‘What? Oh, lunch. No, not really. King’s Head?’
‘How about Rustique? My treat.’
So we went to Rustique, just off the square, on Finkle Street. We sat in the glassed-over courtyard, with its tiled floor, framed French posters and wall mural of a nude fan dancer. I wanted some wine with lunch, but Charlotte declined, so I decided to stick with water and coffee myself. I’d been a good boy yesterday, hadn’t touched a drop of anything alcoholic, so I could do the same today as well.
‘So what have you been up to lately?’ Charlotte asked.
I told her about my visit to Sam Porter in Paris, careful to make it sound as if my brother Graham, not Sam, was the real reason for my crossing the Channel. The waiter came and we gave him our orders. I quickly forgot my earlier resolve and ordered a glass of Costieres de Nimes. Charlotte asked for a diet bitter lemon. That’s the problem. I don’t like fizzy or diet drinks, coffee’s for mornings, and water just doesn’t quite do the trick, so it has to be wine or beer, really. At least, that’s my excuse.
We talked about my Grace Fox theories for a while. When I came to mention Grace’s lack of motive, Charlotte said, ‘And you don’t believe she had a good one in this Sam Porter?’
‘No. They existed in a kind of fantasy world.’
‘But surely a fantasy world can have its dark side?’
‘I suppose it can, but that’s not the impression I got. I will admit that a lot of it so far is just my take on things, my sense of Grace, the kind of woman she was.’
‘You certainly make her sound beguiling. Are you sure you’re not a little bit in love with her?’
‘It would be easy, wouldn’t it?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘To be in love with someone who no longer exists. The perfect escape from the reality of commitment. No pressures, no tough decisions to make, no sacrifices. Like a sort of inflatable doll. No demands. Especially for someone in such a “fragile” state as me.’
Charlotte reddened. ‘Oh, gosh. I didn’t mean that,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I was just being flippant.’
She really said ‘gosh’ as well as ‘super’. I wondered whether she sometimes said ‘golly’ and ‘brill’ too. How can you be hard on someone who says ‘gosh’ and ‘super’? I smiled and touched her hand to let her know it was OK. ‘The thing is,’ I said, ‘you’re probably right in an abstract, harmless sort of way. Here I am, to all intents and purposes a sensible, reasonable, successful man, spending my time trying to prove the innocence of a woman who was hanged nearly sixty years ago. Insane, isn’t it?’
‘Is that what you’re doing? Trying to prove her innocence?’
‘I didn’t think so when I set out, but I seem to be heading that way, don’t I?’
‘And if you succeed?’
‘I haven’t thought that far ahead. Tell the authorities, I suppose. Official pardon, apology, and all that. It’s too late to do anyone any good, I know, but isn’t that how it goes?’
‘I suppose it is. All I can do is wish you good luck, then.’
‘Thanks. You said you wanted a word with me?’
‘Yes.’ Charlotte gave a quick shake of her head. ‘It’s nothing, really… I mean, it’s not important or anything, just a bit… well, delicate…’
Our lunch arrived, and we paused while the waiter put the plates down and asked us whether we needed anything else.
‘You’ve got me interested,’ I said to Charlotte when he’d gone. ‘You might as well go on.’
‘Well, it’s about Heather. We’ve been friends for a long time. Went to school together, in fact. Jolly hockey sticks and all that. We’ve had our ups and downs over the years, and some long periods apart, but I like to think we’re still the best of friends.’
‘I’m happy to hear it,’ I said. ‘How can I help?’
‘Oh, it’s nothing like that. Well… perhaps it is.’ She gave a little laugh. ‘Isn’t it silly? Now I’m here, I don’t know what to say.’
‘Just say it.’
‘All right.’ She put her knife and fork down. ‘I just don’t want her to get hurt, that’s all.’
Though I had an inkling of what she might be talking about, remembered the tension at the dinner party, the little charade in the kitchen, I said, ‘What do you mean? Why should she get hurt?’
‘She might not seem it. She puts on a tough front, I know. She’s got a hard exterior. Comes with the territory in her line of work. But she’s really very vulnerable, not at all as sure as she likes to pretend to be about things.’
We both concentrated on our food for a minute or so. I sipped some wine. I think I already knew what Charlotte had just told me about Heather.
She leaned forward and lowered her voice. ‘I probably shouldn’t be telling you this, but Heather and Derek are going through a rather difficult patch in their marriage right now. They had a brief separation two years ago then got back together again, but it doesn’t appear to be taking. Things don’t look good, to be perfectly frank. All in all, it’s a very tough time for Heather.’
‘I’m sorry to hear that. If there’s anything I-’
‘You can stay away from her,’ Charlotte said.
‘I?… What? What has she said?’
‘She hasn’t said anything. And I’m sorry if that sounded so brutal, but I’m just not very good at these things. It was obvious to me at dinner the other night that you weren’t interested in me, that the two of you were… that there was something between you.’
‘There’s nothing between us,’ I said.
‘Are you sure? Do you mean it?’
‘Heather was a little drunk, that’s all. She was flirting.’
‘But there seemed to be… I mean, I thought you were having an affair.’
‘An affair? Good Lord, no. I haven’t been in town ten minutes. I’m not that fast a worker.’
‘Oh. I suppose I’m not very good at spotting what’s going on, am I? But I know she likes you. I can tell. I’ve known her long enough to recognise the signs. I suppose what I’m saying is that I think she’d like to have an affair with you, and I’m asking you not to lead her into it. It would be bad for her. She’s too fragile.’
‘What about me?’ I said.
‘Sorry? What do you mean?’
‘Aren’t I supposed to be fragile, too? After all, I’m the recent widower.’
Charlotte put her hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, I didn’t mean… I am so sorry. Forgive me. I’m putting my foot in it again. I shouldn’t have… I mean, I was just thinking of Heather.’
‘I’m not some amoral predator, you know.’
‘But these things happen.’
‘Yes, they do. But I promise you I’ll do nothing to encourage her. Is that good enough?’
Charlotte smiled. ‘That’s fine. And I really am sorry. I mean, I could tell you felt you’d been set up on a blind date with me, and they can be so disastrous. I knew you didn’t like me, not in that way.’
‘I like you well enough, Charlotte. Perhaps I’m just not ready for any sort of relationship yet?’
‘Perhaps not.’
I held out my hand. ‘Truce?’
She nodded. ‘Truce.’
We shook hands.
‘I wish I’d had that glass of wine now,’ said Charlotte, patting her chest.
‘There’s still time. Why don’t you? I’ll have another one with you.’
‘I shouldn’t.’
‘Don’t be a stick-in-the-mud.’
‘I’m afraid I am, rather, aren’t I? A stick-in-the-mud.’
The waiter passed by and I ordered two more glasses of red. ‘There, now, you can’t let me drink both of them by myself.’
Charlotte laughed. When the wine came, we clinked glasses. ‘To Heather,’ I said.
