‘I’ve brought Mrs Calthrop up to date with the latest developments,’ said Forbes-James. Stratton, watching Diana as she cleared up the plates of cold meat and salad, thought she looked pale and tired, and there was an air of fragility about her that could not, he felt, be entirely explained by Forbes-James’s news. Perhaps, he thought, darkly, it had something to do with Handsome, and was again taken aback by how angry the thought of this made him.
‘—any news for us?’ The question – which, by the sound of Forbes-James’s voice, was being asked for the second time – brought him back to the matter in hand.
‘Yes, sir.’ Stratton got out his notebook and passed on Ballard’s findings and his further instructions.
Forbes-James sighed. ‘I won’t deny,’ he said, ‘that this is all getting rather too complicated for my liking. Too many people involved. However, there seems to be nothing we can do but press on.
Stratton took a deep breath. ‘Actually, sir, there’s something else.’
‘Oh?’ Forbes-James, who had accepted coffee from Diana, stopped in the act of drinking, his cup in mid-air. ‘Serious?’
‘I’m afraid so, sir. At least, it is for me. It concerns Miss Morgan. As you know, sir, I never thought she was a suicide, and Joe Vincent – the man whose flat she lived in – had a visit from a couple of thugs after her death.’
‘Looking for something, yes.’
‘Well, from the description Vincent gave me, I knew that one of them was a man called George Wallace, who works for Abie Marks. I also have descriptions from another lodger. I’ve made
some further enquiries, and it appears that the other person is my nephew John Booth.’
Forbes-James looked at him intently. ‘I see. That’s most unfortunate. I assume that no-one else knows about this?’
‘Only my wife, sir. I’ve told her not to say anything.’ Forbes-James raised his eyebrows. ‘She won’t, sir.’
‘Can you be sure it’s your nephew?’
‘Wallace admitted it. We’re holding him, sir – a van-load of stolen cigarettes. It’s a bit irregular, but I decided not to charge him with anything until I’d worked out his part in this business.’
‘Well, that makes things a bit easier … I take it that this character Wallace doesn’t know about the family connection?’
‘No, sir. But I think that Wallace and my … and Booth … may have had something to do with Miss Morgan’s death.’
‘Pushed her, you mean? Killed her?’
‘I wouldn’t go as far as that, sir. But I think they were present when it happened. Something my nephew said.’
‘Rather hard to prove, I should have thought. Unless one has a confession, of course … And the man in the church? Did they have anything to do with that?’
‘Wallace denies it, sir.’
Forbes-James shrugged. ‘He would, wouldn’t he? What do you think?’
Stratton rubbed a hand over his face. ‘I honestly don’t know, sir. Marks has a lot of people besides Wallace to do his dirty work for him. And if sir Neville—’
‘I must remind you,’ said Forbes-James, severely, ‘that there is no proven connection between Apse and this man Marks.’
‘I’m aware of that, sir.’
Forbes-James sighed again. ‘Well,’ he said, ‘it looks as if we all have a reason for wanting this wrapped up as quickly and as quietly as possible. How do you suggest we proceed?’
‘The easiest way to get Marks to talk,’ said Stratton, ‘would be getting a confession from George Wallace, but I’m afraid I’ve used up my credit there, for the time being, at least. Booth should be more co-operative, but he may not know very much about Marks.’
‘Better talk to him first, then,’ said Forbes-James. ‘I realise this is going to be pretty difficult for you.’ Stratton thought, but did not say, that that was as masterly an understatement as he’d ever heard.
Instead, he said, ‘I didn’t want to do anything without your say-so, sir, because it’s not an official investigation. Not for us, anyway.’
‘Of course not. Your nephew’s not a member of any right-wing organisation, is he?’
Stratton shook his head. ‘No interest in politics at all, as far as I know.’
‘Shame. We could have had him detained under Regulation 18B, but that would seem to be taking things a bit far.’ Forbes-James lit a cigarette and stared into space for a moment. ‘I think,’ he said, ‘I’d better telephone the Yard and explain the situation. Why don’t you take a turn round the square? Spot of fresh air. Take Mrs Calthrop with you.’
Stratton and Diana gravitated to the nearest bench. ‘I’m so sorry,’ she said. ‘It must be awful for you and your poor wife.’
‘He’s her sister’s son,’ said Stratton, ‘So it’s worse for her. You know, Mrs Calthrop,’ he added, ‘I thought he’d tell me to leave.’
‘That F-J would?’
‘Yes.’
Diana shook her head. ‘That’s not how it works. Anyway,’ she added, ‘he likes you.’
‘Does he?’
‘Definitely. And please, Inspector, don’t call me Mrs Calthrop. It’s Diana.’
‘Ted,’ said Stratton. Diana looked surprised.
‘I wasn’t christened Inspector Stratton, you know.’
‘No, of course not. How silly of me. Ted. Ted …’ She put her head on one side and contemplated him. ‘You know, Inspector, I really think you’re more of an Edward. May I call you that instead?’
‘If you prefer it,’ said Stratton, nonplussed by her sudden flirtatiousness.
‘I didn’t mean to offend you,’ Diana said quickly, lowering her eyes. ‘If you don’t like being called Edward …’
Stratton thought for a moment. He couldn’t have said exactly why, but it seemed right, coming from her. ‘It’s fine,’ he said. ‘Cigarette?’
‘Why not? I’m sure F-J will give us a wave when he wants us back.’
As Stratton leant over to give her a light, he was conscious of her delicate perfume, the closeness of her face and hair. Was his desire to kiss her, he wondered, because of Diana herself, or because of his need for comfort, or merely something to take his mind off whatever might be unfolding upstairs?
She seemed aware of it – or of something, anyway – because she drew back with a nervous laugh and said, ‘Of course, we’re assuming the worst about all this, but we don’t know what’s going to happen.’
‘It won’t be good, though,’ said Stratton.
‘No, I don’t suppose it will. You know …’ She looked at him oddly, her head on one side again. ‘When I was young, I had a nanny – a lot of different ones, but this one was older than the others and stayed longer. If anyone talked about the future – you know, something that would happen or might happen – she’d say,’ – Diana gave a reasonable imitation of an elderly woman – ‘“Well, I shan’t be here to see it”. As if that satisfied her. I used to think she could see into the future, that there was going to be a disaster and we’d all be killed or something. When I got older I felt sorry for her because she didn’t have anything to look forward to, but now I’m beginning to dread things. Not the bombs – one’s used to that – but …’ She looked round the garden, then up at the window of Forbes-James’s flat, ‘ …all this. People not being who you thought they were. Nothing feels secure any more … I’m sorry, it’s probably all nonsense, and in any case, I shouldn’t be troubling you with it.’
‘That’s all right,’ said Stratton, then, after a pause, and without really knowing what prompted him, other than a strong feeling that her comments were more wide-ranging than she was letting on, added, ‘May I ask you something?’
‘If you like. Of course, I might not know the answer.’
‘Are you in love with him?’
Diana gave a muted shriek. ‘With F-J?’
‘No,’ said Stratton. ‘The man I saw in there.’ He nodded in the direction of Nelson House. ‘The one who took you out to lunch on the day that we first met.’
‘When you came to see Apse, you mean?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Oh, him.’ Stratton thought she was about to dismiss the
suggestion as laughable, but instead she said, solemnly, ‘How did you know?’
‘I didn’t. But I thought the two of you seemed friendly.’
‘Yes,’ said Diana. ‘That’s the difficulty. Rather more than a difficulty, actually. What did you think of him?’
‘I only saw him for a moment.’
‘You only saw me for a moment. You must have formed an impression.’
Stratton was tempted to tell her the truth, which was that he’d been too busy looking at her to bother much about Handsome, but he knew this wasn’t what was wanted. He thought that – in so far as he was capable of judging these things – she wanted an honest answer, so he said, ‘I thought he seemed dangerous.’
‘That’s what everyone kept telling me,’ Diana said. ‘A breaker of hearts.’ She laughed again, and added, ‘I am, by the way. In love with him.’
‘And that’s not …’ Stratton hesitated. ‘Not good?’
‘No, it isn’t. NBG, in fact.’
‘Because?’
‘Because, Inspector,’ she said, lightly, ‘as you’ve already gathered, I’m married, because F-J is furious about it and has forbidden me to see him again, and because Claude—’
‘That’s what he’s called, is it?’ asked Stratton, thinking that the wretched man would have to have a matinee idol sort of name.
‘Yes. Claude Ventriss. He’s one of F-J’s.’
‘So I gathered,’ said Stratton. ‘He was coming out of his office when I went up last night.’
‘Was he?’ Diana frowned. ‘Claude isn’t the sort of person one ought to fall in love with if one wants to keep one’s sanity.’ She stood up. ‘I can’t imagine why I’m telling you all this.’
‘Because I asked you.’
‘You won’t say anything to F-J, will you? I mean, I honestly have stopped seeing him – not that anyone seems to believe it – but …’ She grimaced.
‘Of course not. I hope you didn’t mind my asking.’
‘No, I ought to mind, awfully, but I don’t.’ Glancing upwards, she said, ‘Look, F-J’s summoning us. We’d better go back.’
Following Diana up the stairs, Stratton wondered if she’d
meant what she said about keeping her sanity. There was nothing melodramatic about the way she’d said it, and yet it hadn’t seemed altogether a joke – that wouldn’t fit with her clarity about her situation or her apparently passive acceptance of it. But then again, you couldn’t choose who you fell in love with, any more than you could stop loving them if it proved inconvenient or dangerous. But if Claude – Stratton’s lip curled in disgust – Ventriss wasn’t … how had she put it … The person she thought he was, then surely that would change her feelings about him? NBG, she’d said, but she wasn’t married to the man, so she didn’t have to resign herself to having backed the wrong horse. Stratton eyed her ankles and wondered what her husband was like. Like Ventriss, probably: a man who expected, and took, a woman like Diana as no more than his due. But she’d betrayed him, hadn’t she?
Standing behind her on the landing as she opened the door, Stratton felt the discomfort of disloyalty to his wife. He wondered, gloomily, if he and Jenny would ever be the same again. Would he be condemned forever, with Johnny always between them, and constant, silent accusation – far more effective than shouting – reducing him to an outsider in his own home, a man who was there to pay the bills, to be fed and watered, and nothing more? Reg and Lilian would think that he’d betrayed them, all right … And suppose Donald sided with them? If Doris took Lilian’s part, he’d probably have to as well, to keep the peace, and that would mean he’d lost not only his best friend, but his ally. Christ, he thought, I could do with a drink. Numbness, that was what he needed, a good, thick buffer between himself and the whole bloody mess. He wanted to turn round and go back down the stairs, find some spit-and-sawdust place where no-one knew him, sit by himself, and get stewed.
‘Here.’ Forbes-James handed him a large brandy. ‘You look as if you might need it. Diana?’
‘No, thank you, sir.’
‘Well, sit down. I’ll need you to take notes. I’ve spoken to Roper. He’s going to instruct the station at Tottenham, but he won’t mention your name, Stratton. They’ll bring the boy in – attempted burglary, threatening behaviour and so forth – and I’ll see him
tomorrow. I want you to take me through the details again, and you’d better tell me a bit about the lad, too. After that, I suggest you get yourself home.’