Simon Brett - So Much Blood

Gerald spooled on and started playing another extract. ‘Well, as you know, from last night,’ said Anna’s voice, ‘the show comes down about twelve fifteen and-’ He stopped the tape abruptly.

‘What was that?’ asked Charles.

‘Nothing.’

‘Switch the damned thing on!’ Gerald was powerless against this outburst of fury and sheepishly pressed the button. Anna’s voice continued, ‘We could meet after that if you like.’

‘I’m at the North British down on Princes Street. If you meet me in the foyer, say twelve thirty…’ Gerald grinned weakly at the sound of his own voice.

‘O.K. See you then.’ Anna’s tone was poisonously familiar.

Charles switched off the recorder and turned to his friend. ‘Ah,’ said Gerald, ‘now don’t get the wrong impression. What I thought was, if you were planning a confrontation with her, you d want to know where she was, and I thought that’d be handy. I mean, for heaven’s sake, you didn’t think that I’d…? I mean, I’m a married man. Kate and I have a perfect relationship and…’

He was still mumbling apologetically as Charles stormed out of the room.

At first he just walked furiously without noticing where he was going, but eventually calmed down enough to think of what his next step should be. It was midnight and now a confrontation with Anna was unavoidable. All the delicate feelings which had held him back before had been driven out by anger.

He knew her movements well by now. At twelve fifteen the show came down; he could meet her then at the Masonic Hall. Or he could go back to her flat to wait. But a perverse masochism made him reject both possibilities. At twenty past twelve he took up his position outside the North British Hotel. He leant against the corner of the building, at the top of the steps down to Waverley Station, and prayed she would not come. That at least would spare him the final twist of the knife in his wound. The idea of her deceiving him with Gerald was the most intolerable of all the foul thoughts he was suffering. He would wait till a quarter to one and then go up to the flat.

At twelve thirty she came. He heard the clack of heels and saw the familiar figure walking purposefully along Princes Street towards him. She was wearing the pale yellow shirt with fox-trotting dancers on it and the velvet trousers she had worn when he first took her out to dinner. That made it worse.

As she came close, he shrugged his back off the wall and stepped forward to face her. The pain was too intense for him to find words. He just stood there, rocking on his heels.

Anna did a slight take on seeing him, but when she spoke, her voice was even. ‘Charles. Hello. I thought we’d arranged to meet up at the flat.’

He managed to grunt out, ‘Yes’.

‘It’s just as well I’ve seen you actually, because I won’t be there till later. I’ve got to meet someone in the North British.’

He almost felt respect for the directness of her explanation until the lie followed. ‘It’s an aunt of mine who’s up in Edinburgh very briefly.’

‘You’re visiting your aunt at twelve thirty a.m.?’

‘Yes. I’ve been rehearsing all day, so there hasn’t been another opportunity. I’ll get back to the flat as soon as I can.’ She smiled. It was the same smile, the one he had warmed to all week. He realised suddenly that Anna was a perfectly tuned machine. She had all the charm and skills of a human being and knew how to use them like a human being, but inside, controlling everything, was the cold computer of selfishness. Sex, emotions, other people were nothing but programmes to be fed in to produce correct results quickly. Charles knew that he could never again believe anything she said. She was not governed by ordinary principles of truth, but by the morality of advantage.

‘You’re lying,’ he said sharply. ‘You’re going to the North British to see Gerald Venables. You’re going to see him because you think he’s a big film producer and can help your career. In the same way that you slept with me because I direct plays, and with Willy Mariello because he was a pop star and might have useful contacts.’ He wished the accusations carried some dignity rather than sounding clumsy.

A spark of anger came into the navy blue eyes when she started to speak, but it was quickly smothered. Her voice kept its level tone. ‘I see. You set Gerald Venables up?’

‘Yes.’

‘And he isn’t really a film producer? The part he was talking about doesn’t exist?’

‘He is a sort of occasional film producer. But no, the part doesn’t exist.’

She flared. He had hit her where it hurt most, in the career. ‘That was a dirty trick.’

For a moment he almost felt a twinge of guilt until he reminded himself of the situation. Anna carried such conviction in her acting. She went on. ‘I suppose I should have realised that it was unwise to mix with old men. They only get clinging and jealous.’

That stung him. ‘Good God! Do you think I set all this up as some elaborate charade to test your affection for me?’ He almost shouted the words. A tweedy middle-aged couple who were passing turned curiously.

‘I can’t think of any other reason why you should do it.’

That sounded genuine, but then everything she said sounded genuine. Charles was not going to be stopped now. It was a time for truths. And accusations.

‘I set Gerald up to get certain information from you.’

‘Like what?’

‘Like the fact that you and Willy Mariello were lovers.’

‘So what? At least he was my age. You see, you are jealous. Jealous of someone who’s dead. Anyway, Willy and I were finished. It happened while we were in Derby. We thought it would continue while we were up here, but it didn’t.’

‘You told Gerald it did, right up to Willy’s death.’

‘Oh, you’ve been spying carefully. That wasn’t true. I just said that to sound more like the girl in the film.’

That again sounded plausible. The set-up may have been too heavy, and Anna may just have given any information that seemed likely to help her to the part. But Charles was not checked. ‘Did Willy want the affair to end?’

‘No. He got clinging too. Kept trying to win back my affections. But I’d outgrown him.’

‘How did he try to win back your affections?’

‘Silly things.’

‘Like pushing Lesley Petter down the steps by the Castle?’ That did shake her. There was a long pause before she replied. ‘Yes. I suppose that was an attempt to get me back.’

‘Did you suggest it?’

‘No, I did not!’ she snapped. ‘I may have mentioned that I was understudying her, that the parts she was playing were good ones, but no…’

Charles could imagine her ‘mentioning’ with all the innocence of Lady Macbeth. ‘Listen, Anna, you’re in serious trouble.’

‘What on earth do you mean?’

‘Murder is a serious business.’

‘What? Are you accusing me of murder?’

‘Yes.’

‘You’re off your head. Whom am I supposed to have murdered?’

‘Willy.’

‘Good God.’ Now she really did look lost, stunned by the accusation. ‘It never occurred to me that he was murdered. And how in heaven’s name am I supposed to have done it? And why, for God’s sake?’

‘Why first. You incited Willy to nobble Lesley.’

‘That’s not true. It was his idea.’

‘Quite! He did it, thinking that you’d be grateful and bounce back into his arms. It gave him a hold over you and you were forced to go back to him.’

‘I didn’t.’

‘But then he became, as you say, clinging. He was a nuisance, he proved to be without influence in show business circles, but he was not easy to shake off because of your shared guilt over Lesley. So you killed him.’