Nicola Upson - An Expert in Murder

‘I can understand what Bernard meant,’ she said. ‘Jack was in London at the time of the declaration, and he wrote to me about it. Jack was my lover,’ she explained, realising there was no reason why Marta should know anything about her personal history. ‘He was killed at the Somme. But he said the crowds in the city as war broke out were really quite terrifying: when the population was united like that in a mob, all the instincts of hatred and prejudice were given a free rein and nobody questioned them. It was as if everyone had reverted to an innate violence, with all reason and mercy just swept away.’

‘I didn’t know you’d lost someone,’ Marta said.

‘Haven’t we all?’ Josephine retorted quickly, then remembered she was talking to a friend and put away the curt matter-of-factness which she habitually used to deflect sympathy. ‘He was medically 177

trained, and shot in the back trying to help another soldier – an English one, although I’m sure he would have done the same if he’d come across a German alone and needing help. He found it very hard to reconcile his pacifism with the role he was given. It was one of the things I loved about him. In fact, I based a lot of Richard’s character on Jack.’ She smiled, remembering Marta’s earlier comments about Queen of Scots . ‘And of course I did love him, which is perhaps why people are so convinced by Richard.’ Marta took the dig good-naturedly, and Josephine turned back to Lydia. ‘I don’t see why a dark heart makes Bernard a candidate for murder, though.’

‘It’s not just that, it’s something much more personal he told me that night.’ She didn’t go on straight away, but now it was not her sense of timing in front of an audience that made her hesitate. ‘He made me promise never to mention this to anyone, but I don’t suppose it matters now. His nephew died in an accident halfway through the war, but Bernard was convinced he was murdered, and that one of his colleagues had killed him out of spite.’

‘But why?’ Josephine asked, horrified.

‘He didn’t say anything more. It was a secret he’d carried with him all that time and I think he regretted telling me almost as soon as he’d opened his mouth. But Bernard was there when it happened, so he must have had his reasons for suspecting foul play.’

‘Why didn’t he just go to the authorities?’ Josephine asked, highly sceptical. ‘Even in war, there are laws and systems of redress.’

‘I got the impression that he had no proof – either that or he wanted to deal with it himself.’

‘You should have told Archie this earlier, you know. If Bernard Aubrey was going around swearing revenge for a twenty-year-old murder, I’m not surprised someone wanted him silenced.’

‘It really wasn’t like that. Bernard knew how to keep his mouth shut.’

‘How can you be so sure? He’s dead, Lydia, and there’s no point in protecting him now. If you don’t want to tell Archie, I will – but either way, he has to know.’

‘OK, OK, but there are different ways of making amends, you 178

know. I’m not sure that Bernard intended revenge. I think one of the reasons he was so soft on Hedley was as a way of making up for what happened to his nephew. Hedley’s about the same age, and I think Bernard wanted to give him a start in life, to look after him.’

Perhaps, Josephine thought, remembering how devastated Aubrey had been in the foyer earlier that evening when she had explained that it was Hedley’s girlfriend who had been killed; had that really been simply sympathy for a young friend’s grief, or was there more to it? She wondered if Archie had made any progress in finding a connection between the two murders. Was there anything she could think of in what Elspeth had told her which might link her to Aubrey, or to what had supposedly happened to his nephew? Or something that might give Hedley White a reason to resent them both?

‘I wonder where Hedley is?’ Lydia said, as if reading her thoughts. ‘He must be shattered by what’s happened, and I don’t expect he even knows about Bernie yet. That’s what I really meant about Bernie’s death not being a surprise; you don’t expect people like Hedley’s girl to be killed, not with all that youth and innocence

– why would anyone want to? But Bernie was different – you always got the feeling that he understood violence, even if he didn’t have it in him.’

‘I have to say, I wouldn’t have wanted him as an enemy,’

Josephine admitted. ‘Without his support, I think I would have found Elliott Vintner’s accusations much harder to deal with. He propped me up through that trial with his loyalty and his determination – and that was professional, not personal. I can imagine how ruthless he could be if something really mattered to him, if it were a question of life and death.’

Marta, not having known Aubrey, had taken little part in the conversation but she seemed glad now to have the chance to speak about something other than murder. ‘That must have been a difficult time for you – after all that success, to be accused of stealing someone else’s story. I remember reading The White Heart ages ago – I worked in a hospital for a bit after the war and one of the patients asked for it to be read aloud to him. I liked it, but I 179

remember being so disappointed by the books Vintner wrote later; perhaps I’d just moved on.’

‘No, you’re right, it was something special and I never questioned its merits – only my reliance on them. But he couldn’t repeat the success of that first novel, no matter how hard he tried – the rest were all failures.’

‘So he thought he’d get the money from you instead?’

‘Yes, and he might have succeeded if it hadn’t been for Bernard, an expensive lawyer and a judge who said that if any dues were to be paid, Vintner should first settle his account with Shakespeare.

Of course, it turned out that the judge had seen the play five times and was a huge fan. I imagine Bernard treated him to a sixth performance on the house after that.’

‘You certainly couldn’t fault Bernie’s generosity,’ Lydia agreed.

‘Did you know he’s given all the money he made from Richard of Bordeaux to the families of those who died in the war?’

‘What, you mean he hasn’t made a penny out of it himself?’

Marta asked, astonished.

‘Not one. He said its pacifism was what struck a chord and he wanted to honour that. He really was a remarkable man. I owe my career to him. So does Josephine, in a way. I only wish I could have thanked him.’

‘The best way to do that now is to help Archie catch his killer,’

said Josephine firmly. ‘Tell him what you’ve just told us, or at least let me tell him.’ As Lydia looked doubtful, she added, ‘Has it occurred to you that knowing something about Aubrey’s secret might put you in danger as well?’

Clearly it hadn’t. ‘All right,’ she conceded at last. ‘You talk to Archie, Josephine. If he has any questions, no doubt he’ll find me, but I’ve told you everything I know. I wonder what will happen to Bernie’s theatres now? It seems disrespectful to say this so soon but, if Queen of Scots falls through, I’ll have to look for something else to give me a reason to get up in the morning. Nothing would compensate for a future without work. What else is there? I’d rather lie down and die.’

Josephine saw the hurt in Marta’s eyes, and marvelled that 180

Lydia could concern herself with a dead man’s feelings when she had just all but destroyed her lover’s hopes that they might have a life together. In the silence that followed, she watched as the coffee woman came out from behind her counter, collecting coins from under the plates and brushing bits of saveloy skin and cigarette ends onto the pavement, and was suddenly overwhelmingly depressed by the ease with which – through carelessness or cruelty