Brought to Book (10 page)

‘A bit pointless, though, isn't it, going to all the trouble of encrypting your diaries, then using a code any of your readers could work out?'

‘His readers wouldn't be reading the diaries.'

‘I bet his wife did.'

Rona said slowly, ‘You think she knows more than she's told me?'

‘All I'm saying is she knew parts of his diaries were in code, and that he'd used one in a book. She wouldn't be human not to have had a crack at it.'

‘Then why didn't she tell me, when she knows I'll be going through them anyway?'

‘Ask me another. Have you got them at home?'

‘No, she wants me to work on them there.'

‘Well, they should provide at least some of the answers.' He turned into Lightbourne Avenue and drew up outside the house.

‘I certainly hope so,' Rona said. ‘According to Meriel, he purposely used a code that wasn't too complicated, so readers could crack it if they tried.'

‘How very patronizing!' Max remarked, getting out of the car.

It had been misty all day, and now a cold, needle-sharp rain was falling. They hurried up the path and he opened the door, to be nearly knocked over by a boisterous welcome from Gus.

‘Sorry you've been alone all day,' Rona apologized, fondling his velvety ears. ‘Be a love, Max, and walk him round the block before you take your coat off; he hasn't had any exercise since first thing this morning.'

‘Bloody dog,' Max said amiably, handing her a carrier bag.

‘What's this?'

‘Ingredients for the weekend's meals. Don't panic; all you're required to do is take them down to the kitchen.'

‘What would I do without you?' she said.

‘Starve!' he retorted, and, fastening Gus's lead, went out again into the wet evening.

Over supper in the sunshine-yellow kitchen, with rain sluicing against the glass doors and darkness outside, Rona told Max about her visit to Lindsey.

‘She's worried Hugh won't take no for an answer,' she finished, dissecting her herbed lamb cutlet. ‘You know how stubborn he can be.'

‘Perhaps he thinks “no” means “maybe”,' Max suggested. ‘It has in the past.'

Rona shot him a look. She'd not betrayed her twin's confidences, but it seemed Max guessed she was having second thoughts. ‘I wish she could meet someone else,' she said.

He refilled her wine glass. ‘To change the subject, one of my students was asking about this biography of yours. She'd read that snippet in the paper, and it seems her family has a weekend cottage not far from Harvey's.'

Rona looked up eagerly. ‘Did she see him up there?'

‘Occasionally, she said. Her father sometimes met him in the pub.'

‘That could be promising. What's their name?'

‘Bromsgrove. I've got her phone number in my briefcase – I thought you'd be interested.'

‘Thanks, yes, I am. I cursed Barnie for getting on to the press, but it seems he's done me a good turn after all. I'll give them a ring in the morning.'

Before she could do so, however, she received a call herself. They had slept late, and were still in their dressing gowns having breakfast when the phone rang. Rona hastily swallowed a piece of toast before lifting it.

‘Ms Parish?' enquired a pleasant female voice. ‘This is Sister Maudsley, at Stapleton House; I'm ringing on behalf of Mr Reginald Harvey.'

‘Oh – oh, yes?'

‘He received a letter from you this morning, and has asked me to contact you to arrange an appointment.'

‘It's good of him to reply so promptly. When would be convenient?'

The woman sounded faintly amused. ‘He says every day's the same for him, so he leaves it to you.'

The sooner, the better, Rona thought. ‘How about Monday?'

‘I'm sure that would be fine. Speaking personally, though, I'd be grateful if you could make it after ten thirty; we have quite a complicated morning routine.'

‘Of course. How about eleven o'clock?'

‘That should do admirably. Do you know how to find us? We're just off the main road, about six miles outside Chesham.'

‘I'll find you. Thanks, Sister Maudsley.'

‘The old father?' queried Max, spreading another slice of toast.

‘Yes, bless him. Let's hope they're all as quick off the mark.'

After their late start, the morning passed quickly. Rona made her call to the Bromsgroves and arranged to meet them at their home at six p.m. on Monday. ‘Two interviews in one day!' she commented. ‘A promising start; it would be great if I could get through the first batch next week.'

The heavy rain continued, and to his indignation, Gus was deprived of his morning walk and simply let out in the garden.

‘We'll have to take him somewhere this afternoon,' Rona said. ‘It's only fair.'

Consequently, encased in waterproof jackets and trousers, they set off after lunch to walk to the park, hands deep in their pockets. Rona had pulled her hood up, but Max spurned his, seeming to relish the rivulets which coursed over his hair and down his face. ‘It makes you really come alive,' he said.

They had not passed anyone else on the climb up to the park, and when they reached it, it seemed deserted. The usual view of the town was obscured by low cloud, giving them the eerie feeling of being suspended in space, and with each footstep their feet sank deeper into the soggy ground.

‘It'll be nice when we've had enough!' Rona commented some ten minutes later, as Max again threw the dog's ball.

‘It seems we're not the only maniacs after all,' he remarked. ‘There's someone sheltering over there in the trees; he just bent down to pat Gus.'

Rona peered through the sheet of rain. ‘I can't see anyone.' She shivered, watching the dog come bounding back to them. ‘Do you think we've done our duty now? A cup of hot tea wouldn't go amiss.'

Max, too, was watching the dog's approach and his eyes narrowed suddenly. ‘What's that in his collar?'

Rona, turning back to look, saw something white against the golden fur. As he reached them, Max bent down quickly and extracted a folded piece of paper. ‘What the hell—?'

‘What is it?' She moved closer, looking over his shoulder at the wet scrap of paper. Already the ink on it was running, but its message was chillingly clear.

You would be well advised not to write Theo Harvey's biography,
it read.

Rona gave a little gasp. Max crumpled the note in his fist and, before she realized his intention, set off at speed for the clump of trees.

‘Max!' she called frantically. ‘Don't – please come back!'

Gus, thinking this a new game, set off after him, leaving her shivering and alone in the wet open spaces. Her heart was hammering uncomfortably. Whoever could have written the note, and why? And – oh God! – how would he react if Max confronted him?

Max and the dog, meanwhile, had vanished, obscured partly by the mist and partly by the stand of trees on the crest of the hill. For what seemed an eternity she waited, while the wind buffeted at her legs and rain blew in her face. Then, to her enormous relief, he reappeared, walking slowly now, with Gus trotting at his heels.

‘No sign of him,' he reported when he was within earshot.

‘You shouldn't have rushed off like that,' she upbraided him through chattering teeth. ‘He might have been lying in wait for you.'

‘I hoped he was,' Max answered tightly. ‘I'd have welcomed a chat.'

‘He knew who we were!' she said, the implications striking her for the first time. ‘He must have followed us from home.'

‘The price of fame. Forget it, love; he's just some nutter trying to make his mark.'

She gave a little shiver. ‘Let's go back.'

He bent down and, although they were some way from the park gates, clipped on Gus's lead. ‘We don't want you talking to any more strangers,' he said. And with a last glance behind him at the deserted expanse of grass, he tucked Rona's arm through his and set off at a brisk pace for home.

They didn't speak again until they reached the end of the short-cut and emerged on to Charlton Road, by which time Rona's uneasiness had been replaced by annoyance.

‘What the hell was he playing at?' she burst out suddenly. ‘If he was watching the house – and he must have been – why follow us all that way on a horrible day like this? Why not simply push the note through the door?'

‘I'd say he wrote it on the spur of the moment – it was a page torn from a diary. Think about it: there was no way he could have known Gus was going to run in his direction. As I said, he's probably some nutter who read about you in that damned paper and decided to play silly beggars.'

‘Perhaps it was Justin Grant,' she said with a forced laugh. ‘He has a habit of popping up when least expected.'

It was a relief to close the front door behind them, and while Max bent to unclip the dog's lead, Rona surreptitiously slipped on the chain. The afternoon had darkened prematurely, but as the hall light revealed the familiar outlines of home, the last of her fears evaporated.

‘Can I have another look at it?' she asked, as he hung up their wet jackets.

Max retrieved the scrunched-up ball of paper from his pocket and handed it to her, watching as she carefully smoothed it out. As he'd said, it was a page from a pocket diary, one side printed with dates in January of the next year, the other headed ‘Forward Planner'. Its unceremonious crumpling, combined with the rain, had made it all but illegible.

‘It's fairly literate, at least,' Max remarked, ‘but that's all that can be said for it. It belongs in the bin, and that's where it's going.' He took it from her and set off down the stairs to the kitchen. After a moment she followed him. He was at the sink, filling the kettle.

‘I bought some crumpets,' he said over his shoulder. ‘They're in the bread bin. Pop them in the toaster, will you, while I make the tea.'

She did so, then took Gus's towel off its hook and belatedly rubbed him down. Normally in such weather he waited on the door mat until his paws had been cleaned, but today they'd both been preoccupied. Which doubtless meant a trail of muddy paw-prints on the carpet.

Hot tea and butter-soaked crumpets were a welcome antidote to a disturbing afternoon. ‘I'll light the sitting-room fire,' Max said, ‘and we can have a cosy evening.' He watched as Rona wiped her buttery fingers. ‘On reflection, it might be wise to choose a different route for your walk for the next week or so.'

She looked up with a frown. ‘Why? I'm not going to let him scare me off. Anyway, if he
is
following me, he'll go wherever I go.'

‘Then just be sensible and avoid deserted places. Almost certainly this was a one-off, and having created alarm and despondency, I imagine he's well satisfied. Anonymous letter-writers seldom put their threats into effect – and in any case, this wasn't a threat so much as a piece of advice. Which,' he added humorously, ‘you might remember I gave you myself.'

‘Well, it's too late now,' Rona said firmly. ‘The contract is signed, the advance on its way, and I can hardly write to Jennings and say, “I've changed my mind because someone tucked a note in my dog's collar.” I'd never get another commission in my life. All the same,' she added diffidently, not looking at him, ‘I'd rather you didn't mention this to anyone, especially the parents. They'd only panic.'

‘Panic is preferable to foolhardiness. Just remember that.'

The subject wasn't mentioned again. They had their lazy evening in front of the fire, thick curtains blotting out the wet and windy night, and Rona, curled up in her chair, made a start on reading
Game for Fools
.

Since noticing the sameness in Harvey's heroes, she'd been faintly irritated to find that versions appeared in all but two of the books she'd read so far. He might almost have been a series character, except that his appearance, age and occupation varied from book to book, as, of course, did his name. And here he was again, his loud blustering masking his basic insecurity. Again she wondered if it could in any way be a self-portrait.

‘Ah!' she said aloud, in the middle of chapter four. ‘The code has reared its ugly head.'

Max looked up. ‘Does it look complicated?'

‘Incomprehensible, but I'm not going to waste time on it, since, as you said, it will be explained in the end.'

‘How many books have you left to read?'

‘Just the last two,
Dark Moon Rising
and
The Raptor.
I read them when they came out and created such a furore, but I'll need to go through them again, making notes and so on.'

‘And looking for clues?'

‘Yes; I only wish I knew what of.'

‘Well,' Max observed, ‘with these interviews you have lined up, perhaps by this time next week you'll have a better idea.'

Sunday passed without incident. The skies lightened, and though still cloudy, the rain held off. At Rona's insistence, they again went up to the park, and though they stayed for some time, throwing the ball for Gus in various directions and walking round the clump of trees, nothing untoward occurred.

‘I never thought it would,' Rona commented when, on the way home, Max remarked on the fact. ‘Going there today was by way of getting back on the horse after falling off. As far as our friend's concerned, he's delivered his message; now, he'll wait to see if I abide by it.'

He looked at her sharply. ‘You're not taking it seriously, are you?'

She shrugged. ‘I haven't written a word yet of this blasted bio, but already three people have warned me off – you, Justin, and now this crank. You can't blame me for feeling defensive.'

‘I just wish –' he began, and broke off.

She looked at him wryly. ‘So do I!' she said.