Then, he kept telling himself, then we can bounce back together again and it’ll be even better. Maybe he’d stay in Edinburgh longer than his week. Maybe even away from Edinburgh they could…
But not till this was sorted out.
He left the call-box and went down Cockburn Street to the Accommodation Bureau. He picked up his bag from Coates Gardens and by five o’clock was installed with Mrs Butt in the Aberdour Guest House in Dublin Street, booked for two nights.
He rang Gerald’s office from Mrs Butt’s pay-phone. Polly’s efficiency had worked wonders and her boss was already in a taxi on the way to Heathrow. He would reach the Princes Street terminal in a coach from Edinburgh (Turnhouse) Airport at about ten.
The next move involved seeing Anna. After a couple of bracing whiskies in a Rose Street pub, he went back to Coates Gardens, where, as he anticipated, another cabbage dinner was drawing to its blancmangy end. He signalled to Anna, who left the table discreetly and met him in the empty hall.
The lie slipped out easily. ‘Look, I’m sorry. Can’t come tonight. An old friend called Alastair Newton came to see the show at lunch time. He’s invited me to dinner at his place. It’s some way outside Edinburgh, so he suggested I stay the night there and he’ll give me a lift in in the morning. It’s a bugger, but I can’t really get out of it.’
Anna looked disappointed, which did not make the deception any easier. Then she grinned. ‘I could do with some sleep, anyway.’
He grinned too. She was beautiful and the navy blue eyes looked so open and honest, he wished the script of the last few days could be rewritten and all the promptings of suspicion cut out. He felt confident that it would be all right. Probably they would even be able to laugh about it afterwards.
‘But tomorrow…’ he hazarded, ‘be O.K. if I come round after the revue as per usual?’
‘As per usual. Of course.’ There was a lot of warmth in her voice. But she was still discreet and did not want them to be seen together. ‘Better get back.’
As she turned to go, he took her hand and leant forward to kiss her. Their lips came together.
A creak on the stairs from the basement made Charles recoil guiltily. Anna as usual kept her cool and glanced towards the person who was staring at them. She looked back at Charles. ‘See you then, then.’ With unruffled poise she went back to the dining-room. Martin Warburton stood aside to let her pass, looked at Charles, gave one of his abrupt laughs and hurried out of the front door, slamming it behind him.
It didn’t matter. Anna was the one who wanted to keep the affair quiet, and somebody was bound to twig sooner or later.
Charles remembered that he had left his toothbrush in the first-floor bathroom. On the landing he met James Milne hurrying angrily downstairs. ‘Oh hello, Charles. I’ve spoken to them before about slamming that door. Not only is it bad for the actual door, it also disturbs the neighbours and I get complaints. Did you see who it was?’
‘It was Martin Warburton.’
‘Ah.’ The Laird’s tone changed from angry to confidential. ‘Actually I wanted to talk to you about Martin Warburton. Come upstairs and have a drink.’
‘Have to be quick. I’ve got to go out to dinner.’ It was important to maintain the lie.
‘Won’t take long.’
More malt in the leather-bound library. The Laird stood by his marble mantlepiece to give drama to his pronouncement. ‘Further to our discussion about Martin’s disguise, I followed him this morning.’
‘From here?’
‘Yes, all the way to Nicholson Street as you described. I waited and he came out with the beard and what have you, and then I followed him again. Guess where he went this time?’
‘Not a clue.’ Charles found it difficult to get excited about Martin’s bizarre doings. He had decided that they were irrelevant to the investigation.
‘The Palace of Holyroodhouse,’ said James Milne dramatically. ‘Now why should he go to the National Portrait Gallery and Holyrood in disguise?’
‘I don’t know. Maybe he’s embarrassed about being a tourist.’
This flippant answer was not well received by the Laird who thought that Martin was definitely the murderer. Charles wished he could share that simple faith; it would be a relief from the forbidding tangle of thoughts that filled his head. But he did not feel inclined to tell his confidant what he knew. It would be better to play along with this Martin theory.
James Milne elaborated. ‘I think there’s some strange tie-up in his mind. It’s all connected with the Mary, Queen of Scots story, I’m sure. Rizzio was only the first of a sequence of murders of people close to that particular lady.’
‘I’m a bit hazy about the details of her life. I just remember that she was very tall and when they executed her they lifted the head up and her wig came off.’
‘What unusual details you pick on, Charles. I’m sure one of your psychologists would have something to say about the selective processes of your mind. But let me tell you, there’s quite a lot more significant stuff in the unfortunate queen’s story. I know it fairly well-as a schoolboy I spent one long wet holiday at Glenloan reading everything available on the subject. As you probably know, Mary was the daughter of James V of Scotland and Mary of Guise-’
Charles was in no mood for a schoolmaster’s lecture. Worry made him less tolerant than usual. ‘James, I’m sorry. I do have to go.
‘Well, let me lend you a book on the subject. I won’t give you one of my heavy schoolboy tomes. But there’s Antonia Fraser’s biography. Popular, but none the worse for that.’ His mental catalogue took him straight to the right volume on the shelf.
Charles was eager to leave now. He reached out for the book with muttered thanks, but James Milne kept hold of it and said with a twinkle, ‘If I might quote from the Great Unknown, Sir Walter Scott, “Please return this book; I find that though many of my friends are poor arithmeticians, they are nearly all good bookkeepers.” Not a bad joke, considering the source.’
Charles smiled politely and managed to leave. He was in no mood for swapping literary references. He found a pub in Dundas Street where he was unlikely to meet any of the D.U.D.S. and whiled away the time till Gerald’s arrival with the co-operation of Bell’s Whisky, Ltd.
The solicitor arrived at the terminal immaculate in a Prince of Wales check three-piece suit. He carried an overnight bag that looked like a giant pigskin wallet and obviously contained the neatly pressed shirt and pyjamas of a travel advertisement. ‘Hello, buddy. Wise me up on the gen.’
Charles cringed at the number of thrillers Gerald must have read, and suggested that they talk in a pub.
‘Why not in the hotel bar? Then I can check in and dump the bag.’
‘Which hotel?’
‘The North British.’ It had to be. Typical of Gerald. Polly had managed to fix it, and somehow the client would manage to pay for it.
Posh hotels were not Charles’ usual style, but whisky’s whisky anywhere. They sat in a dark corner and Gerald leant towards him conspiratorially. ‘O.K. Spill the beans,’ he whispered unsuitably.
‘Listen, is your firm engaged in any big film productions at the moment?’
‘We always are. Setting up a colossal Hudson movie out in Spain. Starts filming in September if we get the contracts sorted out.’
‘Have you got a stake in it?’
‘The firm has.’ The answer was discreet. Gerald never admitted his dabbling in film production, though it was common knowledge that he doubled his already considerable income by judicious investment.
‘So it wouldn’t be too difficult for you to pose as a film producer?’
‘It would hardly be a pose,’ he replied smugly, and then realised that this was tantamount to an admission of financial interest in films. ‘That is, I’m sure I could manage.’
‘Right. What I want you to do is to go to a revue called Brown Derby at the Masonic Hall in Lauriston Place. It starts at eleven. Now there’s a girl in that show called Anna Duncan. She’s a good actress, but even if you don’t think so, I want you to go round after the performance, introduce yourself as a film producer, say you’d like to talk to her about various ideas and would it be possible to meet for lunch tomorrow.’ His treachery tasted foul on his tongue, but it was necessary. He had to know.
