the front and back, with a string of tiny pearls around her throat. She looked pale, healthy and happy. As soon as she saw me, her face fell.
‘William?’ she said. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’
I rushed towards her, put the bag down and tried to hug her.