The Circle

Fran twisted the handkerchief tighter and sighed. 'That's one of the difficulties. You see, we sleep in separate rooms. About eleven that evening, I went to bed and Maurice said he was going for a walk. He often does about that time, just to look at the stars and get a little exercise before turning in. I never hear him come in. I'm asleep as soon as my head touches the pillow.'

'Shame,' Bob said, and it was an understatement.

'Yes, it is. They haven't come along to question me yet, and I'll have to be truthful if they do.'

'You said that's one of the difficulties. Is there another?'

She sighed. 'I'm afraid there is, but I couldn't possibly divulge it to you, not without Maurice's permission.'

'Something else happened?'

'A long time ago.'

'What — tied in with Edgar Blacker?'

'No. Quite separate.' She raised her hand. 'That's all I can say.'

'But you believe he's innocent?'

'I have total confidence in him, Mr Naylor. I wouldn't share my life with him if I thought he was evil.'

'I don't want to seem nosy, ma'am-'

'Fran. Call me Fran.'

'Fran. How long have you two been together?'

'Nearly ten years. He had a difficult, unhappy marriage and I only met him after it was over. You'll appreciate that there's an age difference between us and some people find it difficult to understand. If the reverse happens — an older man and a younger woman, nobody seems to think anything of it. I don't believe he regards me as a mother figure, as some people suppose, and I certainly don't treat him that way. We have a loving, relaxed relationship. Are you married?'

'A widower.'

'Perhaps you understand, then.'

'I wasn't trying to judge you, love. We've all got our lives to lead. I only asked because I wanted to know how far you two go back.'

The phone rang — and it really did ring as phones once did. It was the Bakelite model with a dial once supplied to everyone who asked to be connected. She crossed the room and picked up the receiver. 'Yes?'

She listened to the caller, and her face creased in anxiety.

Finally, she said, 'Oh,' and replaced the receiver. To Bob, she said, 'They're keeping him overnight.'

5

No, on the whole I think all writers should be in prison.

Ralph Richardson, on being asked to appear in a charity programme in support of imprisoned writers; quoted by Ned Sherrin in Anecdotage (1993)

The ladies were still in the bar. Three empty Appletiser bottles were lined up in front of Dagmar, and Thomasine was using a cherry on a cocktail stick to scoop up the last of her drink. Bob gave them the news about Maurice being kept overnight.

Dagmar looked devastated.

Thomasine, too, was devastated, and she had drowned her inhibitions in a series of G amp;Ts. 'Shit and derision — what can he tell them that he hasn't already?'

'Who knows?' Bob said. 'They think there's more.'

'And so do you, Bob. I see it in your eyes.'

'Not much I can tell you, though. Fran hinted at something and then kept the cap on the bottle. She called it a difficulty. Said it happened a long time ago.'

'Sounds like he's got form.'

'My thought exactly'

'What do you mean — a criminal record?' Dagmar said, making it clear this was about as likely as an elephant in church.

'Right on.'

'Maurice?

'What else could she mean?' Bob said.

'Maurice? Dagmar said again.

'They wouldn't hold him overnight without something they can work on. Fran is in a sweat. I can tell you that.' He told them about Maurice's late night walk on the night of the murder and Fran being unable to supply an alibi.

'What's the matter with the dopey woman?' Thomasine said. 'If it was me, and my man was up shit creek, I'd speak up for him.'

'Me, too,' Dagmar said.

'No disrespect,' Bob said, 'but that lady is high-principled. She's not going to tell porkies for anyone.'

'But if she knows he's innocent. .'

'She doesn't know. It's about trust, isn't it? She trusts the bloke. For her, that's enough, but it's not enough for the Old Bill.'

'Besides,' Thomasine said, spreading her hands wide, 'they'd expect his partner to lie for him. In the eyes of the law, alibis from your nearest and dearest don't amount to a fart in a whirlwind.'

'What's she like, this woman?' Dagmar said.

'Fran? Bit older than I expected. I'd say there's all of twenty years between them.'

Dagmar's eyes widened. 'That makes her over seventy.'

'That's what I thought.'

Thomasine said, 'She must be a bloody good cook, is all I can say. So what are we going to do, poppets? Tell the others Maurice is back in the nick?'

'There's nothing any of us can do for him tonight,' Bob said.

'Suppose they charge him and he's innocent?'

'Of course he's innocent,' Dagmar said, beginning to get over the shock of that age gap. 'We've got to support him.'

'There's only one way,' Thomasine said. 'We must find out who really set fire to that sodding publisher's house. And when I say 'we', I mean the entire circle, the whole kit and caboodle — all twelve of us.'

'Eleven,' Dagmar said.

'Twelve. Bob's in, aren't you, baby?'

'Yes, but what Dagmar means is that Maurice can't help us much.'

On that note of unity, they decided to leave. Thomasine got upright with difficulty, pushing at the table edge as if it was the river bank and she was in a small boat.

'You're not driving, are you?' Bob said.

'Why? You want a lift?'

'We'd better get you home,' he said, looking to Dagmar for a sign that she would help. She gave a nod.

Out in the fresh air, Thomasine swayed and grabbed Bob's arm. He helped her to his car. They eased her into the back seat and Dagmar got in beside her.

'What's this — a threesome?' Thomasine said.

'Don't be daft,' Dagmar said.

'I don't need a chaperon.'

'I do,' Bob said. 'Where do you live?'

They drove to some flats west of the city. Between them, he and Dagmar negotiated the stairs, taking most