A Shock to the System

‘Then what are you looking for?’

‘I’m looking for some evidence of what you’ve done.’

That gave him a momentary frisson, but then he realised that she was once again referring to his imagined infidelity. God, her stupidity infuriated him.

‘What sort of evidence had you in mind?’ he asked lightly. ‘It might be anything. You never know what’s going on behind a man’s bland exterior. Vivvi found a whole library of pornographic magazines at the back of Will’s sock drawer.’

He understood. Merrily had been talking to her friend. Vivvi was, if possible, more affected than Merrily herself and the current form her affectation took was feminism. In her case all this involved was wearing designer dungarees, talking about menstruation a lot and refusing to cook meals when she felt like being taken out by her long-suffering husband.

‘I’m sorry to disappoint you. You won’t find any pornography here. I suppose I could get some if you fancy it,’ he added ironically.

‘It wasn’t pornography I was looking for in your case.’

‘What then?’

‘Letters.’

‘What sort of letters?’

She stood up and faced him. Defiance did not add to her charms. ‘Vivvi’s mother,’ she began, ‘works at Sotheby’s. She’s a porcelain specialist.’

‘Ah.’ Graham was utterly bemused by this. Merrily, he thought, as she went on, has gone off her rocker. Maybe I could get her certified and solve the problem that way.

‘On her way to Oxford Circus last Monday evening she walked past a wine bar. She saw you coming out with a woman.’

So that was it.

‘Whom you kissed,’ Merrily continued inexorably.

Graham’s first instinct was to explain. It was only Stella from the office, after all. There was no sexual interest on his side. Merrily’s spy had got the wrong end of the stick.

But another instinct stopped him. There was something of value in Merrily’s suspicion. He could not yet identify what it was, but he knew he must foster her distrust.

‘She was talking rubbish,’ he blustered, too vehemently. ‘It must have been someone else she saw.’

‘You were late that evening. I remember. And you’d had a drink.’

‘Yes. O.K., I had. But just with someone from the office.’ He carefully made the truth sound like a lie.

‘I don’t believe you, Graham.’

‘Well, you bloody well should. You’re not going to find any love letters in here.’

‘No?’

‘No. There aren’t any.’

‘Then you won’t mind my looking.’

She spoke with triumph, but in fact was playing straight into his hands.

‘Yes, I bloody do mind you looking! It’s an invasion of privacy. This is my room. These are my papers. Get out!’ And he hustled her to the door.

She turned on the landing and looked at him piercingly. Lilian Hinchcliffe would have been proud of the way her daughter was playing the scene.

‘Very well, then,’ said Merrily.

She used her littlest voice, but there was no doubt that her words were a challenge. She would be back for further snooping.

With a show of anger Graham slammed the study door. But when he sat down in his swivel chair, he was smiling.

Merrily having given him a lead, Graham found that the rest of the components of his plan slotted quickly into place. He had the feeling that his luck was in, that he was working well. His training programme was right and he would peak at the proper time. It was the same good feeling that had always come to him, until the last year, in the run-up to examinations and job interviews. He felt that he was in charge of events, almost that the world span at his bidding.

Robert Benham had, unwittingly, given him another vital component. The trip to Brussels, designed to frustrate Graham’s progress at work, was going to prove an important boost to his other career. It would provide what is essential to any serious murderer, an alibi.

Graham also realised, his mind working gleefully well, that the trip could be used to increase Merrily’s suspicions of his fidelity.

He had mentioned Brussels to her once or twice, but now if she brought up the subject he veered guiltily off it, apparently unwilling to give details of the nature of the conference. He also made tactical purchases of new pyjamas and a different aftershave which he hid with minimum efficiency at the back of his shirt drawer.

Stella had to play her part, too, though she was unaware of it. Meeting her alone in the corridor one day, Graham said yes, he’d love her to cook supper for him one night. She responded eagerly, suggesting the next evening. No, he didn’t think he could make that … or he might be able to. . He’d have to consult the diary at home. Could she ring him that evening to check? Merrily would be out till ten.

Merrily, who had made no arrangement to go out, took the call, as intended. Graham watched covertly as she reacted. Stella, taken off her guard, must have said something before she rang off, because it registered on Merrily’s face before she turned accusingly to Graham.

‘Wrong number, was it?’ he asked with innocence.

‘I’m not sure,’ said Merrily slowly.

He continued the campaign when he saw Stella at the office the next day. Yes, he’d gathered what had happened. Merrily had come home unexpectedly early. Yes, it had given him a nasty turn, too. Meant he’d have to tread a bit warily for a few days. So supper might be a risk. But how about a drink after work?

In fact, going to Stella’s flat for supper might have advanced his plan further, but Graham did not relish the inevitable sexual dimension. It was not that he felt any physical revulsion, just that sex seemed decreasingly relevant in his life. For the same reason, it was some weeks since he had made any physical approach to Merrily, a fact which, working like everything else in his favour, gave her more food for suspicion. He added to this by ringing his wife from the wine bar and saying he was having to work late. Then he went back to chatting with Stella. Again he kissed her as they parted. You never knew who might be watching. But he felt no sexual interest.

Even the pornography he bought raised no excitement. He was interested, particularly to see how candour and photographic techniques had advanced since such material had last been important to him, in his late teens, but the interest was dispassionate. His preoccupation with the murder gave him an ascetic sense of purpose, of all his concentration being focused on a higher goal.

The purchase of the pornography was perhaps an indulgence, gilding the lily, but he did need a lure for Merrily. She had been looking for letters, but he could not supply any, unless he resorted to forging them. She had, however, also mentioned pornography as evidence of masculine perfidy, so that would have to do.

He bought some half-dozen magazines for spankers, suckers and mammary fetishists. Deciding that to leave them in his sock drawer would be too slavishly imitative, he put them underneath some insurance brochures in the lock-up part of his desk (to which he was confident Merrily had a key).

The Brussels trip was not the only reason why he had to complete his preparations quickly. Another approaching deadline urged speed.

He did not get a chance to test the next part of his plan until the weekend before he went away. Showing a calculated softening in his attitude, Graham allowed his family the Saturday afternoon trip to the cinema which he had previously denied. He encouraged Merrily and Lilian (it was the long Easter weekend and his mother-in-law was going to be there for the duration) to accompany the children. He would stay and watch the sport on television. Merrily had looked suspicious of his altruism, which was no bad thing from Graham’s point of view, but agreed to go. Lilian said it was a great treat; no one ever asked her to go anywhere.

Over lunch, casually, he mentioned that he thought it was about time they had some new curtains in the spare room. Merrily said, yes, fine, she agreed but thought that they hadn’t got any money to have them made. Graham said he remembered how, when they moved into their first house in Barnes, she had made all of the