Brought to Book (7 page)

‘Surprise me.'

‘Any ideas?'

‘To warrant lunch, it must be someone unexpected. The Prime Minister?'

‘Hugh Cavendish,' he said.

Rona stared at him. ‘Hugh was
here
?'

‘He was indeed. Hanging about outside Chase Mortimer.'

‘He didn't go inside?'

‘Not while I saw him, but it was too wet and blowy to hang about.'

‘What time was this?'

‘Around five thirty.'

‘Then he'd have been waiting for Lindsey to come out.'

‘Well done, Watson! Harvey's death will pose no problems for you!'

‘But why hasn't she phoned me?'

‘I've no idea. Perhaps she doesn't want you to know she's seen him.'

‘But you heard her at the parents'; she was in a state after only getting a letter from him. Do you think I should ring her?'

‘If you're really asking my advice, then no, I do not. If she wants you to know, she'll tell you in her own time. And I wouldn't like her to think I was spying.'

‘Ready to order?' interrupted a voice above them, and Max duly obliged.

Rona looked frowningly down into the street. Yesterday's rain had blown away, but the wind was still strong, and people thronging the pavements were clutching their coats together against its intrusive blast.

Max studied her averted face for a minute. ‘You said the contract's arrived?'

‘Yes, I posted it back on the way here.'

‘So you're all set?'

She nodded. ‘Meriel Harvey phoned just after you, and invited me to lunch tomorrow. She'd seen the piece, too.'

‘Just tread carefully, love, that's all I ask.'

‘Don't I always?' she replied.

In the three weeks since she'd last driven this way, spring had arrived. The misty green had formed into new shoots, blossom was out, and daffodils gleamed in profusion. White clouds raced across a newly washed sky, and at last Rona felt that lift of the spirits that always presaged a new work, delayed in this instance both by her own vague disquiet and Max's reservations.

Again she had to negotiate market shoppers in the village, and again she was admitted by the young woman Cecile, who invited her to bring Gus into the house.

‘Madame say you will be here for quite a while,' she explained.

Meriel Harvey came into the hall to meet her. ‘It's no problem at all,' she insisted, as Gus wagged his tail ingratiatingly. ‘I'm fond of dogs, and it's not fair to keep him shut up when it's unnecessary. I'm sure he's well behaved.'

‘Usually,' Rona said. ‘If he's not, he'll go straight back in the car.'

Over coffee, she asked Meriel's permission to use a tape recorder and, having been given it, set up the machine and opened her notebook at the list of questions she'd hurriedly prepared.

‘Perhaps we could start with a few facts,' she began. ‘I looked your husband up on the Internet, and learned that his parents were Reginald and Frances Harvey, that he was born in February 1944 and had an elder brother and sister.'

‘Tristan and Phoebe, yes.'

‘Are his parents still alive?'

‘His father is, in a residential home near Chesham.'

‘Is he fit to be interviewed?'

‘Oh yes; he's ninety-three, but he's a strong old bird, in fine fettle. All three of his children have, over the years, invited him to live with them, but he won't hear of it.'

Rona took down the address and phone number of the home, and then the addresses of both Tristan Harvey and Phoebe Henshaw. ‘Were they a close family?' she asked.

‘Well, Theo was much younger, but as they grew older they'd more in common. They used to meet several times a year, and always in December, when he gave a post-publication party and handed out copies of his latest book.'

‘My father always had it for Christmas,' Rona commented.

‘That's nice.' Meriel looked down at her hands, twisting in her lap.

‘Did the younger members of the family come to these parties?'

‘Yes, everyone was invited. Tristan has a son who's married and a daughter who isn't, and Phoebe has a married daughter. They always came, plus husbands, wives or partners. Theo's three sons were invited each year, but never turned up. I think that hurt him.'

Rona hoped they'd co-operate with her; their view of Theo Harvey was likely to differ from other people's, and would help to give a more rounded portrait.

‘By the way,' Meriel said suddenly, ‘I don't know if it's relevant, but we had a burglary soon after Theo's death.'

‘Oh?'

‘Not much was taken, as far as I could judge, but his study was ransacked. We were – at his funeral at the time.'

Rona's dormant apprehension stirred. ‘What did the police make of it?'

‘They sniffed around a bit and decided the burglar must have been disturbed. Since so little was missing, they more or less wrote it off.'

‘In spite of the open verdict on your husband's death?'

‘I did mention that, but they seemed to discount it. They told me there are people who read the death columns, then break in to the deceased's house when they know the relatives will be at the funeral. Can you credit that?'

Rona avoided the question. ‘What exactly was taken?'

‘A silver cigarette case from the table over there, and some costume jewellery from my bedroom. They overlooked far more valuable things.'

Token items? Rona wondered. She shook herself. Watson, indeed. Nevertheless: ‘You say the study was ransacked; was nothing taken from there?'

‘Not that I could see. They didn't find the safe, which is what the police thought they were looking for.'

Conversation returned to the family, and Rona enquired about Harvey's first wife.

‘She was only thirty-seven when Theo left her,' Meriel said, ‘but she's never remarried. Probably didn't want to miss out on the alimony.'

‘How old are her sons?'

‘Lord, now you're asking. Let me see: Jonathan, the youngest, had his twenty-first a couple of years before Theo died, which would make him about twenty-four. I know there's three years between them all, so Luke must be twenty-seven and Gavin thirty. He was married last year.'

‘Do you know where they live?'

‘It'll be in Theo's address book; I can get it for you.'

‘Thanks. I'd also like to contact anyone apart from the family who knew your husband when he was young.'

Meriel smiled. ‘Do call him Theo, it's so much easier than having to say “your husband” every time. And I'm Meriel; we're going to be seeing a lot of each other, so we might as well use first-names.

‘As far as old friends are concerned, I can't really help. Theo always maintained he hated his school days, and it gave him great pleasure to refuse invitations to officiate at prize-givings once he'd become famous. I don't know if any of the masters who taught him are still there, but he kept in touch with a few of his school friends, and several university colleagues. We could go through his Christmas card list – that would give their addresses.'

As the morning progressed, Rona changed the tape more than once, and her notebook also began to fill up with jottings. Gus slept peacefully in front of the fire and Meriel at last began to relax.

‘How will you plan the book?' she asked interestedly. ‘I mean, will you work chronologically, or start from a certain point in his life and work back and forth?'

‘I don't usually decide until after the first few interviews,' Rona replied. ‘Personally, though, I'm put off by biographies that delve into a long family history before you even get to the person you're interested in.'

Meriel nodded agreement. ‘It would be pointless in this case, anyway; Theo's forebears weren't of particular note.'

‘Of course, I'd want to say a fair bit about his parents, because their attitude towards him would have had a significant bearing on his character.'

‘Frances was nearly forty when he was born,' Meriel said reflectively, ‘and he certainly wasn't planned. According to Tristan and Phoebe, she spoiled him appallingly. I think they resented him taking up so much of her time, though I believe his father was quite strict.'

There was something to be said for being a twin, Rona reflected; at least you were on an equal footing.

The clock on the mantelpiece chimed twelve.

‘Perhaps this would be a good time to stop,' Meriel suggested. ‘Lunch isn't till half-past, but I think we're ready for a break. Would you like a sherry?'

She went over to a cabinet and poured out two glasses. ‘We've covered quite a lot of ground, haven't we?' she remarked, handing one to Rona.

‘Yes, but one more question if I may, before we stop: have you any of – Theo's – private papers? Letters, diaries, that kind of thing?'

‘No letters, I'm afraid – we never exchanged any – but he was always writing to other people. I'm sure you could track some down. Lucky for you he didn't use a computer, or half of them would have been emails and lost for ever!'

She sipped her sherry. ‘Diaries, however, I can supply; there's a whole stack of them in the study. He kept one from an early age, and told me once that he wrote freely and uninhibitedly about everything that interested him – impressions of people he met, ideas for books, and so on. They were to be the basis of the autobiography he intended to write one day.'

‘They sound like absolute gold dust.'

‘I should warn you, though, that parts of the later ones are in code.'

‘Code?' Rona repeated incredulously, but before Meriel could elaborate, the sound of the doorbell reached them, and she frowned.

‘Who on earth can that be? I specifically arranged to keep today free.'

They were not left long in doubt. A sound of voices, a tap on the door, and it opened to admit the large, smiling figure of Justin Grant.

H
e surveyed them blandly. ‘I hope I'm not interrupting anything,' he said.

‘Justin!' Meriel exclaimed. ‘I wasn't expecting you; I told you I was tied up with Rona today.'

‘I know, sweetie, but I thought you might need some moral support. It can't be easy, reviving painful memories.'

‘A kind thought, but totally unnecessary,' Meriel returned briskly. ‘Furthermore, you've put me in an awkward position, arriving just now. We're about to have lunch, and I'm afraid it will only stretch to two.'

‘Apologies for the timing; I'd have been here earlier, but I had a string of phone calls. No problem about lunch, though; I don't eat much at midday, and will be more than happy to sit with you over a glass of wine.'

Meriel glanced doubtfully at Rona, who didn't meet her eyes. Best to let them sort this out by themselves. She finished her sherry and set down her glass.

‘I wonder if you'd excuse me for a few minutes? I think Gus should have a run before lunch.'

‘Yes, of course.' Meriel's thoughts were clearly elsewhere.

‘I'll be back by twelve-thirty.'

Rona snapped her fingers at the dog, who rose at once and trotted with her to the door. Collecting her jacket from the hall chair, she fastened his lead and let them out of the house.

Damn the man! she thought vehemently. Not only did he seem to be trying to keep an eye on her, but his arrival had prevented her from questioning Meriel about the code. What possible reason could there be for it? She'd now have to contain her curiosity until after lunch.

She strode briskly down the drive and turned left at the gate, away from the village towards the open countryside. Since this was a main road Gus could not run free, and they set off sedately along the footpath, which, in any case, petered out after a few yards.

The wind was still strong, though not as biting as it had been, and the air was redolent with country smells that had the dog's nose twitching. As Rona's thoughts sifted through what she'd learned that morning, she regretted having left her notebook on the table. Would Justin Grant look at it? Not in front of Meriel, she decided. Even if he did, her rapid hieroglyphics would be indecipherable. As, unfortunately, might also be true of Theo's diaries.

The chimes of the village clock were borne to her on the wind: a quarter past twelve. Time to retrace her steps.

Justin was charm itself over lunch, sitting, as he'd requested, with a glass of white wine in front of him. Nevertheless, his presence cast a blight over the meal, since the women felt self-conscious eating while he was not. The individually baked quiches and delicious herby salad were presumably prepared by Cecile, and Rona wondered whimsically if she'd consider changing her employment.

‘Theo was a great chap,' Justin volunteered suddenly, swirling the wine in his glass. ‘One of the best.'

Rona noted Meriel's puzzled glance.

‘Oh?' she said invitingly.

‘We saw a fair bit of each other, after he and Meriel got together. Played the odd game of golf and so on, while the girls nattered or went shopping.'

So there
was
a wife in the background. ‘Do you live nearby, Mr Grant?'

‘Justin, please. Yes, we're just a couple of villages down the road.'

Lemon mousse was served as dessert, followed by coffee, in which, after a glance at his watch, Justin agreed to join them. ‘I suppose you've pretty well finished for today,' he commented, as they rose from the table.

‘Far from it,' Meriel informed him. ‘Which is why Rona stayed for lunch.'

He hesitated, then said reluctantly, ‘Well, I'm afraid I must leave you to it. I have an NHS surgery at two.'

He and Rona nodded their farewells. He'd obviously have been happier were she not staying on in his absence, and she was uncharitably glad that, despite having taken the trouble to drive out here, he'd been unable to sit in on any part of the interview. Meriel, returning from seeing him out, said apologetically, ‘I'm so sorry; I can't imagine why he turned up like that.'