Brought to Book (11 page)

Stapleton House was an imposing building standing in its own grounds and set well back from the road. Rona followed the sign for the visitors' car park and drew up beside an assortment of cars. Gus, curled on his blanket, opened one eye.

‘You stay there,' Rona told him. ‘I won't be long.'

As she locked the car, a woman was emerging from a red Peugeot, and Rona followed her across the gravel to the front door, where she rang the bell, spoke into an intercom, and went inside, turning to hold the door for Rona.

‘Thanks,' she said. ‘Could you tell me what the procedure is? I haven't been before.'

The woman indicated a visitors' book on the desk in front of them. ‘You have to sign yourself in and out, giving the time in each case. If you know where you're going, fine; if you need help, ring that bell.'

‘Thanks,' Rona said again, and rang. After a minute there was the sound of approaching footsteps and a young woman appeared. She was wearing a pale blue blouse and navy skirt. A badge on her blouse bore the name Sarah Bliss.

‘Can I help you?' she asked with a smile.

‘I have an appointment with Mr Harvey,' Rona told her. ‘My name's Rona Parish, and I've signed in.'

‘Fine. If you'd like to come this way, Miss Parish?'

Rona followed her down a corridor. It was thickly carpeted, muffling their footsteps, and French doors at the far end, apparently opening on to the garden, gave an impression of light and air. Voices and the sound of a radio came from behind the closed doors.

Half way down, Sarah Bliss came to a halt, knocked on a door on the right, and opened it. ‘A visitor for you, Mr Harvey.'

Thank God she hadn't called him Reg, Rona thought as she walked into the room, deciding a moment later that it would be a brave soul indeed who attempted such familiarity. There was still much of the headmaster about the old man who, notwithstanding his obvious frailty, stood up to receive her. Despite his stoop he could give her several inches, and the grip of his bony hand was firm and strong. As she seated herself at his invitation, she took stock of him, noting the full head of thick white hair, the hooked nose and the piercing eyes that were steadily regarding her over the top of a pair of spectacles.

‘You're younger than I expected,' he stated.

She smiled. ‘Should I apologize?'

‘Quite the contrary; any young face round here is a bonus. I've been expecting you, you know. Before I received your letter, I mean. When I heard Meriel had approached you, I immediately began considering what you might want from me, and what I should and should not tell you.'

She looked at him quickly, unsure if he was serious. ‘And what did you decide?'

‘That in the first instance I would read your work, and if I considered it slipshod or unprofessional, I should refuse to co-operate.'

She waited for him to continue, and when he did not, said mildly, ‘I hope that, since you've agreed to see me, it met your criteria?'

‘Oh, indeed. I was most impressed, by both your style and the depth of your research. I'd thought in my arrogance that I knew all there was to know about Conan Doyle, but you unearthed some facts new to me. So –' he made an expansive gesture with one gnarled hand, ‘go ahead, young lady. Ask what you will, and I'll answer as fully as I can, reserving the right of refusal if I consider a question intrusive or irrelevant. Are you happy with that?'

‘Perfectly. Is it all right if I use a tape recorder? Some people—'

He waved his hand again. ‘Anything to make your task easier.'

Rona took it and her notebook out of her bag, but before she could start they were interrupted by a tap at the door, followed by the entry of a girl carrying a tray with two cups of coffee and a plate of biscuits. While she set them out on the table, Rona took the chance to look about her. She'd been so focused on the old man that she hadn't yet taken in his surroundings. Now, she saw that the room was large and well proportioned, and furnished with what were obviously his own pieces: a grandfather clock ticking melodiously in one corner, a bookcase reaching almost to the ceiling and crammed with books, an antique chest of drawers, a desk, a handsome old bed with a hand-stitched quilt. A door in the corner no doubt led to an en suite bathroom.

She turned from her brief inspection to find him smilingly watching her, and flushed. ‘Sorry; put it down to a biographer's curiosity. You have some lovely pieces.'

‘Yes; I'm much better here than parked in the spare bedroom of one of my offspring. I have my independence, which I value almost more than anything.'

Leaning forward to pick up her cup, Rona discreetly switched on the recorder. ‘How long ago did your wife die, Mr Harvey?'

‘It must be twelve years now, but she'd had a good life. She was eighty-five.' Seeing her surprise, he smiled. ‘Doing your sums? You're quite right, she was older than I. We married when I was twenty-one and she twenty-five, and my parents were very stuffy at the time: acted as though she were cradle-snatching, poor girl! They came round eventually, though. Had to, it was so obviously a love match.'

‘And you had three children.'

‘Correct. Tristan, Phoebe and Theo.' He raised a humorous eyebrow at her. ‘My wife insisted on distinctive names, which wouldn't have to be shared with half the form. Having taught herself, she complained of the confusion that a plethora of Jennies and Sues could cause. Made no difference to the boys, of course – they were known by their surname – but Phoebe remained satisfyingly unique.'

‘I believe Theo was quite a lot younger?'

‘Yes; it's no secret that he wasn't planned, though none the less welcome for that. In fact, Frances considered him her Benjamin and spoiled him shamelessly. Consequently he grew up expecting his own way – not a good start in life.'

‘Was he popular at school?'

Harvey shook his head sadly. ‘Unfortunately not. I dare say my being headmaster didn't help; I couldn't show favouritism, but with hindsight I believe I was excessively hard on him, and he reacted by being disobedient and generally disruptive. He used to clown around, distracting the other boys, and in fact several times came within a whisker of being expelled. He never did his homework, never paid attention in class, and then confounded everyone by coming top in every subject.'

‘He must have had
some
friends, surely?'

Harvey made a pyramid of his fingers. ‘There was an inner coterie, yes – not boys I'd have chosen for him – and unfortunately a couple of them followed him to Cambridge.'

He paused, looking inwards into the past before taking up the story again. ‘And that's where, freed from me and the restraining influence of home, he came into his own, and joined a wild bunch whose sole interests appeared to be women and drink. It was a continuing wonder to us that he obtained his degree, since he seemed to do no work at all.'

‘Could you give me the names of any of his friends?'

‘Not of the Cambridge crowd, but the two who went on from school were Scott Mackintosh and Michael Pennington. I can't tell you their addresses; I lost all track of them.'

Perhaps they'd be on Meriel's list.

‘Did they keep in touch after university?'

‘I've no idea.'

Rona made a note and moved on to her next question. ‘Had Theo always been interested in writing?'

‘He always had good marks for essays and so on, and he ran the school magazine for a while, but he didn't give any sign of wanting to make a career of it – or of anything else, for that matter. Which, so the wags have it, is why he became a school master.'

‘Teaching English?'

‘Yes. And make no mistake, he was good at it; there was no reason to think he'd change course in mid-stream. He married Isobel, in due course the boys were born, and it seemed that at last he'd settled down. Then one day, purely by chance, he saw a literary competition announced in the press, went in for it, and won. And the rest, as they say, is history.'

Not quite, Rona thought. ‘So he gave up teaching?'

‘Yes, apparently without a second thought. It was totally irresponsible, as I warned him at the time; he'd a wife and three young boys to support, and for all he knew, the book could have been a one-hit wonder. But that was Theo all over.
Take no thought for the morrow
.'

Reginald Harvey sighed, and drank some more coffee. ‘However,' he added, ‘it must have been in his blood after all, because he later enrolled as tutor for a correspondence course in creative writing. Kept it up for some years, I believe.'

There was a pause. ‘The book that won the competition was
The Silencer,
of course,' Rona prompted. ‘How old was he when it came out – about forty?'

‘That's right. The fame it brought him was naturally right up his street, and regrettably it brought out his wild streak again. There was talk of other women, drunken escapades, wild parties. How Isobel stood it I'll never know, but she stuck by him and, at least in our presence, gave no hint that their marriage wasn't totally happy. Frances told me afterwards that he'd even gone off for a week or two with some woman. I don't know how she found out, but it wasn't from Isobel.'

The old man glanced at her over his spectacles. ‘I feel disloyal, speaking about him like this, but there's no point in painting over the cracks. If I didn't tell you, you'd hear it from someone else, and I'd prefer that you got the facts straight. He was my son and I loved him – make no mistake about that – but I didn't approve of his lifestyle.'

‘I understand,' Rona said gently. ‘How long were he and Isobel married?'

‘Eighteen years. I'm still very close to her; she's like a second daughter.'

‘Then, presumably, Meriel came along?'

His mouth tightened. ‘I might as well admit that I don't care for her. She set her cap at Theo quite shamelessly, with no compunction whatever about breaking up his marriage. Of course, he was equally to blame. The way he treated Isobel was disgraceful, and I told him so. Not unnaturally he resented my plain speaking, and we didn't see hair nor hide of him for over a year. To give Meriel her due, it was she who persuaded him to bury the hatchet.'

‘Was their marriage happy, do you think?'

Harvey lifted his shoulders. ‘As far as one could see. I'm not sure how much she knew of his carryings-on, but then she was no saint herself; I heard she was having an affair with that cousin of hers. May still be, for all I know.'

Rona looked up from her notebook, eyes widening. ‘Justin Grant?'

‘I believe that's the name.' He looked suddenly embarrassed. ‘I shouldn't have said that. Forgive an old man's indiscretion, my dear. Naturally, that piece of information is
not
for publication.'

‘Of course not,' she reassured him, changing the tape. They hadn't given the impression of being lovers, she thought, but this was not the time to consider the implications. She adroitly changed the subject. ‘You can probably guess what I'm coming to now.'

‘The much-trumpeted block.'

‘Right. What interpretation did you put on it?'

‘Something happened,' Reginald Harvey said positively. ‘God knows what, but it was something profound that knocked the stuffing out of him. It wasn't only that he couldn't write – and that normally came as easily as breathing. His whole personality changed. It was as if – a light had gone out.'

He gave a small cough. ‘I'm sorry; that sounded fanciful, but I can think of no other way of putting it. I really believe he went through some kind of breakdown. We all tried to get through to him but it was impossible, and he remained totally unapproachable for the best part of two years. Eventually, as you know, he climbed out of whatever hell he'd been in and started to write again, but he was never the same.'

‘Nor were his books,' Rona said quietly.

He looked at her sharply. ‘And what do you make of that?'

‘You say his personality changed; perhaps his writing reflected that.'

Reginald Harvey said slowly, ‘They made uncomfortable reading, at least to me. It's foolish, but I somehow disliked the idea that my son had written them.'

Rona nodded. ‘I know what you mean. There'd been plenty of fighting and shooting in the earlier books, but there was always an underlying innocence about them, like a
Boys' Own
adventure. The later ones were – sadistic, somehow – gratuitous violence and a kind of snide attitude, as though he'd a low opinion of people in general.'

Harvey slapped the arm of his chair. ‘Exactly! That's just how they struck me. Nevertheless, as you know, they were widely acclaimed, and I've told you how much he craved acceptance and success. Bearing that in mind, you'd have expected him to be overjoyed by all the plaudits, but they seemed to wash right over him. When anyone congratulated him on his awards, he merely nodded his thanks and changed the subject.'

He smiled ruefully. ‘It made us long for the old, wild Theo. At least you knew where you were with him.'

Rona hesitated, aware that she was approaching difficult ground. ‘I'm sorry if this is painful for you,' she began tentatively, ‘but I was wondering about his death – if he was reported missing, and who found him?'

The gnarled hand twitched, but when he spoke, Harvey's voice was ready. ‘They were due at the theatre that Friday evening. When he didn't come home, Meriel phoned the public house up there and asked them to check on him. His car was still at the cottage, so they set up a search party, and eventually discovered him in the stream, between his home and the pub. The police established he'd been there over twenty-four hours.'

Her last question was even more delicate, but she'd really no option. ‘Have you any theories about his death?' she asked quietly. ‘It was an open verdict wasn't it?'