friend round the Grosvenor Street office. Charles Paris was a reminder of the Mecken case and Gerald didn’t want to be reminded. He wanted to re-immerse himself in his regular work, wrangling over small clauses in film and television contracts, or even sorting out the odd divorce. Having clients charged with murder upset him; he thought it was irresponsible and didn’t want to dwell on it.
‘I don’t care,’ said Charles, ‘I think it’s important. I had a look at the book on the train, but couldn’t make much of it, so I thought two heads might be better than one. You always said you wanted to be included in any of my cases.
‘Charles, there is a difference between what one does professionally and what one does as a hobby.’ Gerald could be insufferably stuffy.
‘Murder’s a funny sort of thing to have as a hobby. Anyway, just give me five minutes of your time to look at this stuff and then I’ll leave you alone.’ Gerald looked dubious. ‘Good God, do I have to pay for your time?’
This at least brought a smile to Gerald’s lips. ‘You’d never be able to afford my rates, Charles.’
He took advantage of the shift of mood to redirect attention to the envelope on the desk. He shook it and out came a thin, blue-covered book and a beige plastic envelope. ‘Let’s concentrate on the diary first.’
He flicked through the pages. Gerald,’ in spite of himself, craned over to look. ‘Not much in it, Charles.’
‘No, that’s what makes it interesting. Why make such a palaver about hiding a book that contains so little information?’
‘Presumably because the little information it does contain is extremely secret.’
‘Yes. In other words, it had to be kept secret from Hugo. I mean, there was no one else in the house to hide things from, was there?’
‘No.’
‘The interesting thing is that there’s nothing at all until May. Then we have this entry — Saturday May 23rd, Backstagers’ Party. Now I know that Charlotte hadn’t been a member of the society long, so I reckon that could well have been her first contact.’
‘Seems reasonable, but it doesn’t get us far.’
‘No. Then we get these four dates in early June — Seagull auditions. That’s self-explanatory. And isn’t it typical of that Backstagers lot to make a big production out of it and have four whole evenings of auditions.
‘As we know, Charlotte was successful in the audition, because then in July we start getting rehearsals marked. Okay, that makes sense. She started the diary when she started getting involved in amateur dramatics.’
‘Not really something you’d treat as a big secret, is it, Charles?’
‘No, the secret bit comes later. But there’s something odd about this diary even from what we’ve seen so far. I mean, I can understand why she enters all the rehearsals — they’re quite complicated and she’d need to make a note of them — but why are there no engagements before the Backstagers’ party? I’m not going to believe that was the first time she went out in the year.’
‘No.’ Gerald sounded as if he was losing interest again.
Charles picked up the pace. ‘I think I know what it was. Not the first time she had gone out, but the first time she had arranged to go out herself., So far as I can tell, it was round that time that she and Hugo ceased to communicate. I think starting this diary was an identity thing for her. All right, if Hugo and I are not having a life together, I’ll damned well make a life of my own. And this little diary was a symbol of that determination, of her separateness. And if that’s why she started the diary, it explains the later entries. The Affair.’ He pronounced it portentously to whet Gerald’s appetite. ‘Look.’
Starting late August, in the midst of all the Seagull rehearsals, there was a new series of notes. Lunchtimes. 1.0 — Waterloo. 1.0 — Charing Cross. 1.0 — Charing Cross again, then back to Waterloo. A whole sequence of them.
The last was different. It was for the Tuesday of that week. 1.0 — Victoria. But that was one railway station rendezvous Charlotte Mecken did not make. Because by then she was dead.
‘You reckon it was a lover?’
‘It would fit rather cosily, wouldn’t it, Gerald?’
‘But I thought you were working on the idea that she was having an affair with someone in the Backstagers. Surely that’d be strictly local.’
‘Not if they wanted any degree of privacy. To have an affair in a place like Breckton would be like having it off in the middle of Wembley Stadium on Cup Final day.’
‘Hmm. So you reckon it was someone who worked in Town.’
‘Which would apply to every man in Breckton.’
‘Yes. It still seems odd to me that she should write all these things down. Surely it was courting disaster. I mean, if Hugo had found this book…’
‘I think that danger was part of the excitement. Anyway, it would have been just as damning if Hugo had found these.’ Charles indicated the small beige plastic envelope.
Gerald picked it up and slid out a rectangle of foil round the edge of which was a line of transparent blister, some of which contained small white pills. The solicitor looked up blankly. ‘What is it?’
Charles laughed ‘Oh Gerald, what touching. naivete. Have you never seen these before? Of course, they’re not really of our generation. We and our wives and girl friends did not have such modern conveniences at our disposal.’
Gerald coloured. ‘You mean these are contraceptive pills?’
‘Exactly.’ Charles couldn’t resist a little further tease. ‘I think that’s a very heart-warming comment on your marriage, Gerald. That you shouldn’t even recognize these new-fangled inventions. Fidelity is not dead. If you’d spent as much time as I have hopping in and out of unsuitable young women’s bedrooms, you’d know sure enough what — ’
Gerald was not amused. ‘I think you’d better put them away, Charles. Polly might come in.’
‘You’re beautifully old-fashioned, Gerald. I rather think Polly would recognize them.’
Gerald took refuge in a look at his watch. ‘Look, I’ve got rather a lot to get on with.’
‘Okay. I’ll stop sending you up and be quick. These pills are the final proof that Charlotte was having an affair. Not only because of the way in which they were hidden, but because I happen to know that Hugo was in favour of more primitive methods of contraception.’
Gerald’s eyes opened wide. ‘How on earth do you know that? It’s hardly the sort of thing you’d talk about.’
Charles laughed again at his friend’s sedateness. ‘He did mention it actually. But look, that’s not the only thing these pills tell us. There’s something else strange about them. Look.’
Gerald cast an embarrassed eye over the foil and shrugged. ‘Don’t see anything.’
‘The last pill was taken on a Wednesday.’
‘So?’ Gerald was looking distinctly uncomfortable. The conversation was straying beyond the boundaries of what he considered suitable masculine subject matter.
‘Charlotte was killed on Monday night and yet the last pill was taken on a Wednesday. It wasn’t the end of her cycle because there are still pills left. So it means that she stopped taking the pills at least five days before she died.’
‘Maybe she just forgot them.’ Gerald’s interest was beginning to overcome his embarrassment.
‘Unlikely. Though I suppose she was very tied up with the play and it’s possible. But you would have thought a married woman in the middle of an affair would be extra careful.’
‘Unless the affair had broken up and she no longer had any use for the pills.’
‘That’s a thought. That is a thought.’ The existence of a jilted lover opened new vistas of motivation. But there was a snag. ‘On the other hand, if we look back at the diary, there’s that Victoria assignation for the Tuesday, not to mention a Charing Cross one for the Monday. Which rather suggests that the affair was still swinging along. So that can’t be why she stopped taking the pills.’
The flow of logic had stopped. Charles sighed. He was buzzing round something important, but he hadn’t found it yet. He had got the right pieces, but he wasn’t putting them in the right order. ‘Oh well, I suppose the first thing is to find out who the lover was.’
‘I should think, if he exists, the police would know by now.’
‘Do you reckon?’
