Gently with Love (6 page)

T
HE COURSE ENDED
and I returned to town. I was quickly involved in a case of some consequence. It concerned the death of a wealthy socialite and a man distantly connected with my sister’s husband. The case was not merely of consequence to the news media (though a dramatic development brought them running) but it included a suspect who, in the upshot, was to change my life quite radically. In short, I fell in love. I met the woman who presumably had been waiting for me. I must confess that I fell with all possible reluctance because, as I said, she was one of my suspects. But she was cleared; she had made up her mind; it then remained for me to make up mine; and my private life for a time was preoccupied in coming to terms with this engaging problem. Thus the affair of Colin’s family and Earle Sambrooke tended to be pushed out of my mind, and I was thinking of anything but that when, three months later, I came across a short paragraph in the
Evening Standard
.

At Bow Street Magistrates’ Court today Earle Jeffrey Sambrooke (29), a newsreader, was fined £50 for assaulting the radio and television actor, Nigel Fortuny. The offence took place in Fortuny’s flat at 23, Surrey Gardens, St John’s Wood. Sambrooke pleaded guilty.

I still had Earle’s number. I rang him. ‘What’s this trouble you’ve been in with Fortuny?’

‘You read the paper?’

‘Yes.’

‘I busted that creep on the jaw.’

‘But what’s it about?’

‘I’d sooner not discuss it.’

‘It has to do with Anne, hasn’t it?’

He hesitated and I knew I was right: I’d had money on Fortuny from the start.

‘Look, I’d appreciate a chat,’ I said. ‘Join me at home for a bite to eat.’

‘I’m not sure that I want to chat to coppers at the moment. And I sure as hell don’t have an appetite.’

‘You’re feeling sore. I’m not surprised.’

‘I feel I could punch a hole in a wall.’

‘I’ve got a wall that needs a hole in it.’

He was silent. Then: ‘All right.’

I called in Mrs Jarvis and requested her savoury omelettes for supper. About half an hour later Earle slammed his Pontiac against the kerb outside. The Pontiac was no longer spruce and its owner was sporting a modest black eye. His step had lost a little of the bounce that once had been so characteristic. He held out his hand.

‘Hiya, fella.’

I led him to the study where drinks were waiting. Earle took his glass and prowled for a moment, eyeing the books, the furniture, the pictures. Then he turned and gave me a look. There was desperation in his voice.

‘Where is she, George?’

I shook my head. ‘I don’t know where she is, Earle.’

‘That’s what they both say, Alex and Verna. But someone has to know.’

‘You think that they do?’

‘I’m darned sure of it. She certainly would have got in touch with one of them. She wouldn’t let Verna worry. But me, I don’t rate a picture postcard.’ His eye was keen. ‘Have you been seeing them?’

‘Not since my stay at Blockford.’

He paused before nodding. ‘I guess not. I just feel it’s all happening behind my back.’

He pulled up an old Spanish chair which I use mostly to stack magazines on and sank on its comfortless leather seat with a motion that was tired and heavy. Those three months had certainly changed him. The gaiety that had been his charm was gone. Instead he had a brooding, resentful expression that made his face look lumpier, plainer. He had never been handsome; now the boyishness had left him; he seemed to have lost his youth at a stroke. And there was a pallor in the slightly fleshy cheeks, an unhealthy tone: I suspected drink.

‘You are bound to feel down a bit at the moment. Being done in court is never much fun.’

‘It’s no fun at all. It’s like being stripped. I just want to quit this stuffed-shirt country.’

‘Who was the beak?’

‘Name of Hoskins.’

‘I know him. You could have done worse.’

Earle said nothing. He was sitting elbows on knees, rolling his untouched glass between his hands.

‘Was it worth fifty quid?’

‘Huh.’

‘I take it you got the better of the scrap.’

‘I knocked him cold. It was worth the dough. But I should have beaten him to a bloody pulp.’

‘Then you’d have been inside.’

‘So what. I’m not doing so good out here. I’ve been figuring it out. For under ten years I could have fixed that louse for keeps.’

‘You’ve been drinking,’ I said. ‘Or you wouldn’t talk like that to a copper. You had better tell me what’s going on. It could save you another dip in your pocket.’

Earle rolled the glass a little more. ‘That snake has been seeing Anne. I think he knows where she is. I had a go at beating it out of him.’

‘When did he come into it?’

‘When we had the row.’

‘You mean it was really about him?’

Earle shook his head. ‘It was the way you were told. But when I moved out, he moved in.’

Then he told me about Fortuny. Fortuny was a man with a reputation. He was a minor actor but he was also a freelance scriptwriter and a producer. He was handsome; from Earle’s description I could envisage a tall, athletic man, with crisp black hair, blue, smiling eyes and the features of a male fashion model. He was not greatly successful at his occupations but he had a charm that helped him along, and he was the particular friend of a Programme Controller whom Earle described as eating out of his hand. He was thirty-five and unmarried: his reputation was with the ladies. Though they were not forward to marry him he seemed to be the type of lover that every woman needed, once, before she died. He had been in trouble about women. Earle was not the first to endanger Fortuny’s classic profile, but it appeared that Fortuny could handle himself and it was usually the other man who came off worst. One or two cases had come to court and there had been other disgruntled fine-payers; while, eighteen months earlier, an incident had occurred that had led to a criminal action. Earle’s expression was angry as he spoke of it.

‘Fortuny had a part in a TV play. It was called
The Lost Harvest
, it was about herring fishing, and they were shooting on location at Lowestoft. They’d hired a trawler. The trawler crew were in the film along with the cast. After the day’s shooting the crew were invited along to the hotel where the unit was staying. One of the deckhands brought his girlfriend – he was swanking a bit, you can bet – and Fortuny made a play for her, and the youngster pulled a knife. They got them apart. Nobody was hurt. It probably wouldn’t have happened except for the booze. But Fortuny called in the cops and the kid got six months in Norwich jail.’ Earle’s eyes were glinting. ‘What do you think of that?’

I shrugged. ‘I’ve met his type before. I think they are probably mildly psychotic. The sad part starts when they begin to grow old.’

‘Psychotic my foot. A louse is a louse.’

‘What was the trick he played on Alex?’

‘Oh that. He swiped a programme. Anything goes with Fortuny.’

But it was serious enough, I learned: at least it was in Alex’s eyes. It had happened during the previous summer when Alex and Fortuny were still friendly. Fortuny came down to spend a weekend. Alex was working on an idea. It was a dramatized history of the great Victorian industrialists, to run in a serial of twenty parts. Alex was enthusiastic. He discussed it with Fortuny, who had experience in planning serials. He showed Fortuny a synopsis of the whole and detailed treatment of two of the instalments. Then Alex submitted it to the Programme Controller, the same who was friendly with Fortuny. It was turned down. A month later, an identical series was accepted from Fortuny. Alex complained; it did him no good; the Controller would listen to no criticism of Fortuny. What was worse, Alex found himself passed over when other projects were being allocated. Needless to say there had been scenes with Fortuny, though they had not finished up in brawls, and it was easy to see why Alex reacted so strongly when Fortuny’s name was mentioned. Fortuny had not merely played him a dirty trick; he was jeopardizing Alex’s career.

I listened to all this with growing scepticism. ‘But Anne would never have taken up with Fortuny.’

‘Look, fella, when we had that bust-up Anne was pretty bitter with me.’

‘But what proof have you?’

‘Lots of proof. How do you think I’ve been spending my time? I’ve been asking questions, just like you would, and grilling everyone who knew her. She was seen with him, seen in his car, seen coming out of his flat. That Lothario caught her on the rebound. Somehow he managed to turn her head.’

‘If he did it was only temporarily.’

‘She jilted me, didn’t she?’

‘And you suspect she is with him now?’

‘That’s why I busted into his flat. But she wasn’t around when I was there.’

I shook my head. ‘You acted like an idiot. You can’t just go busting into people’s flats.’

‘You can if you’re prepared to take the consequences.’

‘I begin to think that Hoskins let you down lightly.’

We went in to our meal, where I had the satisfaction of seeing him tackle his omelette with appetite. No doubt our talk was doing him good and I surmised that he had nobody else in whom he could confide. But I couldn’t accept his notion about Anne being with Fortuny. She had too much character to become attached to such a man. I could imagine her solacing her outraged feelings with him but she would have dropped him without a pang when she and Earle were reconciled. Fortuny might be the reason why she resigned; she would be wanting to withdraw from contact with him. But of himself he could not be the reason for her disappearance, and his flat would be the last place where I would have looked for her. Alas there was another, more heart-rending, possibility. I wondered that it hadn’t occurred to Earle. Apparently it hadn’t, and I felt that this was no time to increase his anguish by suggesting it. At least, as he ate steadily through the omelette, he was beginning to see some sense about Fortuny.

‘You know, I may be a mug to think she ran off with him. She wouldn’t let that louse take her in so easily. Fortuny has a reputation that stinks. She couldn’t ever have kidded herself he would marry her.’

‘I’m certain she didn’t go to him.’

‘So it comes back to me. There was something about me that she wasn’t sure of. Perhaps that gigolo soured her on men. I should have taken it out of his hide.’

‘I think you’d better get him out of your mind.’

Earle ate in silence for a few moments. ‘I guess I’ve come to a dead end,’ he said at last. ‘Busting Fortuny was just making the motions.’

‘She loved you, Earle. I’ll swear to that.’

He gave me a twisted look. ‘Past tense is right. And there’s not a thing I can do about it. She’s gone, and I’m not to know where.’

‘I believe she’ll get in touch with you when she’s ready.’

‘But how long is that going to be, fella? Doesn’t she know I’m eating away inside like there’s a hole there that can’t be filled?’

‘Just trust her.’

‘It’s like everything had stopped. It stopped that evening back in Blockford. I don’t want to do anything, don’t want to be anything. It’s all standing still: until I find her.’

I was silenced. I thought that perhaps I could put him in the way of finding her, but if what I suspected was true I felt it was best that Anne should play it her own way. She had acted hastily but she had had time to consider and I thought she could be relied upon to judge wisely. It was hard on Earle, but it might be harder on Anne if I sought to interfere. I refilled his glass; he drank automatically.

‘Why not take a trip?’ I suggested.

‘You mean get away from it all, that jazz?’

‘The remedy has been known to work.’

He drank, then shook his head. ‘It wouldn’t work in my case. Suppose she rang me when I was away. I wouldn’t be able to live long enough to get back.’

‘She’ll find a way to reach you when she wants to, and meanwhile you’re doing no good here. You were going to visit your father in the fall. He’s probably looking forward to it. I should go.’

Earle hesitated. ‘That’s good advice. I wish I had the guts to take it.’

‘Then go.’

He gave a heavy sigh. ‘But that was to have been a double ticket.’

H
E MADE THE
trip: I talked him into it. It seemed the kindest thing that I could do. If my theory was correct I felt convinced that Anne would not try to contact him just then. Also I was by no means persuaded that Earle’s vendetta with Fortuny had ended in the Bow Street Magistrates’ Court; a cooling-down period in Hamilton, Ontario had a great deal to recommend it.

After he had gone that evening I rang Verna.

‘Verna, I’ve just been talking to Earle.’

‘What about Earle?’

I took it that Verna didn’t see the London evening papers.

‘He’s been in trouble with Nigel Fortuny. He burst into Fortuny’s flat and assaulted him. The case was in court this morning and Earle was fined fifty pounds.’

A few moments passed while Verna digested this. ‘George, I haven’t much time for Earle these days. He’s behaving like a child. He was very rude to me. He seems to hold us responsible for Anne’s jilting him.’

‘He had an idea that she was with Fortuny.’

‘That’s ridiculous and he knows it. I don’t know why everyone is so against Nigel. I thought he was charming when he was down here.’

‘You think perhaps he’s being misrepresented.’

‘I can only speak as I find. I know that Alex has taken against him, but that’s no reason why I should too. And as for Earle’s conduct, it’s disgraceful. I don’t think a fifty-pound fine is adequate. I’m beginning to see now why Anne ran out on him. His behaviour isn’t civilized.’

‘He wanted to know where Anne was.’

‘My God, you didn’t tell him, did you?’

So Verna knew.

‘I decided it best to leave matters where they stood.’

Verna was silent. She was wondering too late if I really did know, and if so, how. But if she was conscious of having given herself away she persuaded herself that probably I hadn’t noticed.

‘When she gets in touch I shall take great care that Earle is the last person to be told. That boy isn’t stable. I should have thought he’d proved that by what he did to poor Nigel.’