The Sleeping Partner

  I didn’t go back to London that night. The meeting didn’t break up until twenty-five to ten, and then it became a smaller party of Thurston, Holborn, Rhodes, Dawson and me. Porter and Bennett and Steel all left, but the others were staying the night. I still felt under the weather and couldn’t face the thought of a four- or five-hour drive through the night. Also the Old Bull didn’t have a night porter and it would have meant knocking them up about three in the morning.

  I knew that at some future time I should probably be happy about the results of today. I didn’t regret having come and the personal risk of the further delay. There was a sort of dichotomy in my feelings at present that wouldn’t let me have any satisfaction out of this result and yet didn’t let me forget it.

  I finally left Thurston and Holborn together talking like lovers – which they were, not of each other but of the things they were talking about. I’d borrowed an alarm clock and set it for five o’clock. The roads would be clear at six.

  In bed I remember being very restless at first, trying to reason out how John had found the stamina to make a visit to London. I remember feeling certain there was something in what Simon had said to me that was pretty important and after a while my mind centred on that, turning over the conversation as often as I turned over in bed. Then suddenly it was daylight and I sat up rather scared thinking someone had switched on the light. I had slept through the alarm and it was ten minutes to seven.

  I got up in a hurry, scraped some beard off with a borrowed razor and went hastily out to breakfast. There was only Frank Dawson at the long table.

  I sat down nearly opposite him and he looked at me, half sardonic, half hostile, hunched a shoulder and went on with his breakfast. The one orderly came out and served me and we ate in silence. Physically I was feeling better.

  I said: ‘ I’m sorry I can’t take you back with me this morning, Frank. I’ve got to see a lawyer in London and I’m driving straight in.’

  ‘I can cadge a lift from one of the others,’ he said shortly.

  Another silence fell. It was a fine morning but the sky had that brushed-over unpromising look.

  He said: ‘ The scintillometer turned up trumps last night.’

  ‘So did Holborn. I was afraid he was going to crab it.’

  ‘He couldn’t on its showing. Anyway he’s far too honest.’

  I looked at Dawson. ‘ Yes … I suppose I knew that all along, but my judgment has got pulled out of shape these last few days.’

  ‘Was that why you made such a wild-cat attack on me?’

  I said carefully: ‘They want a man to go out with the plane when it’s shipped to Africa. They asked me but I can’t go. I wondered if it would appeal to you.’

  He looked at me curiously, assessingly. After a minute he shook his head. ‘No, there’s no point in me going. They want the brains out there or nothing.’

  ‘You know a lot more about it than most people.’

  He buttered a corner of toast and put it in his mouth. ‘But a lot less than you.’

  We didn’t talk any more after that, but I finished quickly and went out to my car. None of the others seemed to be up yet. There was quite a strong wind blowing in from the west and the Auster had been run into one of the old hangars.

  I threw my mack into the back seat and then remembered the briefcase I’d brought, and went back to the bedroom for it. As I came out into the corridor Frank was standing there plucking at his lip. He glowered at me.

  ‘Look, Mike, I don’t think I’ve played quite fair with you. I didn’t tell you the whole truth last night.’

  ‘About-Lynn?’

  ‘About Lynn – and other things. You said did it seem to me that she might be in love with someone else and trying to collect evidence to use against you, and I said no. Well, that’s true up to a point.’

  ‘Oh?’

  He hesitated. ‘It’s true up to about a month ago. But I happened to go into the Leather Jacket at Heaton Corner one Friday about seven and she was in there with a man. You don’t need to have it down in black and white when she looked at him the way she did. They didn’t see me so I got out fairly quick …’ Dawson shoved his hair back irritably.

  I said: ‘What was he like, this man?’

  ‘Youngish, round face, looked as if he’d just come out of a bath … Slick hair, Savile Row, breezy laugh …’

  ‘When was this?’

  ‘Oh, it would be early last month. Let’s see, the Monday I saw her last was the Monday when you had that flap about the condenser and worked on till midnight.’

  ‘That was the thirteenth of July,’ I said.

  ‘Could be. Well, it would be the Friday before that.’

  ‘The tenth. Two days after my visit to Glyndebourne.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Did they seem – all right together, Lynn and this man?’

  He stood with a finger inside his collar, moving it round as if it was too tight. ‘I told you. I only watched them for a minute or two. Come to think of it, she seemed to be making the running. On the Monday following, as I say, I met her for a drink, and though I didn’t say it out she must have guessed I’d rumbled something, and in the end because I wouldn’t play ball she accused me of being disloyal to her. It’s lovely the way women use the word loyalty, isn’t it?’

  ‘Have you been seeing Lynn more than you told me?’

  ‘We’ve met ever since the factory moved – once or twice a month, I suppose. I – she started complaining almost at once.’

  ‘Is that why you’ve been rather gunning for me ever since we moved?’

  He flushed. ‘Well – if I have – it’s been that and maybe a guilty conscience. Read and I were equally to blame for that muck-up in February, and it’s easy to ease your own mind by shoving the responsibility on someone else. Perhaps if I hadn’t been so sore I wouldn’t have believed all her stories …’

  Some seagulls were wheeling and crying in the early sunshine outside. A number of things seemed clearer to me this morning than they had done last night. I said: ‘Perhaps it’s a mistake to think too badly of Lynn, Frank. She never could help using her charm on people; it was the way she was made. But I think this once she got caught by it, by something in her own nature, and by something rather similar in another person. So in her distress she put to whatever use she could those of her friends who were in any shape to help her. You were one of them. Mrs Lloyd perhaps was another.’

  He didn’t seem to notice I had used the past tense. ‘Do you know who the man is?’

  ‘I have an idea. You haven’t seen her at all since then?’

  ‘No. I rang her a couple of times, because we didn’t part too rosily and I didn’t want to break with her altogether. The first time she seemed friendly again; but the second time she appeared to be having a row with someone and cut me off pretty short.’

  ‘A row? What day was that?’

  He shrugged. ‘It isn’t that important, is it?’

  ‘Try to remember.’

  He stared at me curiously.

  ‘It would be the Wednesday or the Thursday … The Thursday, because it was the first day that man came from RRE to doctor the navigational computer. I rang her while you were with him – about three-thirty.’

  ‘What did she say?’

  ‘Not much. I phoned her and she answered and was talking to someone else while she picked up the phone, and then she snapped at me, and after a minute we hung up.’

  I ran my tongue over my lips to make them less dry. ‘ Do you know if it was a man or a woman she was talking to?’

  ‘Oh, I couldn’t tell. But usually Lynn gets angry with men, doesn’t she?’

  ‘Walk with me to the car,’ I said.

  We went out.

  I said: ‘Can you remember exactly what she said, whether she made any excuse for cutting you off sharply, how she sounded angry? This may be absolutely vital to me, Frank.’

  ‘I don’t see what’s vital about it.’

  ‘I
want to know who she quarrelled with that day.’

  We got to the car. ‘Actually she did say something before she answered me on the phone, like finishing the tail-end of what she’d been saying, d’you see? Flowers or Towers. Could that be his name?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘She sounded pretty mad. D’you remember when her cat was run over in London? A bit like that.’

  ‘Did she just say the word “Flowers”?’

  ‘No. I think she said, “What are you going to do, live with Flowers?” Or it could have been “live at the Towers”. And then angrily into the phone, “ Hullo!” She sounded to me near hysterics, so after a word or two I shut off. As a matter of fact, you were pretty short yourself later that night.’

  I didn’t get into the car. I stood staring at the old hangars. ‘Frank, is there a London Telephone Directory in this place, do you know?’

  ‘I haven’t seen one. Why?’

  ‘Let’s go and look.’

  We went and looked. We searched around in all the old cupboards arid drawers.

  ‘What d’you want it for?’ Dawson said.

  ‘Just a hunch. I’ll try again when I get nearer home.’

  We walked back to the car. I said: ‘ Frank, I’ve got to tell you. Something’s cropped up that I can’t explain. It may be days – perhaps much longer – before I get in to the works again.’

  ‘Something I’ve told you?’

  ‘No. But it’s tied up with Lynn. You’ll have to manage as best you can.’

  ‘If there’s a strike perhaps there won’t be much to manage.’

  ‘There can’t be a strike. We can’t afford it. It may be decided by now – but in any case it’s up to you and Read to find a way out.’

  ‘Read …?’

  ‘Yes, Read. Because from now on – if I shouldn’t be there – you’ve got to try to get on with him. You’ve got to. Otherwise we’ll be in the receiver’s hands.’

  He stared at me, wanting to fight but perhaps seeing in time that he must fight only himself.

  ‘It’ll be hard.’

  ‘Well, let it be hard.’

  I put out my hand and after a second he took it. ‘ OK, Mike, if it comes to that I’ll do my best.’

  As I left the aerodrome a car passed me turning in.

  I was in Brecon just before half-past eight and in Gloucester as the cathedral bells were ringing for ten o’clock. I stopped there for petrol and bought a paper and walked along to one of the hotels to see if they had a directory. They produced one of the old two-volume jobs, and I began to turn the pages of the C’s.

  Nothing under the C’s. I tried the D’s. De, Do, Dr, Du … Du Caine. There were four Du Canes but only one spelling the name with an i, The Hon. Mrs Charles du Caine. She had two numbers.

  One was for a Knights-bridge flat, the other was for The Towers, Epsom.

  I put the phone books back and thanked the girl at the reception desk and walked slowly down the empty gusty street to my car. The bells had stopped. Those who were not in church were worshipping at their Sunday newspapers. I sat in the car and reached for a cigarette but I was out of them, so I just sat. Was that what Lynn had said? I sat for about ten minutes chewing at the end of my thumb. Then I got out again and went back to the hotel. I rang Letherton 407.

  Stella answered.

  I said: ‘Darling. This is Mike.’

  There was silence for a few moments. ‘Hullo.’ She sounded queer.

  ‘Is John back?’

  ‘Yes … last night.’

  ‘Is he there? Is it possible to speak to him?’

  ‘… No, I’m afraid not. Oh, Mike, why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘About …?’

  ‘Yes, about her.’

  ‘I was scared.’

  ‘What of?’

  ‘Of seeing disbelief in your eyes.’

  ‘Oh, you fool. As if there could ever be that – about such a thing. Whatever else—’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘Where are you phoning from? No, don’t tell me.’

  ‘Why? I’m on my way home—’

  ‘No, don’t say. It may be that …’ She didn’t finish.

  ‘What got into John last night? Why on earth did he go to London?’

  ‘He gave me the slip, came back by taxi about midnight.’

  ‘Is he all right?’

  ‘Not too good.’

  ‘Stella, what is it?’

  ‘He collapsed about five this morning.’

  ‘I’ll come at once.’

  ‘No, Mike! No. Hullo!’

  ‘Hullo.’

  ‘Don’t ring off for a moment. And don’t come here. John gave me a message for you. He woke me about half-past four – he said: “If Mike rings, tell him the wedding has to be stopped!” ’

  ‘The – wedding?’

  ‘Yes. Does it make sense?’

  I stared at the telephone. ‘It’s coming to make sense. But I don’t know how John knows.’

  ‘He said, “Tell Mike it’s up to him.” ’

  ‘Why shouldn’t I come to see you?’

  ‘I must go. There’s someone at the door. Have you – read your Sunday papers?’

  ‘No.’

  Words came suddenly, hurriedly. ‘I must go, Mike. Good luck, my darling. Take care.’

  I said: ‘Stella, what about John? What does—? Hullo! Hullo!’ But she had rung off.

  Once again I walked back to the car. Stop the wedding, John said. Ray French was marrying Margot du Caine at three this afternoon. I had the invitation in my pocket. ‘What are you going to do, live at The Towers?’ What were the legal consequences of marriage? That a wife or a husband couldn’t be called in evidence against the other?

  I looked at my watch. A little over four hours yet. But there was no legal way to stop a perfectly legal wedding.

  And what had Stella meant by all her hints and guarded allusions, as if she thought someone might be listening on the phone?

  I got back to the car and opened the Sunday paper. At first there didn’t seem anything of importance to me, except a column headed ‘Torit Massacre.’ The NUR had put in a new wage claim with a threat of strike action if it wasn’t met. An Egyptian had swum the Channel both ways. And then I saw it at the bottom of the front page. It was quite a short paragraph but was headed in strong black type: ‘Girl’s Body Found in Cellar.’

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  SOMETIMES YOU go hot like that when the doctor is stitching up a cut or the dentist’s drill goes on too long.

  Acting on information received, the police this evening entered a house at Hockbridge (Beds.) and found in the cellar the body of a woman believed to be Mrs Lindsey Granville, 27, the wife of the owner. Mrs Granville has been missing for three weeks and enquiries have been proceeding for some time. A police officer declined to comment on the likely cause of death. Mr Michael Granville, husband of the deceased, factory owner and top-rank radar expert, has not yet been interviewed.

  I’d clung to the safety-valve too long. I might have expected it. Sergeant Baker hadn’t looked like a man who spent his time growing roses.

  Mr Michael Granville had not yet been interviewed. If that car turning in at the aerodrome was what I now thought it to be, it was by a matter of about ninety seconds that he had not been interviewed …

  I glanced over my shoulder but it was only two women coming down the street.

  I started the car and accelerated away through the quiet town. The police would have my number now and a description of the car. I didn’t know how these things worked. Was I now so badly wanted that they would stop me on the road, or did they reserve that sort of high-pressure stuff for escaped bank raiders?

  Don’t take the most direct route to London anyway; if anything they’ll watch the Oxford Road. At Witney fork left for Bicester and Aylesbury.

  I could imagine Greencroft now, the reporters, the unemotional police, the whispering peering people outside; and inside the professional activity, th
e technical expertise that as a technical man myself I ought to be able to appreciate. By now they’d have taken her away. By now Mrs Lloyd would have made her statement. The quarrels we’d had, the way I’d been carrying on in my own house with another woman, she’d seen it with her own eyes, the way I’d been reluctant to open the door to her that first morning. Mrs Granville’s gone away, he’d said, to look after her mother; she won’t be back for some time. By now the police would have been to see Stella. Tell me, Mrs Curtis, how long have you known Mr Granville? How often have you been to his home since Mrs Granville disappeared?

  And John Curtis was dying. Was that what Stella had said over the phone? You couldn’t get away from what it added up to. ‘What,’ I’d said to him, ‘would you do if you found out the things in this petition were true?’ And he’d answered, ‘Take steps to remove myself from the scene.’ Guessing by now, perhaps, about Stella, he’d reasoned that after all he didn’t need the gas fire. There was an easier way. And what more suitable than to kill himself helping the man who’d taken his wife?

  Wasn’t that following the code of conduct that he lived by? Wasn’t it true to his ideals that he should squander his failing vitality in some forlorn hope helping a worthless self-seeker like me?

  I stopped a couple of miles from Aylesbury and found a crumpled cigarette in the cubby-hole and smoked that. Three hours yet. What did the self-seeker do now?

  John expected me to tackle Ray French in some way, either through Digby Hamilton or on my own. He expected me to put a stop to a wedding designed to prevent the police from coming at evidence which would clear me. How John had come to that conclusion I hadn’t the faintest idea, but after what Frank had told me I was sure he was right. I knew who had been in the room at Greencroft on the afternoon Lynn died, and presumably Margot du Caine knew too. Somehow in the next three hours I had to devise some means of stopping Ray French from marrying her, even if it meant tackling him in his flat and tying him up and locking the door. A delay in the wedding for even twenty-four hours might give time for the saving moves to be made.