I heard Peter say no.
“I mean, you don’t have to be mean to the lad, you don’t have to make it obvious. Just avoid him, something like that. You don’t have to be cruel. Just don’t encourage him.”
“I don’t,” said Peter.
“I know,” said Mrs. Knott. “I know it’s very difficult with people like that. Your dad and I know that only too well. When you’ve a position to keep up, there’s always people wanting to hang on to your coattails. You can’t blame them, but the thing is they always drag you down in the end.”
“Yes, Mum,” said Peter.
“Never mind, love,” said Mrs. Knott. “Give us a hand with the trolley.”
I went into the toilet and closed the door behind me.
KNOTT
“Look, he’ll be here at eight o’clock and that’s all there is to it.”
“You’re damned right that’s all there is to it. Except for the excuses you have to make to him.”
“I told you at the weekend he was coming.”
“And I didn’t tell you that it was all right with me. So you’ll just have to put him off.”
I wound the telephone cable round my wrist.
“Kate, listen,” I said. “I know how you’re feeling right now.”
“Do you?” she said. “I wonder. Anyway that’s precisely why I’m not prepared to put myself out. Why should I? Why should I do anything for you?”
“You’re wrong, Kate,” I said. “Believe me. You’re so wrong.”
“I remember last time your saying exactly that. The only difference being that last time I believed you.”
“I promised it wouldn’t happen again and I’ve kept my promise.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Look, we can’t talk over the phone. Let’s wait till I get home.”
“There’s nothing to discuss.”
“All right,” I said. “So you don’t believe me. But just do this one thing for me.”
“Why are you so keen for him to come, anyway?”
“It’s just that I can’t put him off. He phoned this morning to see if it was still on and naturally I said yes. Thinking, as I told you, it’d be a one-off thing and that’d be the end of it. So having said yes, fine, I can’t phone him back because in any case I don’t know his number.”
“I thought you couldn’t bear him.”
“I can’t. I just want to get it over with.”
“You could explain and take him out to dinner.”
“That wouldn’t make any difference. He wants to come to the house and sooner or later he’d make sure that he did.”
“Why does he want to come to the house?”
“I’ve told you what he’s like. He probably wants to snoop. See what we’ve got, how we live. Probably wants to see what you’re like.”
“Me? Why?”
“Look, Kate,” I said. “Is it on or isn’t it?”
The freeze came back into her voice.
“I don’t know what I’ll be able to do.”
Thank God.
“Thanks,” I said. “And about what you think . . .”
“I don’t want to discuss it.”
“All right,” I said.
“What time did you say?”
PLENDER
I dropped into the Ferry Boat before I went round to Knott’s place. I knew Froy used the pub, and it was just an idea. I got my drink and sat down at a corner table, out of the light. If Froy came in, I didn’t want him to see me first.
And he did come in, about quarter of an hour later.
He wasn’t wearing his business suit. Instead he was wearing a leather sports jacket, a trendy cravat, a pink shirt, beige trousers and white corduroy shoes. His Pekinese was white, too. Certainly not the same old Froy I knew and loved.
He stood at the bar and ordered a Campari and stayed at the bar to drink it.
I just stayed where I was and looked at him, knowing that eventually he would notice me.
When he saw me, he didn’t show his surprise, I’ll give him that. But I knew I’d got him rattled. It was the right eyebrow that gave him away.
After I’d registered with him he turned back to his drink. I got up and walked over to the bar and stood next to him. I ordered another drink and when the barman went away Isaid,.“Fancy meeting you here, Mr. Froy.”
He turned his head a little in my direction, but only just.
“What are you doing here?” he said.
“Same as you, Mr. Froy, just having a drink.”
He took a sip of his Campari.
“I must say I do like your get-up, Mr. Froy. I really do. Real gear stuff, if you’ll pardon the expression.”
“Are you on business?” he said. “If so, I ought to move on.”
“Business? No. Not business. You stay where you are, Mr. Froy. It’s not business. I’m just visiting.”
“You have friends out here?”
“Something like that. Actually, I’m going to dinner.”
This time Froy arched both his eyebrows.
“Dinner, eh?”
I’m not the type to be invited to dinner, that’s what you mean, isn’t it, Mr. Froy, I thought. That’s what the eyebrows are for.
“Yes,” I said. “An old school chum.”
“Which one?”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Which school?”
I told him the name of the grammar school.
“Oh, I see,” said Froy, although he’d known all along.
You bloody old bastard, I thought. Just you wait, you old woman. Just you bloody well wait.
“It’s sort of old boys’ reunion,” I said.
“Really?” said Froy. “By the way, have you seen the evening paper?”
“No,” I said. “Why?”
“There’s an item about the proprietor of Peggy’s Bar. I thought you’d have seen it. He was found dead last night.”
“Oh yes?” I said.
“Yes,” he said. “Nasty business. Hanged himself in his own flat. Used a stocking.” “A stocking?” I said.
“Yes, well you know what these people are like. Apparently he left a note. Typed, of course. Something about him not able to carry on. Carry on—the way he was, one assumes.”
“Well, some of them do get like that in their old age,” I said, looking at Froy.
Froy took another drink.
“Well, oh well,” I said. “Old Peggy. That place just won’t be the same without him. Did you ever get in there, Mr. Froy?”
“No, I didn’t,” he said. “What I was driving at . . . well, you wouldn’t happen to know anything about the . . . er, the circumstances, would you, Plender?”
“The circumstances?”
“Well, I understand you use the place as a rendezvous for certain aspects of our activities. I just wondered if perhaps in one way or another . . .”
“It’s as big a surprise to me as it is to you, Mr. Froy.”
“I hope so,” said Froy. “You know what the position is if anything should go wrong at your end.”
“Mr. Froy,” I said. “Don’t worry. I know nothing.”
“I suggest, though,” he said, “that in any case it might be better to make different arrangements in the light of what’s happened. The police are bound to be around for a time and it’s better not to interfere with them too much at that level.”
“Of course, Mr. Froy.”
“Now, I must be off,” he said. “Can I get you something to drink?”
KNOTT
I stood in the dressing room, shaving with my electric razor. Kate was in the bedroom, sitting in front of her dressing table making her face up.
I stared into my own eyes as I pushed the razor round my face. My pupils were like pin-pricks and my face looked more bony than it had looked for years. My mouth was turned down at the edges in a kind of manic grimace. It was at a time like this, when I had to look at myself and see what I was, that the memories of what had happened pressed on me from the inside, bursting to get out. I wondered how much longer my frame could bear it, how much longer it would go on, when the finale would come. The finale. What did that mean? The police? Prison? What would I feel? Relief? Or would this supernormal anxiety state persist indefinitely? Perhaps Eileen would never be found. Perhaps the police would never walk up the drive to my front door. And what would that mean? A lifetime of little favours for Plender? To have him constantly on the phone to me, asking this, asking that? Which would be worse?
I stopped shaving and unplugged my razor and went through into the bedroom. Kate was still sitting at the dressing table.
I walked over to her and stood behind her.
“Kate,” I said.
I put my hands on her shoulders and squeezed. She froze under my grip. I sank down on to my knees and buried my face in her back. The smell of her body brought tears to my eyes.
“Kate,” I said. “Kate. What am I going to do?”
She turned round on her stool and I pushed my face into her lap. She was still stiff and I realised that my present actions would only endorse her disbelief; she would take them as proof of my unfaithfulness. My inability to control myself had made matters worse. And I’d caused Kate to panic too, to make her think the non-existent affair was far more serious than she’d imagined because suddenly the tenseness left her and was replaced by a shuddering apprehension . . . and she said, “Peter. Tell me. What is it?”
Christ. What was I going to say?
“Peter, you must tell me.”
“It’s just . . .”
“What, Peter?”
“It’s just that I can’t bear you not believing me. I can’t bear that you think I’m lying.”
She didn’t say anything.
“You must believe me,” I said. “I’m telling the truth.”
I felt her fingers tentatively touch my hair. I began to pull her towards me, down to the floor. She didn’t resist but her movements told me she was on the verge of being convinced, that she was hoping she could believe me.
Now she was on the floor with me and I rolled on top of her, pretending passion, pushing her underskirt up to her waist, pulling at her straps, feeling her between her legs.
She reacted with a terrific suddenness. She was all over me, biting, kissing, her grip on me frantically violent, her legs thrashing up and down the length of my body, her whole body spasmodically arching and relaxing in turn. She pushed me on to my back and squirmed on top of me, kissing me, mouth wide open, blinding me with her soft dark hair, pressing her knee between my legs.
I had to stop her. Plender would be here soon.
I took hold of her by the shoulders and with great difficulty pushed upwards. Her hair drifted across my face and tickled my mouth and she took hold of my wrists and jerked my hands away and pressed down on me again, pinning my arms above my head, almost suffocating me with her interminable kisses. Eventually I managed to swivel my head to one side and said, “Kate, we must stop. The time.”
She shook her head and began to try to kiss me again.
“Plender,” I said. “He’ll be here any minute.”
Kate stiffened again and then eventually relaxed and rolled over on to her back.
“Later,” I said, taking hold of her hand. “When he’s gone.”
Kate lay there for a minute and then abruptly she got up and straightened herself and sat down again at the dressing table. I remained where I was, lying on my back on the floor.
PLENDER
“What does a detective do?” I said, looking at Knott’s wife, drawing on my cigar. “It’s funny, everybody asks that. Peter asked me the other night, didn’t you, Peter?”
Knott nodded.
“Have some more brandy,” he said.
“Thanks,” I said. I looked at Knott’s wife again. “Well, what do you think he does, Kate?”
Knott poured me some more brandy trying not to appear too drunk. His wife said, “And me, Peter. I’ll have some more too.”
She pushed a strand of dark hair off her face and picked up her glass and offered it to Knott, her elbow on the table, her other hand supporting her chin. Knott gave her some brandy and she took a sip and said, “Darling, while you’re up, give me a cigarette.”
It was all for me. I knew that. It had been all evening. She’d been giving me those big brown eyes all night. And Knott knew it too. His wife thought he was having an affair, so what could he do about it?
I stretched out in my chair and placed my hands above my head.
“Come on,” I said. “What do you think a private detective does?”
Knott lit his wife’s cigarette and she inhaled and blew smoke across the table and leant back in her seat the way I was doing except that she folded her arms across her breasts and with the fingers that held her cigarette she scratched one of her arms just below the shoulder.
“What do I think a private detective does?” she said. “You mean apart from stealing about the grounds of old friends’ houses at dead of night and making off with their cars?”
“Not fair,” I said. (Gurney always used those words whenever he protested anything.) “That wasn’t business. That was in the way of being a favour. Wasn’t it, Peter?”
He nodded, not looking at me.
“All right,” she said. “Point taken. But you knew how to get into it, how to start it without the key, and how to get it out of the garage and down the drive without waking a soul. Presumably you can count those as business
methods
?”
“True,” I said, “true.”
“And so what aspect of your business entails knowing how to break and enter and steal a car?”
“You’re supposed to be telling me,” I said, smiling.
“Yes, I am, aren’t I,” she said. “Well, now, let’s see. On
television
—”
“Television!”
“On television, they don’t seem to do anything very much except get beaten up and leap in and out of girls’ bedrooms. And of course
always
producing a gun at precisely the right moment. Is that the way you do your business, Brian?”
“If I did then I’d need an awful lot of money in the bank to start with. Because I’m damned sure I’d never make any.”
“So you’re in it for the money?”
“What else?”
“You’re not a crusader?”
“You’re back on television again.”
“All right. Describe the case you’re working on at the moment. You do call them cases, don’t you?”
Knott said, “Perhaps Brian doesn’t really want to talk about it, darling.”
Knott’s wife twisted her head right round to look at him squarely in the face.
“You mean like a doctor or a lawyer? For ethical reasons?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “That’s for Brian to say.”
“I don’t mind,” I said. “It would only be wrong if I used any names.”