‘Bad at the moment?’
‘Not a good time for the architect on his own. No one’s building anything.’
‘The economic situation.’
‘Yes.’
‘Like everything else. Like why theatres are cutting down on resident companies, why managements are putting on less shows…’
This banter was conducted at a pleasant enough level, but they both knew that it was only a formal observance preceding something more important. Charles decided there was little to be gained by further prevarication. ‘I’ve come to talk about Charlotte Mecken.’
‘Ah.’ Geoffrey Winter tensed fractionally at the name, but he didn’t give anything away. Charles got the same message that he had got from the performance as Trigorin, that here was a man of considerable emotional depth, but with great control over his reactions. He did not let anything emerge until he had fully considered how he wanted to present it.
Charles had hoped for more reaction and was thrown when he didn’t get it. So he blundered on and, after a brief explanation of his belief in Hugo’s innocence, asked point blank if Geoffrey had been Charlotte’s lover.
The response was an ‘Oh,’ delivered absolutely flat; it gave nothing. But Geoffrey Winter was only playing the pause for maximum dramatic effect. Charles recognized the acting technique and let the silence ride. At last Geoffrey spoke.
‘Well, congratulations. You’ve done your homework well. There’s no point in my denying it, you’re right. Since the police know, no doubt it’ll all come out at Hugo’s trial, so why should I pretend? Yes, I was Charlotte’s lover until she… died.’
He changed pace suddenly on the last word, straightened up in his chair and turned to look out over the irregular roofs of London. As if in the grip of strong emotion. Charles always found it difficult to judge with actors. Since their lives were devoted to simulation, it was often hard to distinguish when their feelings were genuine.
He didn’t offer any comment; he let Geoffrey play the scene at his own pace. Sure enough, when the pause had extended far enough to make even a Pinter audience feel uncomfortable, Geoffrey turned back from the window and looked piercingly at him. ‘I suppose your next question is going to be — did I kill Charlotte?’
In fact, that was not where Charles’s suspicions were leading, but he decided to play along with the scene. ‘I was going to be a bit more subtle than that.’
‘Well, Charles, the answer is no. I didn’t kill her. It would have been perverse for me to… I had no cause to break up what was happening… about the best… thing that…’ Again he was overcome by real or simulated emotion (or, most likely, an amalgam of the two). He turned back to the window.
‘I’m sorry to put you through this, Geoffrey. I realize it must be painful. But Hugo is a friend and I have to investigate every avenue.’
Geoffrey was once again master of himself (if indeed he had ever relinquished control). ‘I quite understand. I’ve been through all this with the police.’
‘How did they find out?’
‘Not difficult. They checked Charlotte’s comings and goings with the staff at Breckton Station, realized the convenient position of my office for such an affair, then came and asked me, more or less as you have done. It seemed pointless to try and hide the facts. It would only have made things worse.’
‘Did they ask you if you’d killed her?’
‘They, as you intended to be, were a bit more subtle than that. But they did ask a few pertinent questions about my movements on Monday. I think they were just checking; I didn’t get the impression they had much doubt about Hugo’s guilt. In fact, they came to see me after he had been arrested, so I suppose they were just building up the background to the case.’
Charles must have been looking at Geoffrey quizzically, because the architect seemed to read his thoughts. He gave a dry laugh. ‘Yes. I’ll tell you what I told the police. I’ll establish my alibi for you — as I believe the saying goes.
‘Part of it you know, because you were with me in the Back Room. As you recall, we left there together and walked down to the main road. Now, in case you’re thinking that I might have immediately doubled back and taken the insane step of strangling someone I loved, it seems that there is proof that Charlotte was still alive and well at nine o’clock. Shad Scott-Smith, you may remember, in the Back Room buying drinks for The Seagull cast. Because Charlotte wasn’t there, he rang her from his home at about ten to nine. He rang off at nine. The reason he could be so specific is that he heard the opening of I, Claudius on the telly and he wanted to watch it.’
‘It seems to have cut a swathe through the lives of an entire generation, that programme.’
‘It did. Big success. Pity you weren’t in it.’
‘Yes, there’d be some pretty useful repeats on something like that. I’m afraid I’ve never been in what’s been hailed as a television success.’
The change of subject relaxed the tension between the two men and Geoffrey continued in almost a bantering tone. ‘Right, on with my alibi. I arrived home just before nine to find that Vee, as another member of the generation decimated by 1, Claudius, was all geared up to watch. I left her to it and went upstairs to do some work on my lines for The Winter’s Tale.
‘For the next bit, I have cause to be thankful that I have a bloody-minded neighbour. Apparently, old Mrs Withers next door, who goes to bed at about nine, could hear me ranting away through the wall — her bedroom’s right next door to my study. Apparently she’s not a great fan of Shakespeare and later on, when I got a bit carried away with the character, she took it upon herself to ring up the police and complain. A very apologetic constable was round at our place for some time saying that old ladies could be very difficult Apparently, according to the police in the murder case, this means that I’m covered for the time of the death’
He paused, not with satisfaction or triumph, but as if he had reached a natural conclusion. Then he added, ‘Fortunate, really. Most evenings spent at home, it would be very difficult to account for one’s movements.’
‘Thank you very much for going through it all again. And for bearing with my wild accusations.’
‘That’s quite okay. I sympathize with your motives. I’m as keen as you are to find the person who killed Charlotte. I just thought he had already been found.’
‘You may well be right. Certainly the fact that she was having an affair would give Hugo even more of a motive. Do you know if he knew about it?’
‘No idea. Charlotte and I didn’t discuss him.’
‘From my conversations with him, I got the impression that he thought she was having an affair, but didn’t know who with.’
Geoffrey smiled painfully. ‘Ironic though it may seem, Charlotte and I did try to be discreet about it. I mean, never let on what we felt for each other round Breckton. We didn’t want to be gossip-fodder for the Backstagers.’
‘Very wise. So she always came up here?’
Geoffrey nodded sadly. ‘Yes. It started in the summer. You remember the long, hot summer?’
This new note of wistfulness, like everything else, sounded contrived. Charles didn’t respond to it. ‘Tell me, why did Charlotte come sometimes to Charing Cross and sometimes to Waterloo?’
Geoffrey raised his eyebrows and nodded in appreciation. ‘Ten out of ten for homework. To answer that question, I think you have to understand what Charlotte was like. It was her first affair, she treated it with great excitement, and I think much of the excitement came from the secrecy. Corning to different stations was her idea of discretion, of covering her tracks. She was very young. As you see,’ he continued with irony, ‘the smoke-screen was not very effective. It. didn’t take the police — or you — long to see through it.’
Charles felt a glow of satisfaction for his understanding of Charlotte’s character. ‘And was it for the same reason that she planned to go to Victoria on the day after she died?’
‘Victoria?’
‘I’d better explain. I found Charlotte’s engagement diary down at the house. She’d listed all your meetings by a time and the name of the terminus she was coming to. The last two entries were one o’clock at Charing Cross on the Monday, the day she died, and then one o’clock on the Tuesday at Victoria.’
‘Ah, I didn’t know she’d done that.’
‘What — put the places down in the book?’
‘Yes. Yes, that must have been it.’ For the first time in their interview he seemed to be in the grip of some
