Francis was in luck. As befitted an author who regularly expressed contempt for the parochialism of the literary world, Dan Dickson was still in the Green Room an hour after his event, reading The Bookseller as he picked at a piece of carrot cake and sipped a mug of tea. The place was otherwise deserted.
Francis walked over. ‘Hi Dan.’
The great sculpted head turned. ‘Hi mate. You still around? I’ve just done my last gig. I was sitting here wondering whether to head to Dewkesbury station for the train back to the Smoke or have one last exotic night in the sticks.’
‘You didn’t drive down?’
‘Never learnt, mate. Scares me, all those people racing around in metal boxes, separated only by a painted white line. I feel safer on the rails.’
‘D’you mind if I join you for a moment?’
‘Help yourself.’ Dan gestured to the chair opposite and gave Francis the benefit of his toothy smile. ‘Terrifying magazine, this. But good for us authors to read every now and then. Just so we understand our true status. Which is, these days, somewhere between a bar of soap and a factory-farmed chicken. You still on the sleuth?’
‘A few more bits of the jigsaw to get into place. With which in mind, I wanted to ask you about your taxi ride into Mold on Saturday night.’
‘My taxi ride into Mold?’ Dan looked as if he were struggling to remember something entirely forgettable. His acting wasn’t that good.
‘With Bryce …’
Dan laughed. ‘What on earth made you think I was with Bryce?’
‘You were filmed getting into a taxi together outside Wyveridge Hall.’
‘Filmed?’
‘By one of the young people in Ranjit’s house party.’
Dan’s laugh was throaty in its scorn. ‘You can’t do anything these days, can you? It’s not just CCTV, is it? Even way out in the country, at a private function, Big Brother is watching.’
‘Little Sister in this case.’
Dan’s face shifted a register. ‘Not that poor girl?’
‘Her friend.’
Dan was shaking his head. ‘As I recall, I was already in the taxi, about to leave, when Bryce crashed in demanding a free lift.’
‘That’s not how the driver remembered it.’
‘You’ve spoken to him too?’
‘Terry Jenkins of Ace Taxis of Mold. Told me that by the time you got into town you were pretty much at each other’s throats. He had to put you out on the bridge.’
For all of five seconds Dan said nothing, his mouth hanging open. Then the smile returned. ‘You have done your homework.’
‘Might I ask what you were arguing about?’
‘This and that. I should never have let him in. Bryce always had this terrible problem with me. Ever since I became even vaguely successful he was like a dog with a bone. Once he started slagging me off he couldn’t stop. Which was slightly galling on Saturday, considering that it was me who should have had an apology from him.’
‘For his review?’
‘Of course.’
‘And that provoked you enough to want to fight him?’
‘Were we actually fighting? I think your taxi driver mate might have been exaggerating.’
‘Apparently you got so angry you told Bryce you were the father of his children.’
For a moment, Dan looked as if he’d been punched in the face. Then he burst out laughing. ‘This cabbie told you that? Fascinating though the idea is, I’m afraid he misheard.’
‘There’s no point denying it. I’ve already spoken to Scarlett and she’s confessed all. What I need to know now is exactly what you told Bryce on Saturday night.’
As Dan stared down at his heavy black boots, there was a distant rumble of thunder, away across the valley. He looked slowly up and met Francis’s eye. ‘Scarlett told you … what … exactly?’ he asked.
‘Your affair, Tilly Bardwell, the works.’
‘OK, OK.’ Dan held up his hands. ‘Maybe I did say something to Bryce along those lines. I was a little tipsy. And yes, still furious with him about that frigging write-up. Otherworld is my best book yet. By far. How dare he slag me off like that. And then come barging in, quite deliberately, on my talk. Perhaps I did lose it a bit. I should never have told him about the twins. That was stupid. Nobody else knows, except Scarlett. I’m amazed she said anything.’
‘I kind of forced it out of her.’
‘But how did you know?’
‘I guessed. It fitted everything else. And I’m afraid they’ve inherited your eyes.’
Dan looked simultaneously proud and sad. ‘They have, haven’t they?’
‘May I ask. Why didn’t you take them on? Become their father openly?’
‘None of your fucking business.’ They sat in silence for what seemed to Francis like five minutes, but was probably only one. ‘I did consider it,’ Dickson said eventually. ‘But it wouldn’t have worked. Scarlett and I had already split up when I got her pregnant.’
‘How did you manage that then?’
Dickson laughed. ‘Cheeky bastard, aren’t you. You know the kind of thing. We’d parted, then we met up for one last shag and Sod’s law she got up the duff.’
‘So how did you know they were yours? If she was seeing Bryce too?’
‘He was away that month. In Australia. Opining about international fiction at the Adelaide Festival. That’s why we got together again. While the cat was away. To be honest, it wasn’t just the once. No, I was never in any doubt the girls were mine.’
‘And why wouldn’t your relationship have worked?’
‘How long have you got? We turned each other on mightily but,’ he yawned, as if exhausted by the very memory, ‘she’s very controlling, is Scarlett. Didn’t want me doing this, didn’t want me doing that. Even though she herself was cheating on Bryce, she used to get insanely jealous about any other birds I hung out with. So I knew, long term, it wasn’t a runner. I actually, for my sins, wanted an abortion. Thought it would be cleaner. But she wouldn’t countenance that, bless her. And when we discovered it was twins I was glad she’d persuaded me out of it. Ridiculous. Why should two dead foetuses be worse than one? Anyway, we came to an agreement. We’d stop seeing each other. She’d tell Bryce they were his. The whole thing would remain our secret and I’d give up all rights as a father.’
‘And how did that work out in practice?’
‘Not very well. You got kids?’
‘No.’
‘Put it this way, it’s not been an easy secret to keep. I’ve thought about telling Bryce many times before. So we could at least work out some sort of arrangement. Whereby it was at least acknowledged. And I could see them properly from time to time. But whenever I talked to Scarlett about it, I came up against the same brick wall. My sacred promise. And our pact.’
‘But on Saturday you cracked?’
‘I guess I did. Perhaps because he’d been such an arsehole, earlier, and I wanted to get him where it hurt. Perhaps I just didn’t want him swanning around thinking he was their dad any more. I saw them, you see, on Friday. Scarlett brought them in for that Michael Rosen event. They’re so sweet and sophisticated now.’
‘Do they know who you are?’
‘I’m a friend of Mummy’s. Uncle Dan. Who often seems to be at the zoo when they’re visiting. They asked me once if I worked at the zoo.’
‘What happened when you told Bryce?’
‘He didn’t believe me at first. Then I gave him dates and details. Spelt it out for him. So he got it.’
‘And he had you by the throat?’
‘When we got out of the cab, yes. But then, once we’d traded a couple of blows, the whole thing seemed ridiculous. We’re writers, not fighters. There we were, on the bridge, the river rushing by below, the full moon coming up over the trees. Suddenly he burst into tears. I ended up consoling him.’
‘Then he went back to the White Hart?’
‘Eventually.’
‘Covered in bruises?’
‘Nothing too serious. I clipped him on the cheek, I think.’
‘What time was that?’
‘Just after ten. I remember, because I offered to take the poor bastard for a drink. I thought the pubs might be closed, then I looked at my watch and was surprised how early it was.’
‘He wasn’t interested?’
‘He said he wanted to be alone. He was tired.’
‘When did you hear he was dead?’
‘When I came down to breakfast. You were there, I think.’
‘I was. You were in the company of a tall blonde.’
‘My editor, Rachel Lightfoot. I’m not shagging her, if that’s what you’re thinking.’
‘You didn’t hear the commotion in the small hours?’
‘I’m a heavy sleeper. Apparently the fire alarm went off and all sorts.’
‘So when you found out … about Bryce … what did you think?’
‘I had to hope it had nothing to do with what had happened between us.’
‘Was that likely?’
‘I suppose it was a possibility. He was very mournful when he left me. And one thing I’ve learned over the years is that people do sometimes do crazy things. But then again, Bryce was hardly low on self-esteem. The only worry that I did have was: had I perhaps hit him in a place that had triggered off a blood clot in his brain or something? All the next day I was wondering if I should fess up to what had happened, then that poor journo bird bit the dust …’
‘And?’
‘I didn’t know what to think. But I no longer thought Bryce’s sad demise had anything to do with me.’
Dan looked up at Francis and gave him an unassailable smile.