A Sticky End (6 page)

“And do you really think that's why he killed himself? Because you'd told him that you were through? Because he was overheard saying something compromising by a servant girl?”

“I don't know, Mitch. What am I supposed to think? I can't ask Frank. He's dead.”

It was obviously too soon to ask Morgan exactly what happened last night to precipitate the crisis, so I turned back the clock. “So you and Frank had been happy together up to that point?”

“As happy as we could be, knowing that we were both living a lie. Sometimes Frank was moody and irritable. He'd cancel arrangements at the last moment, or he'd snap at me, say something unkind just to upset me. I was confused. I asked him what was wrong, and he'd either pretend that nothing had happened, or he'd just wave me away as if I was some little clerk who was badgering him at the wrong time. He could be cruel when he wanted to be; he knew how hard it was for me, how much I was compromising myself to keep him happy, and it wasn't easy to put up with this kind of treatment.”

“What was going on, then?”

“I don't know. He never told me. I thought at first that it was business trouble—but of course it couldn't be, because I knew as much about the business as Bartlett himself. I made a few discreet inquiries, and Tippett assured me that B and R had never done better—they had bigger clients and more money than ever before. Bartlett was the most respected man in his field—and he should have been happy.”

“So why wasn't he?”

“I've thought about nothing else, Mitch, and I don't know.”

“Was there…anyone else?”

“It occurred to me. But I don't think there was. I mean, I knew him well—really well—and I do not believe that he could have done what he did to me if he was giving it to someone else as well. He was in his mid-forties, Mitch. I mean, even men as fit as Frank Bartlett slow down a bit in their mid-forties.”

“You drained him dry.”

“Something like that. And I never got the impression that he was—you know. Playing around.”

Did Belinda ever get that impression, I wondered? Does Vince?

“Sometimes he was just like his old, cheerful self—especially when we were with the girls, and particularly if the children were around. He doted on those kids, Mitch. He always had a little present for them, and he seemed to take real delight in playing with them. He talked to them as if they were equals—none of that silly baby talk that so many people go in for. And they adored him. Margaret called him Uncle Frank, and even Teddy would smile and hold out his arms when he walked into the room. It was such a shame he never had any of his own.”

He'd have had to fuck his wife first, I thought.

“But more and more of the time that we were together, he was miserable and distant. I tried to reach out to him—and sometimes, when we were making love, he came back to me, and it was just like before. But things were getting worse in every other way. He started talking about ending it all. I thought he meant us—ending the affair. Now I realize that's not what he meant at all.”

“But this weekend? You said he was happy when he arrived.”

“He was. It was strange, now that I think about it. In the
last few weeks, he's been so gloomy. But then suddenly he changed—he invited Belinda and the children down to Teddington to stay with Vivie, and he brought himself up here to be with me, and he was full of the joys of spring. Until we had…words…”

“Why the sudden change?”

“It was as if a huge weight had lifted off his shoulders. But I was too bloody stupid to see that, wasn't I? I was only thinking about myself. Whatever had happened to make him change like that, I just didn't want to know. God, what a fool I've been.”

“He didn't say anything that might help us to figure it out?”

“No. Just what I told you before. That he'd done something special for me. And I threw it back in his face.”

“But he didn't just rush out of the room and cut his wrists then and there, did he? You had the argument after lunch, you said, before the servants left. You didn't find him until early this morning. What happened in between?”

“We went for a walk.”

“A walk?”

“On the Common.”

“You went for…” I was starting to sound like an irritating parrot, but suddenly I understood. “Wimbledon Common has a certain reputation, doesn't it, Morgan? Especially after dark.”

“I…”

“It's a place where unspeakable vice takes place, I believe. That's what I read in the Sunday newspapers, at any rate.”

“Hmmm.”

“And did you and Bartlett by any chance…stumble upon some?”

“It's a long story,” he said.

“I'm all ears.”

“WE'D BEEN SITTING IN DIFFERENT ROOMS, SULKING like bears, which was ridiculous—we were supposed to be having the time of our lives, and we were both perfectly miserable. In the end, I couldn't stand it anymore, and neither could Frank—he came out of the living room, I came out of the dining room, both at the same time, and we met in the hall. The situation struck me as so ridiculous that I burst out laughing, and that broke the mood. He smiled, thank God—I hated seeing him so gloomy—and put an arm around my shoulder. ‘Let's get out of here,' he said, ‘and go for a drink.'

“It was way too early for the pubs to be open, so we went for a long ramble on the Common. It wasn't a bad day yesterday—the sun was doing its best to break through, and it wasn't too cold, and we walked for ages, talking about this and that.”

“Did he say anything that seems significant, in retrospect?”

“No, Mitch. I've been racking my brains, honestly I have,
but he seemed completely normal. Too normal, if anything; that's all I can put my finger on.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, considering what we'd just been through—and all that the weekend meant to him, all the planning it had taken, all the ups and downs of his moods—I'd have expected him to say something a bit more…you know. About ‘us.' But he didn't. We talked about business, we talked about the children, politics, banking, even the weather—but we didn't touch on anything remotely sensitive. I'd seen him like this many times before, usually when we were with the girls, charming, bluff, not a care in the world. You'd never think that there's another side to him. The side that I knew so well.”

“And that struck you as odd?”

“To be honest I was so relieved to have got off difficult subjects that I was quite happy to make small talk. You know what it's like, Mitch—you can jabber away without really thinking, and all the while you're going over things in your mind that don't come out of your mouth. I certainly was—I was wondering where the hell this thing was going, what the ‘surprise' was, why his moods were so unpredictable. Finally, the light started fading, and when I looked at my watch it was gone five o'clock. The pubs down in the village would be opening soon, so we turned back that way. I'd noticed a few chaps coming onto the Common in ones and twos, strolling around, glancing at each other and at us, but I hadn't really paid them much attention. Just as we were getting close to the streets, a fellow in a cloth cap and a shabby old jacket stopped and asked us for a light; Frank gave him a box of matches, and we went on our way.”

“To the pub?”

“Yes. There's a pub right on the edge of the Common called the White Bear, which I'd never been into, but Frank liked the look of it, so in we went. Perfectly decent place, a bit rough and ready but none the worse for that. There was
a public bar and a lounge bar, and somewhat to my surprise Frank headed for the public bar. It was a big square room with a bare floor, wooden chairs, and a few shabby old stools along the bar. It was pretty empty, because the landlord was only just opening up, but the place already stank of beer and fags from lunchtime. Frank ordered two pints of bitter and we sat at a table in the corner where we could watch the door. He seemed… I don't know. Distracted. We were still making small talk, but he had one eye on the door all the time. Whenever someone walked in, he gave them a real once-over, as if he expected to recognize them.”

“And did he?”

“Not at first. I asked him what he was up to, and he just laughed and said that he liked the look of some of the fellows that came to pubs like this—working types. It was the first time he'd ever talked like that about other blokes, and I was a bit shocked. I thought he was so wrapped up in me that he never looked at anyone else.”

“You know what men are like, Boy,” I said. “We can be head over heels in love, but we'll still keep an eye out.”

“Yes, I suppose so. I mean, I notice a nice-looking girl, even when I'm out with Belinda, pushing the pram around. She doesn't mind.”

No, I thought, it probably reassures her.

“Anyway, by the time we'd finished our pints, the pub was getting fairly full, and I thought we'd just push off home and get down to business, as it were. But Frank wanted to stay, and so we got another. He said he liked the atmosphere, it cheered him up—and if it kept Frank cheerful, I was all in favor. The beer seemed to have raised his spirits as well.”

“Yes, it does have that effect.”

“It was halfway through the second pint that I started to notice something rather peculiar about the place. Now, you know I'm not always that quick on the uptake, Mitch, and I'm sure you'd have twigged the moment you walked in, but
it dawned on me that there were absolutely no women in the place whatsoever.”

“That's not unusual, in a public bar.”

“No, I suppose not, but—there was something about the atmosphere that made it particularly obvious. The way people were looking at each other.”

“Oh. I see.”

“And it was quieter than a normal pub. You'd expect men who came straight in from work to let off a bit of steam, but this lot were very hush-hush. There were a few conversations going on, but none of the shouting and laughter that you'd expect in that class of place. People were arriving alone, for the most part, or in pairs; there were none of those big groups of lads that you'd expect. And then I noticed the funniest thing of all.”

“What was that?”

“They kept going in and out of the toilets.”

“Ah.”

“There was one chap in particular—great big bruiser of a man, looked like a navvy—and he came and went about five times. I was thinking ‘poor fellow, must have a weak bladder'—but then when I had to go myself, he was standing at the urinal with his prick in his hand, wanking away, having a good look at whatever was on either side of him.”

“And did you—”

“Most certainly not. I finished off and buttoned up and got out of there as fast as I could. I don't mind a bit of fun and games in private, but I'm not going to take a chance like that in public. At least, not just down the road from my own home. When I told Frank about it, he just laughed and said it took all sorts to make a world. As his beer went down, he was paying less attention to me, and more attention to the comings and goings in the pub. I was starting to feel quite uneasy. And then he came in.”

“Who?”

“The chap we'd seen earlier on the Common, the one who asked us for a light. At least, I'm pretty sure it was him. Cloth cap, jacket, scarf tied round his neck. Before I even saw him, I felt Frank somehow stiffen beside me; his body went tense, and he was staring towards the door. I looked over, and this bloke gave a bit of a nod in our direction. He was very ordinary looking—not much older than me, I'd have said. Well built. Manual laborer, I thought. Anyway, he must have recognized us from the Common. He went to the bar, sat on a stool, and drank a half. Then, when Frank got up to go to the loo, he followed him. Not right away, mind you. He waited for a good minute or so. It could have just been a coincidence.”

“Or not.”

“So I sat there for a while on my own, sipping my pint and feeling like a lemon, wondering where the hell Frank had got to, and, to be honest, wondering what he was up to in the loo. I was just about to go and look for him when the navvy with the weak bladder came and parked himself next to me. ‘On your own?' he said. ‘No, I'm just waiting for my friend.' Then he asked me if I'd had my dinner, and I said no, I'd be eating later. Then he said the most extraordinary thing.”

“What?”

“He said, ‘I've got a nice big juicy sausage for you.' Just like that.”

“Ah. The direct approach.”

“I must have blushed like a schoolgirl, because he suddenly started apologizing and backing away from me. Perhaps he thought I was a policeman or something. It would have been funny if it hadn't been so damned awkward. And it was just then that Frank came back from the toilet, with that other fellow hanging around behind him. ‘Finish up your drink, Harry,' he said, ‘and let's go.' I was only too pleased to get out of there, so I swallowed the rest of my
pint and we left—all three of us. ‘What's he doing?' I said to Frank, and he just said, ‘He's coming with us.' ”

“Good grief. What was he thinking?”

“That's what I wanted to know. I asked him who this person was, and he said he was a friend of his. A friend! They'd only just met! And I asked him what the idea was, bringing that sort back to my house, and do you know what he said?”

“No.”

“He said, ‘I want to show you that I'm not the possessive type. I want you to have some fun.' ”

I whistled.

“I tried to tell him that he'd got the wrong end of the stick—the very last thing I wanted was someone else in on the act. But he seemed to think that I'd been unhappy because I felt I was ‘tied' to him, and that it was only fair if I had a chance to play the field a bit. I said I had no desire whatsoever to play the field. Then he said he wanted to see me with another man, that it would give him pleasure. In the end, he begged me to let this bloke come home with us, that it was the one thing in all the world he most wanted to do. So of course, like an idiot, I went along with it.”