Till We Meet Again (26 page)

‘Even further from the place his sister ended up in,’ Steven muttered to himself as he parked his car out in the road. The large wrought-iron gates were shut, preventing him from driving on to the drive, and Steven saw this as further evidence that Wright was intending to be difficult.

Steven was nervous. Everything he knew about this man suggested he was a nasty piece of work. Anyone so ruthless, so uncaring about his sister, wasn’t likely to be easy to talk to. He was glad now that Beth had bullied him into getting his suit cleaned and his hair cut. She’d said he was to drop her name into the conversation too, as she didn’t want Martin to think Susan hadn’t got a friend in the world.

The door-bell was answered by a middle-aged woman wearing a white overall. She had gold-rimmed spectacles and a superior expression.

‘Mrs Wright?’ Steven asked, even though to Susan’s knowledge Martin had never married.

‘No, I’m his housekeeper,’ she said.

‘Smythe, from Tarbuck, Stone and Aldridge. I have an appointment with Mr Wright,’ Steven said.

She allowed him in and left him waiting in the hall while she went towards the back of the house.

‘Mr Wright will see you now,’ the housekeeper called out a few moments later. She was standing by the door she’d disappeared through earlier, indicating he was to go in.

Martin Wright was standing by the fireplace in a room which was an attempt at a Victorian gentleman’s library, with leather chairs, walls lined with books and an antique rosewood desk inlaid with mother-of-pearl. But it didn’t really work – the proportions of the room were all wrong and the dark red carpet and curtains made it oppressive rather than opulent.

‘Plenty of money but no imagination,’ Steven thought maliciously. He decided he would ask to use the lavatory later on so he could check out a little more of the house.

‘Steven Smythe,’ Steven said, holding out his hand. ‘Thank you for agreeing to see me.’

He was surprised by Wright. In his imagination he’d been a short, portly man. In fact Martin Wright was as tall as Steven himself, slender and straight-backed, his dark hair flecked with grey, a handsome man with strong, even features and few facial lines, even though Steven knew he was fifty-four. His eyes were the only thing he had in common with Susan, they were the same pale greenish-blue.

‘First let me say I see absolutely no point in talking to you,’ Wright said crisply, sitting down at his desk. ‘The police have already interviewed me, and I am certainly not prepared to be a witness in my sister’s defence.’

Steven was tempted to say that if he was called to be a witness he’d have no choice but to attend, but resisted the temptation.

‘It’s only background information I’m after,’ he said, smiling pleasantly. ‘May I sit down?’

The man waved his hand at the seat furthest from him. Steven ignored it and took the one closest.

‘When you were told of your sister’s arrest and the charges laid against her, what was your reaction?’ he began.

‘Reaction?’ Wright raised his eyebrows. ‘Horror, of course.’

‘Not disbelief?’

‘Of course not. Suzie always was an irrational, highly emotional woman,’ he said, crossing Ms legs and moving in his chair so he wasn’t looking directly at Steven.

‘No sympathy? You do know that she holds the man and woman she shot responsible for her child’s death?’

‘There are ways of dealing with such things without resorting to murder,’ Wright retorted crisply. ‘No, I have no sympathy with her whatsoever.’

‘Did you ever see Annabel?’

‘Who’s Annabel?’

It crossed Steven’s mind that Wright was trying to wind him up, and he was succeeding.

‘Her daughter, Mr Wright. Your niece, who died of meningitis,’ Stephen said sharply.

‘No, I didn’t.’

‘But you did know of her existence?’

‘Yes. Suzie sent me a photograph once, and a foolish gushing letter reminding me the child was my niece. I don’t know what she expected of me.’

‘I don’t believe she expected anything at all of you,’ Steven said. ‘It was her way of offering the olive branch.’

Wright got up from his seat and stalked over to the window, a distance of only a few feet. He was wearing a very well-cut dark grey suit. ‘I take it you’ve been given the full Cinderella story then?’ he said, leaning one hand on the window frame and staring out into the garden. ‘Suzie always had a tendency for drama. The truth of the matter is that my father was an old-fashioned man who believed the eldest son should inherit. As that was his wish, I was bound to honour it.’

Steven felt like pointing out that an honourable man would have made some provision for the younger unmarried sister who had devoted her entire youth to taking care of their parents. But the whole point of coming here today was to get to know the man better, not to antagonize him.

‘I’m sure you are aware Susan could very well have contested the will,’ Steven said evenly. ‘She would almost certainly have won too, given the length of time she’d cared for your parents. But she didn’t, and that meant she had to live in drastically reduced circumstances. I believe that when she wrote to tell you about Annabel, it was her way of showing she felt no bitterness to you.’

‘How long have you known her?’ Wright asked with a disparaging sniff.

‘About three months.’ Steven said.

‘Well, I’ve known her since she was born and I know perfectly well why she wrote that letter. She wanted a handout.’

Steven bristled. He understood exactly how euphoric new parents felt, and that they wanted to share their joy with friends and relatives. ‘I don’t believe that was her motive at all,’ he said calmly. ‘You are her brother. If she hoped for anything at all from you, it was only that you take an interest in your niece.’

‘That to Suzie would mean money. She was always a parasite.’

‘That’s not what I’ve heard from Beth Powell, one of the partners in my law firm,’ Steven said.

As Steven mentioned Beth’s name, a flicker of surprise crossed Martin Wright’s face. Clearly he had known of the friendship.

‘Beth has known your sister since they were both ten,’ Steven continued. ‘According to her, Susan didn’t choose to stay home and take care of your mother, the role of carer was foisted upon her at an age when she couldn’t know the long-term implications of it. By the time she had realized what it meant, despite the fact that she would rather have got a job and become independent, she was trapped. It seems your father always claimed he couldn’t afford a nurse. Furthermore, he said if Susan wasn’t prepared to do the job, he would put your mother in a home.’

‘Suzie’s favourite role was always that of martyr,’ Wright said dismissively. ‘There was absolutely no question of my father putting Mother into a home, he was devoted to her. Suzie stayed because she had it so easy there.’

‘I’d hardly call caring for an invalid and housekeeping in such a big house, working seven days a week for mere pocket money, easy.’ Steven retorted. ‘She had no fun, no friends, no life of her own. I’d be more inclined to call it slavery.’

He could understand now why Susan was intimidated by this man. He was so cold he was almost reptilian. And a liar too.

‘Suzie would imply slavery.’ Wright shrugged. ‘It sounds just like her. The truth of the matter was she was too lazy to make a life of her own. There were no locks on the doors. If she felt so strongly she could have upped and left at any time.’

‘Emotional ties are every bit as strong as locks,’ Steven said. ‘But even if you don’t agree that she was compelled to stay and care for your parents, surely you must feel she deserves sympathy and understanding for what she went through losing her only child?’

‘I agree, that was sad,’ Wright said, but his cold eyes suggested he had no conception of what losing a child would do to anyone.

‘She was devastated,’ Steven said more forcefully. ‘But what made it so much worse for her was that Annabel needn’t have died. The doctor was negligent, he turned her away from his surgery, dismissing her symptoms as a viral infection. Susan was alone, with no one to turn to for support or comfort. Absolutely nothing left in her life. I don’t condone what she did, but I can understand why she did it. Can’t you?’

‘What did you come here for?’ Wright interrupted. ‘If it was in the hope you could get me to make an impassioned appeal for lenience, you’re barking up the wrong tree.’

‘Not at all, Mr Wright,’ Steven said through clenched teeth. He couldn’t believe anyone could be that unfeeling. ‘I have other people who will come forward to tell the court how unfairly life treated Susan. I just wanted to see for myself what her brother was like, and how you lived.’ He wished he could add that he thought Wright was merely adding to Susan’s credibility, but he didn’t dare go that far.

‘What is that supposed to mean?’ Wright asked, a touch of menace in his voice.

‘Did you know that at the time your sister shot those people, she was broken down with grief, living in a damp, cold attic room, cleaning offices to pay the rent?’ Steven said. ‘A gesture from you might have made all the difference.’

‘I had no idea where she was,’ Wright said, for the first time sounding a little nervous.

‘I think you did, Mr Wright,’ Steven replied, more calmly than he felt. ‘Susan telephoned you at your office in May of 1993, not long after she arrived back in Bristol. She asked you for help, didn’t she? That’s when she told you Annabel had died.’

‘She caught me at a bad moment,’ Wright said quickly. ‘And anyway, she didn’t make herself very clear.’

‘I think if my sister was to ring me and tell me her child was dead, that would be clear enough for me,’ Steven said archly.

‘It would have been hypocritical for me to make a fuss about it when I’d had nothing to do with the child when she was alive,’ Wright blustered. ‘Besides, I don’t like being contacted at the office.’

Steven knew he had in fact been abusive and had refused to lend Susan money to tide her over until she got a job. But there was little point in bringing that up now.

‘Susan had no other way of contacting you, except at your office,’ he said calmly. ‘You didn’t let her know when you moved here, did you?’

‘Why should I?’ Wright said, his voice rising slightly. ‘She was nothing to me. The moment she was born I was pushed out –’ he broke off suddenly, his faint blush showing he was dismayed that he’d let slip the real reason for his animosity to his sister.

Steven would have very much liked to probe further about this, but he doubted Wright was capable of opening up about anything, so he just made a mental note of his reaction to pass on to the barrister at Susan’s trial.

‘The war made a lot of fathers strangers to their children,’ he said, softening his voice. ‘Susan couldn’t help that. But anyway, your father was far kinder to you than he was to your sister. He let you pursue the career of your choice, made no demands on your freedom. And he left you everything. As I see it, the only things he did for Susan was to burden her with responsibility he should have shouldered himself, teach her to shoot and give her his gun. I’d say you were the one that had it easy.’

As he said this, Steven got up – he wasn’t going to wait to be thrown out. The man was odious and any further questioning was unnecessary.

‘Thank you for seeing me,’ he continued. ‘You may very well be called as a witness, that will depend on Susan’s plea. And a Happy New Year to you. I’ll let myself out.’

*

At the start of February Beth drove over to Wales on Friday evening after work. She was alone because she felt unable to ask Roy to accompany her again when the trip necessitated staying overnight in a hotel.

They had been out together several times since New Year, to the cinema, for a drink, and she’d cooked him Sunday lunch one day at her place. They had kissed and cuddled, but Roy hadn’t attempted to take things any further, and Beth still didn’t know if she was ready to tell him about her past.

The more she saw him, the more confused she became. One moment she was burning to see him, the next she was dreading it. She wasn’t dreading actually being with him, it was only the burden of knowing that sooner or later she would have to bring things to a head and tell him about the rape. Sometimes she even imagined it would be easier never to see him again than to live with the perpetual anxiety about it.

She hoped that by going away alone for this weekend, she might be able to clarify her feelings. She had never been farther into Wales than Cardiff before, and although it was very cold, no rain or snow was expected, so she hoped she might be able to do some walking.

Since the start of the year, she had visited Susan three times. They were not fact-finding visits, she left those to Steven. Her role was that of old friend, and as such she and Susan mostly just reminisced and filled in the years since they’d last seen each other. She had found she liked Susan as much as she had as a girl. Maybe the innocence had gone, for in many ways she was more worldly than Beth now, but her warmth, and the way she cared far more about others than herself, were still the same.

Time and again Beth thought what a good social worker Susan would have made. She had a knack of drawing out confidences and she had a deep understanding of people, both her fellow prisoners and the officers.

They were talking about drug-related crime on one visit, and Susan said she believed addicts should be registered, the way they used to be years ago.

‘It would put the bloody drug barons out of business,’ she said with surprising passion. ‘They’d give up bringing drugs into the country, and the addicts would be seen by qualified people, in clinics, get drugs that are pure, and be encouraged to kick the habit.’

Beth didn’t agree and said so.

‘If you spent just a couple of days in here you’d soon see it my way,’ Susan said fiercely. ‘The women here have to steal and sell themselves to support their habit, there is no other way. But remove the need to do that and you’d halve the drug-related crime overnight. Without pushers on the streets, there would be far fewer new addicts.’

‘I didn’t know you were the oracle on drugs and addiction,’ Beth said with just a touch of sarcasm.