They were apologetic. It was true, they said, that they had been a little embarrassed at my persisting in a topic of conversation so plainly distasteful to Mr. Tancred. If, however, he was a murderer, then I might rest assured that they would decline all further work from him, whatever the brief fee and however cross Henry might be about it: no Barristers’ Clerk could expect his principals to receive instructions from hands steeped in the blood of innocent beneficiaries, and they would tell Henry so in no uncertain manner.
I advised them not to be premature in making such a sacrifice, for there was at present no reason to believe Mr. Tancred guilty of any crime. He was the only one of the available suspects whose presence in the drawing-room at the material time had not been specifically remarked on by either of our witnesses; but it was possible that they had merely thought it of insufficient interest to be mentioned; conversely, if one of the others had left the drawing- room on some natural and trivial pretext, one would not expect their absence to have been expressly alluded to.
“You mean,” said Cantrip, “if one of them nipped off to the loo, Camilla wouldn’t have bothered telling me about it?”
“Precisely so,” I said. “Nor Leonidas to tell me.”
“It would be an unconvincing pretext,” said Selena, “for someone really meaning to go up to the roof terrace. The door leading to the bathroom and the one leading to the staircase are at opposite ends of the drawing-room. I think the excuse would have had to be that they wanted something from the room at the foot of the staircase — the one Rupert calls his study.”
Julia now asked me what arrangements I intended to make to interview Rupert Galloway.
“My dear Julia,” I said, “to interview Rupert at this stage would be either premature or pointless. The only person I could usefully talk to would be Dorothea — her evidence is crucial, but she is in Corfu. Well, it is possible that something can be arranged. I have had it in mind to spend a little time in Corfu — I have friends there who have kindly said I am welcome at any time — but not until September.”
“You’re not suggesting,” said Julia, “that we do nothing until September?”
“There is nothing we can do,” I answered.
I perceived from her reproachful gaze that she felt her confidence in me to have been misplaced. She did not know exactly what Sir Thomas More would have done; but she plainly thought that he would have done it before September.
CHAPTER 8
To keep Julia confined permanently in her room at 63 New Square, however ample the arrangements for her comfort and well-being, would provoke some objection, I suppose, from one of the humanitarian societies: misguided in my view — Julia, if allowed to wander unrestrained about London, can only come to harm, and it is no kindness to permit her to do so. A truth sufficiently demonstrated by the events which occurred on my next visit.
It was the day, some three weeks later, on which Selena was to leave for the Ionian Islands. At midday, however, I found her still at her desk, looking rather pink and shiny-nosed, her fair hair rumpled and the sleeves of her white shirt pushed back to the elbow, as if she expected by merely physical effort to dispose of the pile of papers which surrounded her.
“It isn’t really as bad as it looks,” she said, leaning back and drawing a deep breath. “I’ve only two Opinions and a Statement of Claim to do, and Sebastian isn’t collecting me until five o’clock. I ought to have finished them by then — in manuscript, that is. Having them typed depends on the temporary typist.” Her optimism seemed to fade a little. “Still, if the worse comes to the worst, they can be typed next week, and Julia can sign them off for me.”
I inquired if Julia was any better than she had been when I last saw her — that is to say, whether she had recovered at all from her anxiety about Deirdre and the traditions of the English Bar and so forth.
“No,” said Selena, after a moment’s reflection “No, I don’t think one could say she was better. It would be more accurate to say”—she paused in apparent search for the
The Rustington affair had been one of the more colorful scandals of its day; but though at the time I had followed it with interest I did not now recall the details. A number of moderately celebrated persons — bankers, politicians, television panellists and so forth — had enjoyed the hospitality of a well-known businessman at his house on the Sussex coast; the festivities had been of an unconventional and boisterous nature; and a girl had died, apparently by drowning. Some rather unsavory suggestions had been made as to the cause of death, though none, if my memory served me, of deliberate murder. I did not, however, remember any mention of Rupert in connection with the affair.
“I don’t imagine,” said Selena, “that he was distinguished enough to attract much notice in the newspapers, but he was certainly among the guests. Well, Cantrip told Julia, and Julia thinks it’s significant — she won’t believe that Rupert’s presence on two occasions when young women have met with unnatural deaths is merely an unfortunate coincidence. And she feels that something should be done.”
I said that I was sorry to hear it: I had rather hoped that Julia would by this time have forgotten about the whole matter.
“By no means,” said Selena. “So it’s very fortunate, Hilary, that you’re in London again: you can reassure her that you’re still investigating and all the resources of scholarship will be devoted to discovering the truth. I think you should go straight round to 63 and tell her so — it will be a great comfort to her, and leave me free to get on with my paperwork.”
In 63 New Square, however, I was told by Julia’s Clerk that she had as yet made no appearance there: in the afternoon, he added with touching confidence, I could be sure of finding her, since she had an important conference at half past two; but of her present whereabouts he had no idea.
Selena, when I returned with these tidings, was too much preoccupied to express any great curiosity. She was correcting the most recent product of the skills of the temporary typist — an Opinion on the title to certain freehold land comprised in the estate of an ancient and noble family — and the task seemed to be distressing her. She took particular exception, as I recall, to the description of the fifth Earl as the sun and air of the fourth.
“I could understand it,” she said in the tone of one trying hard to be reasonable, “if I had been dictating. Muriel has been typing for us, after all, for only six months, and cannot be expected to be familiar with technical terms. But how does she manage to do it when she’s simply copying from manuscript? ”
It was, I explained, an instance of the phenomenon known to students of textual criticism as
“Most interesting,” said Selena. “Some da y, Hilary, you must tell me all about it. Some day, that is, when I don’t have a plane to catch and three sets of papers to finish.”
I sought in vain to persuade her that she should pause from her labors for a light but nourishing lunch in the Corkscrew: she had brought sandwiches, and proposed to eat them at her desk. The other members of the Nursery being all engaged in court, I resigned myself to lunching alone.
On my way down the steps of 62 New Square, however, I encountered Ragwort, returning from the Law Courts in triumph: he had been applying, I gathered, for something called a Mareva injunction, and despite the perjured evidence and meretricious argument deployed against him, had succeeded in obtaining it. He was sufficiently elated to be prevailed on to join me in the Corkscrew.
I listened with attentive admiration to the full details of his victory; but towards the end of the meal I made some passing reference to Julia’s absence from Chambers. Ragwort frowned.
“One would not wish,” he said, “to speak critically of one’s friends. It has to be admitted, however, that Julia is not wholly free of the sin of sloth. If she woke up this morning and found herself with no immediate engagements, it is quite possible that she simply went back to sleep again. And she is capable, in that case, of failing to wake up again in time for her conference at two-thirty, which I understand to be rather important. Shall we stroll along to Bloomsbury and make sure she’s up and about?”
