Scot.
‘But you’ll admit it’s a possibility?’
‘No. Christ, that’s even more bloody conjecture than you had before. Ring me when you’ve gathered some real evidence.”
Blake exhaled wearily and dropped the receiver back into place.
‘What did he say?’ Kelly asked, tentatively.
The writer didn’t answer. He was staring past her, his eyes fixed On the twin headlines:
ACTRESS KILLS BABY
TELEVISION PERSONALITY CHARGED WITH
MURDER Outside, the dying sun had coloured the sky crimson.
Like cloth soaked in blood.
The smell of roast meat wafted invitingly through the air as Phillip Campbell stepped into the sitting room of his house.
The television was on and, through the open kitchen door, he could hear sounds of movement. As he drew closer, the smell grew stronger, tempting him toward the kitchen like a bee to nectar. He paused in the doorway and smiled. His daughter had her back to him, busily inspecting the dials on the cooker. Her black hair was long, spilling halfway down her back, almost to the waist band of her jeans. She looked a little too large for the pair she wore, possessing what were euphemistically known as ‘child-bearing hips’. But her legs were long and relatively slender. She wore a baggy sweater, cut off at the elbows, which she’d knitted herself during her last break from University. She always came home during the holidays, only this time she had felt it as much out of duty as a desire to be with her parents.
Campbell’s wife was in Scotland and had been for the past two weeks. Her mother was terminally ill with colonic cancer and was being nursed through her final few weeks by her family. Campbell himself had been up to see her twice but, after the secdnd visit, he had been unable to bear the sight of the old girl wasting away. His wife phoned every other night and the presence of his daughter in some way compensated for her absence.
‘Whatever it is it smells good,’ the publisher said, smiling.
Melissa spun around, a look of surprise on her face.
i didn’t hear you come in, Dad,’ she told him. ‘You must be getting sneaky in your old age.’ She grinned.
You cheeky little tyke,’ he chuckled. ‘Less of the old age.’
Her mood changed slightly.
‘Mum phoned earlier,’ Melissa told him.
Campbell sat down at the carefully set table.
‘What did she say?’ he wanted to know.
‘Not much. She sounded upset, she said something about being home next week.’
‘Oh Christ,” Campbell said, wearily. ‘We!!, perhaps it’s a kindness if her mother does pass on. At least it’ll be the end of her suffering.’
There was a moment’s silence between them then Campbell got to his feet.
‘I’m going to get changed before dinner,’ he said.
‘You’ve got about five minutes,’ Melissa told him. ‘I don’t want this to spoil.’
‘You cooks are really temperamental aren’t you?’ he said, smiling.
The cuckoo clock on the wall of the kitchen burst into life as the hands reached 9 p.m.
Campbell set down the plates on the draining board and picked up a tea-towel as Melissa filled the sink with hot water.
Til do the washing up, Dad,’ she told him. ‘You go and sit down.’
He insisted on drying.
‘Are we going to be seeing any more of this young fellow Andy or whatever his name was, next term?’ Campbell asked, wiping the first saucepan.
‘I don’t know. He’s gone grape-picking in France for the summer,’ she chuckled.
‘You were keen on him though?’
“Y6u sound as if you’re trying to get me hitched.’
‘Am I the match-making type?’ he said with mock indignation.
‘Yes,’ she told him, handing him a plate. ‘Now, can we change the subject, please?’
Her father grinned.
‘What sort of day have you had?’ Melissa asked him.
They talked and joked while they cleared away the crockery, pots and pans and cutlery then Melissa decided to make coffee.
‘I’ve got a few things to read before tomorrow,’ he told her.
‘I thought you didn’t usually bring work home with you?’
‘Sometimes it’s unavoidable.’
Til bring your coffee in when it’s ready,’ she said.
He thanked her then wandered through into the sitting room, searching through his attache case for the relevant material. Seated in front of the television, Campbell began scanning the synopses and odd chapters which he had not found time to get through at the office. There was work from established authors, as well as unsolicited efforts from those all too anxious to break into the world of publishing. The mystique which seemed to surround the publishing world never ceased to amaze the Scot.
Melissa joined him in the sitting room and reached for the book which she had been reading. They sat opposite one another, undisturbed by the television.
Neither thought to get up and turn it off.
It was approaching 11.30 when Melissa finally put down her book and stretched.
She rubbed her eyes and glanced at the clock on the mantlepiece.
‘I think I’ll go to bed, Dad,’ she said, sleepily.
Campbell looked up at her and smiled.
‘OK,’ he said. ‘I’ll see you in the morning.’
He heard the door close behind her as she made her way upstairs. The Scot paused for a moment, his attention taken by a photograph of Gerald Braddock which had been flashed up on the TV screen. He quickly moved forward and turned up the volume, listening as the newscaster relayed information about the horrific incident in Brixton that afternoon. Campbell watched with
interest, remembering his phone conversation with Blake. He shook his head.
How-could there possibly be any link between Blake’s theories and Braddock’s demented act? He dismissed the thought as quickly as it had come, returning to the work before him. Campbell yawned and rubbed his eyes, weariness creeping up on him unannounced. He decided to make himself a cup of coffee in an effort to stay awake. There wasn’t much more to read and he wanted everything out of the way before he eventually retired to bed. He wandered into the kitchen and filled the kettle, returning to his chair in the sitting room. He slumped wearily into it and decided to watch the rest of the late news before continuing. He yawned again.
Phillip Campbell made his way quietly up the stairs, pausing when he reached the landing. He heard no sounds from Melissa’s room and was certain that he hadn’t disturbed her. The Scot slowly turned the handle of her door and edged into the room. He smiled as he looked at her, sleeping soundly, her long black hair spread across the pillow like a silken smudge. She moved slightly but did not awake.
Campbell paused for a moment running his eyes over the numerous pen and ink, watercolour and pencil drawings which were displayed proudly in the room.
Beside the bed was a plastic tumbler crammed with pieces of charcoal, pens and pencils and, propped against the bedside table was an open sketch-pad which bore the beginnings of a new drawing.
Campbell moved closer to the bed, his eyes fixed on his sleeping daughter.
Even when he stood over her she did not stir.
He bent forward and, with infinite care, pulled down the sheets, exposing her body. She wore only a thin nightdress, the dark outline of her nipples and pubic mound visible through the diaphanous material. Campbell felt his erection growing, bulging urgently against his trousers. Without taking his eyes from Melissa, he unzipped his flies and pulled out his rampant organ.
