Nicola Upson - An Expert in Murder

His mission accomplished, Jack turned to go back to his own trench and was shot in the back by a German sniper before he had taken half a dozen steps.

They said he had died instantly, but of course they always said that and she had no way of knowing if it was the truth or if there were things she had never been told which explained why Archie had avoided her for so long, even though he knew she was desperate to hear about Jack’s death from someone who had cared about him. She didn’t blame Archie, but he had failed her: in dealing with his own grief for Jack, he had been unable to face hers and, although their friendship had lasted, there remained – on both sides – a sense of regret. Now, the girl she had been prior to Jack’s death was almost unrecognisable to her: it was hard to believe herself capable of that kind of love.

After Jack was killed, and having seen such tragedies repeated over and over again, Archie gave up all hope of continuing on the path he had once chosen for himself – medicine was no career for someone who had lost faith in his ability to outplay death. But if he was no longer surprised when death arrived ahead of its time, he never shook off a sense of anger at its indifference – and that 40

had proved an excellent foundation for the career to which he eventually turned.

Now, Archie’s inability to do anything about the inherent cruelty of the world seemed temporarily to exclude everything else from his life, and Josephine was relieved when the girls were finally ready to go out and leave them in peace to talk.

‘You two take as long as you like,’ Lettice reiterated, absent-mindedly picking up the last slice of toast. ‘We’ll be at the theatre all afternoon and dinner’s booked for six-thirty, so don’t be late. I do so hate to have to rush dessert.’

‘And perhaps you’ll have cheered up by then.’ Ronnie’s parting shot was followed by the slamming of the front door, then all was quiet.

‘I love them dearly, but it’s so nice when it stops,’ Josephine said.

‘This isn’t a social call, is it?’

‘I wish it were, but I’m afraid it’s about what happened at King’s Cross last night. Have you seen the papers yet this morning?’

‘No. Lettice mentioned that something had gone on at the station, but she wasn’t very specific. What’s it got to do with me?’

‘You signed an autograph for a young woman yesterday. How well did you know her?’

At his use of the past tense, Josephine’s heart went cold. ‘Hardly at all. She recognised me on the train coming down and we had lunch together. She loves the theatre and wanted to know all about Richard , so we spent most of the time talking about that. I introduced her to Lydia when we got here and invited her to come and find me at the theatre if she wanted to, and that was that. Why?

What’s happened to her?’

Archie saw no point in delivering anything but the simple truth.

‘She’s been killed,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry there’s no gentler way of telling you, but it wasn’t an accident and it seems that you and Lydia were among the last people to see her alive.’

‘You mean she was murdered? Who on earth would want to hurt her?’

‘We don’t know yet, but I have to ask you this: how did you part?’

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Josephine stared at him in disbelief. ‘We just said goodbye on the platform. She was so excited at meeting Lydia that she’d left her bag on the train and had to go back for it.’

‘You never saw her after that?’

‘No. The train was late getting in, so we were in a hurry. Marta

– that’s Lydia’s lover – was waiting for us outside with a taxi and Lydia had to get to the theatre. I left them at stage door and came straight here.’

‘And you didn’t go out again?’

‘Of course not – I was exhausted. What am I supposed to have done, Archie? Stalked the poor girl and strangled her with my scarf? For God’s sake, I thought I was the one with the vivid imagination.’ Archie remained silent as Josephine got up and walked to the window. ‘How did she die, or as a suspect aren’t I allowed to know?’ she asked sarcastically.

‘She was stabbed in the compartment of the train,’ he replied, ignoring the bait. ‘It must have happened quite soon after you left her.’

‘If only I had gone after her,’ she said, her anger disappearing as suddenly as it had come.

‘What do you mean?’

‘She dropped the feather from her hat on the platform and I wanted to give it back to her, but Lydia was late and there wasn’t time.’

‘You couldn’t have saved her,’ he said, gently. ‘Whoever did this was hell-bent on violence, so thank God you didn’t get in the way.’

Josephine’s face was still turned to the window, but he could tell from her voice that any counsel against self-reproach was futile. ‘You know, just an hour ago I was looking across at the theatre, half expecting to see her in the queue already,’ she said, sadly. ‘And I found myself rather looking forward to it. It’s funny, isn’t it, how quickly some people make an impression on you?

Yesterday was the first time I’d ever set eyes on the girl, but I could probably tell you more about her than people I’ve known for years. The important stuff, anyway – what she was like, what she cared about.’

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‘And what was she like?’

‘She was that quiet sort which always gets overlooked. I don’t mean quiet in the literal sense, but most people would probably have thought her quite inconsequential. If she were at a party, she’d be the person you spoke to until you found someone more important. I think she’d got so used to people looking past her that she didn’t even notice any more. She certainly didn’t seem to mind, because there wasn’t an ounce of self-pity about her.’

‘Not an obvious murder victim, then. She doesn’t sound the sort to inspire that sort of extreme emotion.’

‘No, not a victim in any sense of the word. It’s a cliché, but she made the best of what life dealt her, and that somehow makes all this even worse. I can’t help feeling that when you’ve worked hard to come to terms with how you entered the world, you ought to have a bit more say over how you leave it – but I don’t have to tell you that. You know she was adopted, I suppose?’

‘Yes, we spoke to her uncle. He came to the station to meet her.’

‘Poor man. From what she said, they were very close.’

‘What else did she tell you about herself?’

‘Well, her adoptive parents are from Berwick-upon-Tweed –

that’s where she got on the train – but her father died quite recently. She worked with her mother – I expect you’ll have found the hats they made by now. It wasn’t unusual for her to be coming to London: her aunt and uncle have a shop here and she always brings the new season’s stock down and helps out a bit. The uncle

– Fred, I think his name is, or Frank?’

‘Frank – he’s a driver for Lyons.’

‘Frank, yes – he loves theatre as well, so when she was here they spent a lot of time together. Although I suppose that must have changed now that she’d met her young man.’

‘So she was definitely seeing someone? Did she mention his name?’

‘No, I don’t think she did. She just blushed a lot. Romance was new to her, you see, and it goes back to what I said about her not being used to attention. She seemed quite astonished that anyone should want to pick her out, almost as if she didn’t deserve it. The 43

only thing I can tell you about him is that he works in theatre. She said he was taking her to see Richard tonight and we laughed about it being a busman’s holiday.’

No matter how hard he tried to keep an open mind, everything kept coming back to that play. ‘Isn’t this all a bit coincidental?’ he asked. He tried to choose his next words carefully so as not to alarm her, but there was a limit to how far he could skirt around the issue. ‘Your biggest fan is on the same train and just happens to recognise you. And then she’s killed.’