her.”
“To Walcot Street, yes. A frightful slum, but I scarcely had a chance to notice. She practically dragged me to her lair and ravished me. Repeatedly.”
Diamond took a sip of the sherry the young man had provided. He suspected that the sexual bragging was targeted at Julie. He didn’t remember it being so explicit four years ago. All this passion was something of a mystery to Diamond considering that Marcus Martin was a short, unprepossessing man with carroty hair trained in wisps across his balding scalp, but he’d never understood how the female libido worked. Maybe the riding had something to do with it. Or the big house in the country.
“Can we go back to Britt Strand? The affair was conducted here for the most part, was it?”
“Entirely. Her place was very unsuitable. The people downstairs-I’ve forgotten their name-”
“Billington.”
“Right. They wouldn’t have approved. Very straight-laced. Chapel, I believe. The old lady watched from downstairs like a Paris concierge.”
“You met them, then?”
“Several times. I used to call for Britt and drive her back in my Land Rover.”
“But you didn’t, em…?”
“Not there. It was far more relaxed here at the manor.”
“The Billingtons went away for three weeks to Tenerife. Didn’t you visit there when the house was empty?”
He frowned, and tapped the arm of the chair thoughtfully with one finger. “Now that you mention it, there were a couple of occasions when I wasn’t given the beady eye from downstairs. I just assumed they were out for a short time. Britt didn’t mention their holiday. Presumably she preferred to come here.”
“Did she talk to you about the Billingtons at all?”
“Not much. She didn’t like them particularly, but the place was convenient. She was quite sure that they let themselves into her flat when she went out sometimes. Just to nose around. That isn’t unusual in lodgings, I understand. She also told me that the man fancied her a bit. She laughed it off. Most men fancied her a bit, if you ask me.”
Julie said, “How did he show it?”
“Gave her little presents when his wife was occupied elsewhere, on the phone, or in the bath. Chocolates, flowers from the garden, things women appreciate. Britt said he always made an excuse, said he didn’t care for chocolates, or he was trimming back the roses, or something.”
Diamond’s attention snapped into sharper focus. “Roses?”
“Or daffodils or sweet peas. I don’t know.”
“But you said roses.”
“It was the first flower that came to mind.”
“You know why I’m interested?”
“Of course I do, and that’s probably what made me mention roses. I wouldn’t attach any importance to it.”
“Can’t you remember what she told you?”
“After all this time? No.”
Diamond knew from experience the frustration of dealing with people whose memories were imprecise. At this distance in time the chance of learning anything new was depressingly slight. “Did you ever actually speak to Mr. Billington?”
“Only to pass the time of day.”
“Did Britt tell you anything else about him?”
“She reckoned he was glad to get out of the house. He was a sales rep, you know, greeting cards, rather vulgar, I believe, and I think he enjoyed a good laugh with some of the shop ladies he visited. Why are you so interested in old Billington?”
Diamond ignored that. “How do you know about the cards?”
“I saw him once doing his stuff in Frome. One of those newsagents in the pedestrian bit. The woman was practically wetting herself giggling at the cards he was trying to persuade her to take.”
“Let’s get back to Britt. Did she talk to you about her work at all?”
“The journalism? Very little. I was completely in the dark about all that stuff that came out at the trial. The Iraqi connection. She told me she was enrolling at the college when the term started and that was all. I didn’t even ask which course.”
“Did she mention Mountjoy in any connection?”
“None at all.”
“Have you met him?”
“Never, so far as I know.”
The same brick wall.
“During your visits to the house at Larkhall, the murder house, did you go up to her room?”
“Of course.”
“And did you ever take her flowers?”
Martin put up his hands in denial. “Hey, what are you suggesting? Oh, no.”
“Did you send any after the friendship cooled, perhaps as a goodwill gesture?”
“A what?”
“Did you notice any in her flat?”
“Roses? No.”
“Did you send some to the funeral?”
“Certainly not.”
Martin made a point of looking at his watch.
It was Julie, unbidden, who picked up the questioning. “We believe she may have been preparing some kind of article about the crusties in Bath. Did she mention it to you at any stage?”
He frowned, looked into the fire and snapped his fingers. “As a matter of fact, she did. One afternoon we had tea in the Canary, that rather genteel cafe in Queen Street where they play taped classical music as you sip your Earl Grey. They insist on escorting you to your seat. We were favored. We were given a window seat downstairs. You can watch the people walking past. I was doing my best to amuse Britt by making up stories about them as if I knew them all. This one posed for Picasso and this one is a train-spotter, or an escaped nun, and so on. Very silly when I describe it now, but it seemed amusing at the time. Then this enormous man strolled by in an army greatcoat, obviously a crusty, and to my amazement Britt waved to him and tapped on the window. He stopped and stared. For a moment I thought she was going to invite him in and so did the manageress. I mean this guy wasn’t exactly teashop material. Dreadlocks, tattoos, earrings, hobnail boots. But Britt got up and went out to him, incidentally taking him half her toasted teacake. They were out there chatting for some time. The Canary clientele were absolutely riveted. He was an awesome sight.”
“Has to be G.B.,” Julie remarked to Diamond.
“Eventually he went on his way and she came back full of apologies. He was just a contact, she said, and I remember wondering how intimate a contact. I as good as asked her. You want to know the risks you’re taking, if you understand me. But Britt insisted that it was purely professional. She was collecting material for a story about the crusties, something that could turn out really sensational. She was keeping the big fellow sweet until she had all the facts.”
Diamond turned to Julie. “The Canary-that’s just around the corner from Trim Street, isn’t it?”
She nodded.
“Did she tell you anything else?” Diamond asked Martin.
“About the crusties? No.”
“She wasn’t scared of this man?”
“She certainly didn’t give that impression.”
“Have you seen him since?”
“No, I think he must have left the area.”
