She got a taxi in Shaftesbury Avenue and sank into it with relief. But she was still thinking of Miles’s obsessive interest and this now awoke a memory that shook her. That first night at the hotel in Spa Street when, before falling asleep, she had wondered why Miles – up by moonlit Queen’s Crescent – had been in need of reassurance. It had flickered through her mind that he was sometimes solicitous, even apologetic, before starting an affair. Could it be that? She had pushed the idea away from her, which hadn’t been difficult, seeing that he had been so fully occupied with the play and there was no one connected with it who could conceivably interest him. But suppose, even then …? Again she pushed the idea away. But this time with incomplete success.
As usual, both girls welcomed her at the door of the Westminster house. She tried to behave normally but within a very few minutes they were asking her what was wrong. Possibly she’d given herself away by her disappointment on hearing their father was not yet back. ‘It’s just that I’m tired,’ she said feebly. ‘Could I lie down for a few minutes?’ – anything to get away from them until she had talked to Geoffrey.
They escorted her to the divan in their sitting room, then left her alone. But soon Robin came back and said, ‘I’ve brought you a drink. We felt you needed one.’
Jill found herself offered a tumbler full of neat brandy. ‘Oh, darling Robin,’ she said, laughing weakly. ‘How noble of you, feeling as you do.’
‘It’s probably a silly way to feel. Anyway, Kit and I were saying only this morning that you’ll hardly fancy having freakish step-daughters, so we think we ought to learn to drink – well, in just a small way. It’s weak-minded to be afraid of becoming alcoholics. See, I’ll take a little sip of brandy.’
‘No!’ said Jill, hastily.
But Robin had already taken her sip. ‘Gosh, isn’t it filthy? I can’t see myself becoming a brandy drunkard.’
Jill, too, disliked brandy but she made herself swallow a mouthful. Then she set the glass down.
‘Oh, I’m sure you need more than that,’ said Robin.
Mercifully, Kit then returned, bringing her father with her, and both girls tactfully slid out of the room. Jill said, ‘Dear Robin not only brought a drink, she took a sip of it herself, to encourage me. I feel she was risking hell-fire for me.’
‘Good God!’ said Geoffrey, investigating the contents of the tumbler. ‘I’d no idea she was so naive about drink. I’ll have to teach her. Now, sweetheart, what’s the trouble?’
He had never before called her sweetheart and it brought tears to her eyes. He sat down on the divan and took her in his arms, holding her silently for a moment. Then, almost brusquely, he said, ‘Now out with it, Jill. Has it to do with Miles?’
‘Yes, but it’s nothing we could have expected.’ She took the letter from her bag and began explaining, describing Cyril’s visit to the flat, and rushing on to her interview with Tom.
‘Just let me read the letter quietly,’ said Geoffrey, putting on his spectacles.
It was the first time she had seen him wear them. They changed him considerably, made him look older, more severe. But his face, in repose, was always a little severe – or did she only mean controlled? Perhaps it was a typical legal face. She found herself contrasting the letter’s effect oh him with its effect on Tom – who had shown dismay before he had read half a dozen lines. Geoffrey, for all the emotion he displayed, might have been studying a brief.
Even when he looked up she could not judge his reactions. He merely said, ‘There are several words I haven’t made out but the gist’s clear enough. One wonders if the boy’s a very amateur blackmailer or diabolically clever.’
‘It’s all lies, Geoffrey. Of course it is.’
‘It’s certainly hard to believe Miles would assault the boy after hearing how young he was – and in a flat to which you were liable to return at any moment. You gave me some pretty incoherent information about that a moment ago. Give it to me again, slowly.’
As she did so, it seemed to her that every word told against Miles – far more so than when she had told Tom, because Geoffrey asked searching questions and unearthed facts she had not before remembered, none of them reassuring. He made no comment and even when she finally said, ‘Oh, I know you can’t be sure but please tell me what you think,’ he merely said he hadn’t the right to think anything. ‘Nothing you’ve told me proves anything. And remember, I don’t know Miles well – and Cyril scarcely at all. Kit, I believe, rather liked him. It will be interesting to see what she makes of this letter.’
‘You can’t mean you’ll tell the girls –’
He cut her short and with a hint of impatience. ‘Of course I must tell them. They’re on tenterhooks to know what’s wrong with you. And, my dearest Jill, you must get it into your head that I don’t shelter them from this kind of thing. They’d take it as an insult. Incidentally, it’s probable that Kit knows more about this type of offence than I do. When she studied homosexuality on Julian’s account she took in some side lines. Now try to relax, while I talk to the girls. There’s no need for you to see them yet.’
As he got up, she said urgently, ‘There’s one thing I want to know at once. I promised you I’d leave Miles, but you won’t hold me to that now? Surely I must stand by him?’
He barely hesitated. ‘Yes, I see that. If you walked out on him now … Don’t worry. I shan’t ask that of you.’
She said, ‘Thank you, darling.’ But as the door closed behind him she knew that, though she had asked the question in good faith to Miles, Geoffrey’s answer had not come as a relief. It had filled her with dismay.
Love Letter
She woke early in the flat next day after what she reckoned must be around three hours’ sleep. She had certainly been still awake when Big Ben struck four. She had a bath and dressed; then made strong coffee, carried it into the sitting room, and settled down to review the situation. She had reviewed it again and again during the night but had a faint hope that by daylight – and the room was flooded with sunlight – she might feel more optimistic. Most of all, she longed to get a more hopeful slant on the previous evening.
Geoffrey had returned from talking to the girls to say Kit was sure Miles was guiltless. ‘And it wasn’t only an instinctive reaction. She says Cyril spoke of Miles with such admiration, that night of your party. And when she and Robin went to tea at the theatre Cyril was there and Miles’s behaviour to him didn’t fit with anything but normal kindness. Robin’s not as definite as Kit but says she can’t imagine it. Well, God knows I can’t do that. Anyway, the girls think I should take you out to dinner. They quite understand you’d find it difficult to discuss the matter with them.’
His manner had been kindness itself and he had been kind throughout the evening. He had taken her to a quiet restaurant where their conversation could not be overheard. He had let her talk on and on – God, how she must have repeated herself. He had said, again and again, that he would do everything in his power to help. He, like Tom, would get expert advice in the morning. Never having been briefed in any case involving blackmail, he did not feel particularly knowledgeable. He had been patient, gentle, cheerful, without being annoyingly so. But he had not told her that, sooner or later, whether Miles was guilty or innocent, whether Miles paid blackmail or ended up in jail, she must leave him. Not once was she made to feel that her divorce, and subsequent marriage to Geoffrey, were still taken for granted.
And while they talked it occurred to her that, if the Digby brothers accused Miles to the police, the resultant case would create a far worse scandal than a divorce. She had worried because even a divorce might damage Miles’s career and also affect Geoffrey’s. But a divorce would be as nothing compared with a prosecution. Would Geoffrey’s constituency stand for his marrying a woman who had been connected with anything so spectacularly unsavoury? Was he thinking about that and not merely agreeing she should stand by Miles because it was the decent thing to do?
This fear had been the worst bog
ey of her night. Now, sitting drinking cup after cup of coffee in the bright morning, she tried to vanquish it but without success. Of course Geoffrey must be thinking along such lines – and who could blame him, when he had only so recently begun a new life after the long misery of his marriage? And she now saw that it was her duty to stand by Miles not only for his sake but also for Geoffrey’s. She ought to make it clear that she must now stay with Miles for good. Even if he paid blackmail he would never be safe. And if he went to jail she must wait for him and, if necessary, clear out of England with him. It was up to her to decide all this, and take the onus off Geoffrey. But she couldn’t, she couldn’t –
The post came, bringing only some bills. The morning papers came. Well, one could at least try to read them. One could not go on and on thinking; but one did.
Around ten-thirty Geoffrey telephoned to say he was consulting someone at eleven and would afterwards come straight to the flat. He sounded brisk and unaffectionate. Well, what else could she expect as he was telephoning from his office – no, barristers’ offices were called ‘chambers’, weren’t they? How ignorant she was about his work, both at the Bar and in the House of Commons. He’d said it didn’t matter, but it did. From every point of view she ought to clear out of his life.
She went back to the morning papers. An article on the South of France made her wonder if Miles was there. She hoped he might be having a last few days of happiness. She wished him that even if … God, how could she suspect him? She had always thought him the best man she had ever known.
She counted on hearing from Tom by noon. He did not come through until twelve-thirty and then he had nothing helpful to say. His solicitor shared his gloomy view that Miles might simply have to pay up – ‘And be grateful that Cyril’s talking in terms of hundreds, not thousands. Though he may enlarge his demands once he’s tasted blood. But nothing can be decided until we can contact Miles. Well, keep cheerful, love.’
She had barely hung up before Geoffrey arrived. He kissed her, but it was a brief kiss. And he had received much the same advice as Tom had. But his own attitude was less defeatist – ‘Miles may insist on fighting, whatever the cost. I believe I would.’
‘You mean if you were innocent.’
‘Which I’ve begun to feel Miles must be. Kit’s views impressed me and she was even more determined this morning. If she’s right, Cyril would almost certainly crumple in the witness box. But Miles’s homosexuality would come out. That’s the snag.’
She forced herself to say, ‘Geoffrey, I think you should now bow out of this whole horrible business. You must consider your career. I was a bad enough hazard when I just had a homosexual husband but now –’
He said with judicial calmness, ‘My dear, aren’t you piling things on? Perhaps it’s because, as a woman, you’re particularly outraged at what may – and only may – have been a crime against a child. You should remember that for a considerable period Miles thought Cyril was eighteen. Psychologically, at least, that’s some excuse.’
She looked at him wonderingly. ‘How kind you are towards Miles; even though, as a normal man, you probably have an abhorrence of homosexuals. Tom Albion obviously has.’
‘That may be because they’ve caused him a lot of worry – as well as earned him a lot of money. And his background and education may have something to do with it. I remember talking to him at your party. Am I right in taking it he didn’t go to a public school?’
She smiled. ‘Tom? Good heavens, no.’
‘Few men who did are completely lacking in … not so much understanding as acceptance of homosexuality. I consider myself fully male but, at school, I had friends who weren’t and I even felt attracted by them; but it was an idyllic attraction, not physical. I’ve remained friendly with a couple of them and highly distinguished men they are. So’s Miles. And I should be ashamed of myself if I felt revulsion for him, or felt that I was better than he is. Though I’ll admit I should be shocked if he assaulted Cyril, both on the score of morals and sheer bad taste.’
‘He didn’t. Of course he didn’t.’
‘Only you’re not sure, my love. You’re shattered by doubt, which must be agony for you. Well, remember that he’s entitled to the benefit of your doubts.’
‘I oughtn’t to doubt him, knowing him as I do. It’s just that … I no longer feel I know him. Something there used to be between us is gone. I think it went when I fell in love with you. But I must be loyal to him, Geoffrey.’
‘Of course you must, for the present. But not for ever. Now I must go.’
He took her in his arms but held her for only a moment, then said he was sorry he couldn’t stay with her. ‘I’ve an appointment I haven’t been able to cancel. But I can be home by five. Will you be there by then? And try not to mind talking to the girls. Remember they’re not shocked, just eager to help.’
‘I shan’t mind talking to them now.’
Coming back from seeing him out she momentarily felt there was nothing she would now mind, so great was her relief at those four words, ‘But not for ever.’ She repeated them to herself again and again. Perhaps she ought not to let them prove true – for his sake as well as Miles’s. Perhaps she would be strong enough not to. But he had said them. She lay down on the sofa and closed her eyes. ‘But not for ever.’ Still clinging to the words, she drifted into sleep.
She was awakened by the telephone. On her way to answer it she caught sight of the clock and realized she had slept nearly three hours. She felt dazed, and apprehensive of more trouble, but the voice that spoke to her was cheerful and loving, if a trifle shaky.
‘Jill, darling, this is Kit. Could you come here rather quickly? And could you let yourself in? I’ve put the key under the mat. Robin’s taken Mary to buy a coat – Mary’s nervous of London shops – so I’m on my own. And I’ll be in bed.’
‘Kit! Are you ill?’
‘Well, I just may be suffering from deferred shock. I think you can have it without knowing – and I did feel a bit groggy when I got back. Anyway, I’m going to bed with two hot-water bottles and I’ve drunk some disgustingly sweet tea – that’s how you treat shock. And I do particularly want to see you. So if you could manage –’
‘I’ll come instantly. But oughtn’t I to get a doctor?’
‘Oh, no, no, no. That would be madly embarrassing. And I’m sure I’m all right, except that I suddenly feel sick. So I’ll hang up if you don’t mind.’
‘Right, darling. I’ll simply rush to you.’
She was lucky enough to get a taxi that had just brought someone, and was at the Westminster house in less than ten minutes. She found the key, opened the door and dashed upstairs. Half way up she heard Kit calling, ‘Is that you, Jill? I’m fine now.’
Jill, entering the bedroom full tilt, thought she had never seen the child look so well, though the bright cheeks might indicate feverishness. She was sitting up in bed wearing a fetching Shetland bed jacket trimmed with swansdown.
‘That sickness was a false alarm,’ she assured Jill. ‘Perhaps it was because I so hate sweet tea.’
‘You’re a bit flushed, Kit.’
‘Oh, that’s just heat. I wonder if I got the treatment wrong? It can’t be good for a shocked person to be so hot.’
‘Darling, what shocked you?’
Kit, leaning back on her pillows, said pedantically, ‘Shock isn’t due to being shocked in the ordinary sense of the word. Mentally, nothing shocks me; I should be ashamed if it did. A state of shock, physical shock, comes from being in an accident, and I think great excitement or severe nervous strain can cause it too. Not that I’ve been conscious of strain; I’ve really had a very jolly afternoon. But I was excited.’
‘What about, Kit? Please tell me quickly.’
‘I’ve been to see Cyril.’
‘Oh, Kit!’
‘Well, nobody told me not to. I knew where he lived in Soho because we drove him home after your party. Jill, you wouldn’t believe the squalor. He and his brother live
in just one room of an old house in a sort of court – I mean, it’s a dead end. A horrible place, looks as if it’s full of brothels – well, eighteenth-century brothels; I should think modern brothels would have to be smarter. There were masses of old cardboard boxes and broken crates, and rotting vegetables which smelt awful. And the house – such a shame, fine panelling in the hall, all hacked about and scribbled on, not that I’d time to read the graffiti – well, the smell there was mainly lavatories. It was so awful that I almost turned tail – filth’s more upsetting than danger, don’t you think? Though I’ll admit I got more scared than was pleasant – oh, not of Cyril, I knew I could manage him with one hand, but I thought the brother might be there with razor blades and what not. I only thought of razor blades when I was on my way upstairs. A very haggish woman told me where the Digbys lived.’
‘Oh, God, Kit! Was the brother there?’
‘He was not. He’s in jail because he did slash someone with a razor blade, in a fight yesterday. And I should think he’d get a long sentence unless they send him back to Borstal. And there was poor Cyril, not knowing which way to turn and his face all puffed with crying, and he began again as soon as I started work on him. I almost frightened him to death. You see, I took a gun.’
‘A real gun?’
‘Well, perhaps it’s too small to be called one. I must investigate firearms. It was in a cabinet in our great-grandmother’s house. After she died, Father said we could take anything we liked, but I’m not sure he knew I picked the gun – if it is one. It’s tiny and beautifully inlaid.’
‘Is it loaded?’