Lynda La Plante - The Legacy

Smethurst gave her a slow hand-clap and pushed his chair back from his desk.

‘I think, Charlie, she’ll be wonderful, and as you said, like a tigress, but I’m afraid, Miss Jones, you’ll have to control that temper of yours. In the witness stand it is imperative that you behave like a lady at all times, never raise your voice — never — just answer clearly and concisely, understand?’

Suddenly he threw a question, like a dart, towards Evelyne.

‘So who do you think killed those miners, hum? Any ideas?’

She swallowed and looked down at her hands, licked her lips and lifted her head to stare straight into Smethurst’s bright eyes.

‘I have no idea, sir.’

He chucked the pencil down and opened a drawer,

300

took out some toffees and unwrapped one. ‘That was a lie, but don’t… no, don’t argue with me, I don’t want to know, just tell me whether Freedom Stubbs himself is innocent.’

Evelyne kept her voice level, her eyes fixed firmly on Smethurst. ‘He did not kill those lads.’

‘Good, good, because I don’t think he’s guilty either. Right, let’s get started, yes?’ He flicked a look at Sir Charles who caught it like a tennis player and with a brief nod to Evelyne instructed her to wait in his car.

Smethurst waited until the door closed behind Evelyne before speaking. His manner changed slightly, he grew quieter, less expansive. He unwrapped another toffee. ‘I think, Charlie, it’s best that you let Miss Jones settle her own accounts at the hotel. By all means hand her the finances, but I don’t want it known you are paying her way. Secondly, I shall check all the alibis the fellow has and then get back to you, leave the statements of Collins and Lord Carlton to her … Oh, and fix the gypsy up, you know, get him a suit, looks better if he’s respectable, I think that’s about it for now.’

As Sir Charles rose to leave, Smethurst rocked in his chair.

‘You still see that chap you used to adore at school, Willoughby something-or-other? Still fond of him, are you?’

Sir Charles prodded the floor with his cane. ‘Killed in action, Ypres.’

‘Oh, sorry, nice fella … so, Charlie, you think you’ll have a champion, do you?’

Sir Charles smiled softly, leaned on his cane. ‘When have I ever been wrong? So, what do you think our chances are?’

Smethurst sniffed, sucked at his toffee. ‘Not good, but then I have never lost a case. I’d like to get Freddy Carlton’s statement sewn up, and that other bloke, Collins. Push those through, they are rather important.’ Sir Charles already had the door open and his trilby sat on his head at a jaunty angle. He tapped his cane. ‘Leave it to me … Thank you, Ethel, for the delicious tea and ginger nuts, good afternoon.’

***

Smethurst rocked backwards, then swivelled round in his chair. He thought Sir Charles was still the unfathomable gent he had been at school. The question of fees hadn’t even arisen, but he was sure he would make a fair amount.

‘Ethel, I think, dear heart, we’d better get the press on our side for this one, start calling them, would you?’

The case was by no means easy, and if the truth be known Smethurst felt they didn’t stand a chance in hell of acquittal. The gypsy was, after all, charged with not one murder but four … but, by Christ, it would make headlines, and with the society mixture Smethurst knew he had a very potent cocktail.

***

Evelyne could feel her whole body tense up. Her mouth went dry, but there was no turning back now. The operator was on the line, and with an encouraging nod from Miss Freda she went into her carefully rehearsed speech. ‘Would you please put me through to Lord Frederick Carlton’s residence, the number is Cardiff five-five-four …’

Miss Freda moved closer, listening. Evelyne covered the mouthpiece. ‘It’s going through, don’t get so close, you make me nervous.’

Miss Freda edged away. Evelyne went red, swallowed. ‘Hello, is that you? Er’, you may not remember me, but my name is … oh … oh yes, I would like to speak with Lord Freddy Carlton please … Evelyne Jones …’

‘What did he say? What, what?’

Evelyne hissed, ‘It was the butler, shusssshhhhh …’

Freddy reached for the phone, irritated. These newfangled things were a dreadful intrusion on one’s privacy. Even more so with a friend like David Collins. One was forced to accept calls from God knows who, and on reverse charges. He snapped into the phone. ‘Yes, speaking … who is this? Who …? No, I’m sorry …’

Freddy was about to replace the phone. ‘Evelyne who? Who?’

Frantic, Evelyne looked at Miss Freda. ‘Oh, please don’t put your phone down, sir, not until you have heard what I have to say, it’s very important.’

Miss Freda was gesticulating wildly. Evelyne covered the mouthpiece.

‘You don’t ‘ave to shout, darlink, they can hear you as if you were in the same room, don’t shout.’ Evelyne started again.

‘Do you recall the boxing match? With the gypsies? The night there was a … hello? Hello, are you still there? Oh, Freda, I can’t hear him now, there’s no sound at all coming out.’

Freddy glanced across the hall towards the drawing-room, hoping his wife would not appear as usual to ask who was on the telephone. He spoke in hushed tones. ‘Now listen, dearie, I don’t like you calling my private number, firstly, and secondly I have absolutely no intention whatsoever of admitting to being at some wretched boxing match, is that clear? Now, please do not call me again.’

As he had expected, Heather came in from the garden, carrying a large bouquet of flowers. She paused, eyebrows lifted. ‘Something wrong, dearest?’

Freddy covered the phone with his hand, smiling. ‘No, no darling, just a call from the club, snooker game.’ Heather smiled, knowing perfectly well it had nothing to do with a snooker game. She went in to the drawing room where her mother, Lady Sybil, sat in her wheelchair, playing patience. ‘Who’s he talking to?’ ‘Just his club, Mother, nothing important.’ Freddy waited until the door closed behind his wife, then turned back to the phone. ‘Are you still there? Hello?’

Miss Freda handed the telephone back to Evelyne, whispering that he was back on the line again. Evelyne started to shout again, but lowered her voice when Freda waved frantically.

‘I said, sir, that perhaps David Collins will help, you see it is imperative that you act as my witness, my witness … He is charged with murder, and he is an innocent man.’

Freddy tried to control his voice. ‘And David Collins is sick, you must not at any cost disturb him. I won’t allow it, do you hear me? And I think you have a nerve, yes, a bloody nerve, calling here. We want nothing to do with you. Is that perfectly clear?’

Poor Freddy sensed the drawing-room door opening behind him, heard a bang as his mother-in-law’s wheelchair was wheeled out, and was almost beside himself. ‘I am sorry, I really cannot discuss the matter any further, the answer is no, and please do not call again.’

He replaced the phone and strode along the hall.

‘Going out, dear?’

‘Yes, yes, I have to go to my club. If David calls, tell him I need to talk to him.’

Heather pushed her mother’s chair into the hall, watching Freddy grab his trilby and slam out of the front door without a backward glance. Lady Sybil sniffed and rattled the vast array of beads on her chest. Her thin wrists clanked with rows of bangles.

‘For someone who has never done a day’s work in his life, he certainly does rush about, doesn’t he? Really, always amazes me why you put up with him, dear, what on earth has he ever done for you?’