Текст книги "An Expert in Murder"

Автор книги: Nicola Upson

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– wanted it for me – and I honestly think he would have done anything. If he’d had longer to consider what he was doing he might have stuck to what he knew was right, but he had to act quickly and he made the wrong decision. I think the Captain was relying on the speed of the whole thing for his co-operation. Then when Aubrey and one of the others made it back to the surface unexpectedly, he pretended the system was blocked. In the end, only one man died, thank God, but it was the most important one –

Aubrey’s nephew and Elspeth’s father.’

‘But why did Arthur have to die? And what gave this man the right to decide what happened to his child?’

‘The law gave him the right. You see, Arthur had been having an affair with his wife. It had been going on for some time, while he was away and before Arthur signed up, and the Captain found out about it. I think he intercepted a letter that his wife had written to 224

Arthur – stupid, really: she must have known how they were all living in each other’s pockets. The trenches were never renowned for their privacy. But she had written to tell Arthur she was pregnant, and that was that – it sealed his fate, and I don’t know if he ever discovered he was going to be a father. Her fate, too, of course. Women had even fewer rights in those days than they do now, and the Captain wasn’t the sort to bring up another man’s child. As soon as the baby was born, he made his wife give her up.’

‘What happened to her? Elspeth’s mother, I mean.’

‘I don’t know. Walter never asked, and I don’t think Aubrey could have known either, or he’d have done something about it.

Apparently, when we first had Elspeth, Walter kept expecting her mother to turn up out of the blue but she never did. As the years went on, he assumed that the Captain had found a way to get rid of her – after all, someone who did what he did to Arthur was capable of anything. But he didn’t want to know. He had enough on his conscience.’

‘The man who orchestrated all this – the Captain – do you know his real name?’

‘Oh yes. After what he did to my husband, it’s hardly likely to be a name I’d forget. And anyway, he achieved a certain notoriety in his later years.’ She smiled bitterly and Penrose waited eagerly for her to continue, desperately hoping that what she said would make sense within the context of his investigation. His mind raced through several possibilities, but never in a million years could he have predicted Alice Simmons’s next words. ‘His name was Elliott Vintner,’ she said. ‘You probably know him as a novelist. These days, I think of him more as a murderer.’

Penrose was stunned, so much so that Fallowfield had to pick up the questioning. ‘Did Bernard Aubrey know all this, Mrs Simmons?’

‘Not immediately, no, but he wouldn’t let it rest. He was devastated by his nephew’s death, of course, and he nearly died himself, but there was no reason to think it was anything other than a tragic accident. He only became suspicious because of the state Walter was in – it just didn’t make sense that he should be so trau-225

matised. He’d always been a reliable soldier and he had a reputation for staying calm in the most terrible situations, but he fell apart after that incident. He became ill, and God knows what he must have said in his delirium, but it was enough for Aubrey to realise that something had gone on. When Walter got better, Aubrey begged him to tell the truth about Vintner; he was the only person who could testify, you see, and Aubrey was obsessed with getting justice for his sister’s son. He promised Walter absolution if he would only bring the real murderer to trial, but he refused.

There was too much at stake with the baby.’

‘But Aubrey didn’t give up.’

‘No, he never gave up, but Walter had made up his mind once and for all. It’s funny – he was never as deferential when he came back. I think our men were generally less inclined to take orders after they’d fought so hard, but for him it was personal; he’d taken one order too many. But Aubrey kept trying. He felt responsible, you see, and he’d promised his sister – Arthur’s mother – that he’d find out the truth.’

‘Did Aubrey ever try to get the baby back?’ Penrose asked, surprised that the fatal agreement had been allowed to stand.

‘No, I’ll give him that. He genuinely wanted what was best for Elspeth, and he put that before his hatred for Vintner. Arthur was gone and his mother wasn’t able to raise a child on her own – and he knew how much we loved her. She was happy with Walter and me, you know, in spite of everything. So Aubrey sent the money and the notes, but there was no more pressure than that. He had a deadly patience, Walter once said. In the end, they came to a sort of unspoken agreement: Aubrey wouldn’t disrupt Elspeth’s childhood by raking up the past before she was old enough to deal with it; and Walter would tell the truth about what happened when he felt the time was right. I don’t suppose he thought it would be on his deathbed, but that’s how it worked out.’

‘So Aubrey got what he wanted?’

‘Yes. Walter wrote it all down – it was one of the last things he did. He was so ill by then that I had to help him with it; perhaps that’s why he told me, but I prefer to think he did that because he 226

wanted to. Aubrey came to collect it, and he spoke to Walter. I don’t know what he said but afterwards it seemed that Walter was happy to die. Like he’d found some peace.’

The existence of such a document could well explain why someone had been willing to take the risk of entering Aubrey’s office on the night of his death, Penrose thought; its removal was vital to anyone wanting to protect Vintner’s reputation. He wondered how Josephine’s ordeal fitted into the pattern of events. ‘When did Walter die, Mrs Simmons?’ he asked.

‘In September last year. It was just after that trial, and of course Vintner committed suicide shortly after that. Everyone assumed it was because he lost in court, but it wasn’t that – it was something far deeper. He knew by then that he’d soon be back in the dock.

Vintner was stupid to bring that case with Aubrey on the other side, but he thought he was invincible. It was another way to taunt Aubrey for the past, but it backfired on him. He lost, and Aubrey took the opportunity to make it clear that it was only a matter of time before he’d lose far more. Vintner had no idea that Walter and Aubrey had been in contact, you see, but by then it was too late for him to do anything about it – Walter was beyond threats and Aubrey implied that the police had already been told.

So Vintner took the coward’s way out, but it was Aubrey’s taunt-ing that drove him to it.’

So Vintner had simply been using Josephine to get at Aubrey. All the anguish, all the remorse she had suffered after Vintner’s suicide was because she had been caught up in a deadly game between two men. No wonder Aubrey had been so loyal in his support for Josephine, but how could he have allowed her to assume responsibility for someone’s death when the blood was anywhere but on her hands? Penrose had watched as all the joy had been stripped from Josephine’s success. He had sat with her for hours, trying to convince her that she was not to blame for Vintner’s decision to take his own life – but nobody could tell you that you weren’t responsible for someone’s death; you had to feel it in your heart. If anyone understood that, he did.

‘I kidded myself that Vintner’s suicide would be the end of it,’

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Alice Simmons continued, ‘but of course it wasn’t. Death wasn’t enough for Aubrey – at least not if it came at a time of Vintner’s choosing. Aubrey wanted his name linked to what he’d done, to expose him as a murderer rather than as some sort of broken man who deserved pity. His plan was to bring everything out in the open as soon as Elspeth turned eighteen. He’d put all the money from Richard of Bordeauxin a trust fund for her – I suppose he thought that was some sort of justice with all the trouble that had gone on. She would have come of age next month, but someone was obviously determined that should never happen.’

‘Was there anyone else involved in Arthur’s murder?’

‘No, just Walter and Vintner. No one else knew until Aubrey found out.’

So who on his list could have been close to Vintner? Who would kill to protect his name? In a book, this was the moment when a striking resemblance would suddenly spring to mind, Penrose thought drily, but he would have to do it the hard way, and his heart sank at the thought of tracing endless family trees. Was that why the number for Somerset House was on Aubrey’s blotter, he wondered? Had Aubrey been trying to make the link himself before he died? And had he been successful? At least those questions might be answered in the morning when everyone got back to work after the weekend. In the meantime, he must talk to Josephine to see if she had learned anything about Vintner during the trial. And, just as importantly, to give her some sort of freedom from her unwarranted guilt.

Alice Simmons seemed to read his thoughts. ‘Betty told me about Miss Tey and her kindness to Elspeth,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry she went through what she did because of Vintner. I know there’s no consolation for that, but it will have meant so much to Elspeth to have met her – she so loved her work. Will you tell her that for me?’

Penrose smiled kindly at her. ‘It would be nice if you told her yourself – she’ll want to meet you and talk. And knowing Josephine, that’s exactly what will console her for what she went through.’

‘I’d like to see her. You know, Elspeth always thought I hated the-228

atre but I didn’t. I was just afraid of it. It hurt me so much not to be able to share that with her but I was so scared of her being pulled into another life, one that I couldn’t compete with. I wonder if all women who adopt worry about their happiness being snatched from them, or if it was just because we didn’t do it properly? It was even worse after Walter died and I had to face it on my own, and when Aubrey told me about the trust fund I knew things would never be the same. It would have made her so happy, to be welcomed like that into a world she loved but could only dream of. It’s right that she should have had that chance, but I’d be lying if I said I was glad about it. I thought she’d forget about me, and the love we had was the one thing that made what Walter did bearable. If that went, everything would have been in vain. So much loss and pain and evil, all for nothing.’ She sighed heavily. ‘I knew I’d lose her eventually, but I never expected it to happen like this. I suppose you have to believe in some kind of judgement, though, don’t you?’

‘I don’t think judgement is something we’re entitled to pass, Mrs Simmons,’ Penrose said softly, ‘either on other people or on ourselves. It’s too big a word. But if it helps, I don’t think there’s anything to regret in loving Elspeth or wanting to protect her. I know you feel that Walter did what he did for you, but it was his decision.’

She met his eyes, and Penrose could all but trace every moment of the last forty-eight hours in the lines on her face. ‘That’s kind, Inspector,’ she said. ‘The trouble is, if it meant missing out on those years with Elspeth, I wouldn’t give that boy his life back even if I could, and that issomething I’ll be judged for when the time comes.’

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Fourteen

Peace was an infrequent visitor to 66 St Martin’s Lane, but one which Josephine welcomed with open arms whenever it arrived; on a Sunday afternoon, when there was so much for her to think about, it was more eagerly greeted than ever. She looked at her watch, reckoning to have half an hour or so of solitude before she was disturbed – time to collect her thoughts and bring some sort of order to the studio’s chaos. The doorbell rang before she had made much headway with either.

‘Archie! What a nice surprise! I thought you were Marta.’

‘Oh God, are you expecting the redoubtable Miss Fox?’ he asked, feigning a look of horror. ‘Perhaps I should have brought Bill for back-up after all.’

She laughed, and kissed him. ‘I’m afraid she isimminent. I telephoned them earlier to see how things were after last night, but Lydia was out. Marta sounded so down that I found myself asking her over for tea. They’re having problems, I think, and she said she needed to talk.’

‘Do you actually like her? Or is this just support for Lydia through another romantic crisis?’

Amused by his cynicism, Josephine led him through to the studio.

‘Don’t sound so weary about it. Lydia can’t help being a little . . .’

‘Flighty?’ he suggested provokingly as she paused to find the right word.

‘Unsettled,’ she countered, smiling. ‘And yes, I do like Marta –

very much, in fact. I hope they’ll work it out, but it would take a remarkable woman to be happy to play second fiddle to Lydia’s career. Marta may prove to be remarkable, of course, as well as 231

redoubtable – we’ll see. But don’t worry – if she turns up while you’re still here, I’ll look after you. Not that you need protecting –

that parting shot you delivered last night was chastening to the point of humiliation. I don’t think you’ll have any more trouble.’

She gave up trying to find an uncluttered space on the room’s incongruous collection of chairs. ‘Let’s sit on the floor, but I’ll get you some coffee first. You look shattered.’

‘No, don’t bother. I need to talk to you and it sounds like we haven’t got much time on our own. You are on your own? There’s no one lurking in the kitchen?’

‘No, the girls have gone out to lunch with George and the Snipe is with her maker – in the temporary sense, I mean. You know how it is on a Sunday.’

‘Of course.’ Archie laughed but only half-heartedly, and Josephine had an ominous sense of déjà vu. What was he going to tell her now? Surely there was no room left this weekend for yet more tragedy? ‘Is this about Hedley White?’ she asked. ‘I gather you’ve caught up with him.’ Archie raised an eyebrow questioningly, so she explained. ‘That’s where Marta said Lydia had gone –

to the Yard, to see if you’ll let her see him. You must have just missed her. Apparently she’s worried about him. Are you as convinced as she is that he’s done nothing wrong?’

‘I certainly don’t think he’s killed anybody,’ Archie said. ‘I’m fairly sure he’s lying about where he was when Elspeth died and, if so, he’s persuaded Rafe Swinburne to give him an alibi, but I don’t honestly believe there’s anything sinister in that. He wouldn’t be the first suspect to assume things would look better for him if he could prove he wasn’t on his own. We’re doing the usual tests but I don’t think he’s got anything to fear from the results.’ He told her how upset White had seemed at the news of Aubrey’s death, and added, ‘His troubles won’t go away just because we think he’s innocent, so I’m pleased Lydia’s supporting him. He’ll need help to get him through losing two people he loved. But Hedley’s not why I’m here – things have moved on since I spoke to him. I got your message about the iris. Was the reference to the flower of chivalry in Vintner’s book, by any chance?’

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‘Yes it was,’ she said, surprised. ‘I started to read Marta’s manuscript this morning and it reminded me of Vintner’s novel – not the story, that’s modern and completely different – but the style. I know she admired his first book. But how on earth did you guess?’

‘Because he’s raising his ugly head in the unlikeliest of places, and judging by what I’ve heard about him in the last couple of hours, irises would have been on his mind when he sat down to write The White Heart. Chivalry, on the other hand, wouldn’t be something he was qualified to talk about.’ He noticed that her face had clouded over as it always did when Vintner’s name was mentioned, and the anger he had felt since speaking to Alice Simmons was only partly tempered by the knowledge that he could now dispel Josephine’s guilt once and for all. ‘I need you to listen carefully to what I’m going to tell you, and to believe me,’ he said. ‘You are not responsible for Elliott Vintner’s death.’

‘It doesn’t help to keep going over this, Archie,’ she said dismis-sively, and started to get up. ‘You and I will always disagree about it and it just makes it worse for me if . . .’

He caught her arm and gently turned her face towards him. ‘But this time it’s not just my voice. Would you believe it from someone who knew Vintner? Someone who would swear that his suicide was down to something that happened years ago, long before you ever wrote a play or heard his name?’

Josephine looked at him, confused by his words and hardly daring to acknowledge that they hinted at a reprieve for her. ‘But he left a note explaining why he did it,’ she said. ‘It was read out at the inquest. He claimed that losing the court case had ruined him, financially and emotionally, and the papers went to town on it because he blamed me for everything.’ Contrary to the advice of all her friends, Archie included, Josephine had attended Vintner’s inquest, determined to face her demons. Not even in her worst nightmares could she have predicted how unpleasant it would be, though, and she would never forget the anger she had felt when she first heard the contents of that suicide note. Sitting in a swel-tering court room, flanked by Ronnie and Lettice who had insisted on going with her, she had listened as the last words of a dead man 233

accused her of stealing his work, and the law of sanctioning her theft. What frustrated her most, however, was not the smug, self-righteous tone or the unfairness of the charge but the irrational sense of shame which overwhelmed her then and which had dogged her ever since. Afterwards, despite numerous requests from journalists and several newspaper stories which painted her as the villain of the piece, she had adamantly refused to speak out in her own defence, partly from a determination to guard her privacy but mostly from a fear that she would not be very convincing. ‘It was a masterly piece of prose, that note,’ she added bitterly now. ‘Much more affecting than most of his books. He even asked for God’s forgiveness on my behalf. He could afford to be benev-olent, I suppose, because I’m sure he knew I’d never forgive myself.’

‘Exactly. I’m not saying that Vintner didn’t resent you. He was a spiteful bastard and I’m sure he took a great deal of pleasure in knowing he could go on hurting you long after he was dead, but that isn’t why he killed himself. It was a smokescreen, Josephine.

You were caught up in a deadly game between two powerful men and it was convenient for them both to use you, one more mali-ciously than the other.’ He paused to make sure she was taking in what he was saying. ‘You see, if Vintner had given the real reason for deciding to take his own life, it would have been a confession to murder.’

She listened, at first incredulous and then shocked, as Archie outlined the connection between Elliott Vintner and Bernard Aubrey. He had not got far before her relief was dispelled by an immense sadness. She had thought nothing could be worse than the burden of responsibility which she carried, but she had reckoned without an act of pure evil that had cut so many lives short and filled others with pain and loss. Now, who could say when this new nightmare would be over? Several minutes passed before she was aware that Archie had stopped talking and was waiting for her response. The truth had been his gift to her, she knew, and he wanted her to be comforted by it, but all she felt was grief – grief for those who had died so suddenly and for the horror which she 234

felt sure was still to come, and a deeper, less tangible sorrow for the fundamental cruelty of the world.

‘Are you all right?’ Archie asked gently.

‘Yes and no,’ she said. ‘I will be, but all I can think about now is how sorry I feel for Elspeth. I keep remembering something she said about hoping her real family had some theatrical blood in it.

Never in her wildest dreams could she have hoped to be related to the father of the West End. She would have been so thrilled, and yet it’s the very reason she’s dead.’

‘Aubrey set up a trust fund for her from the profits of Richard of Bordeaux, you know.’

‘That makes sense. Lydia said he’d given money to a charity to help families who’d suffered losses in the war. Funny, isn’t it, how something that’s broadly true can hide so much.’

‘Yes. In this case, the charity really did begin at home. Elspeth would have come into the money next month when she turned eighteen – and he planned to tell her everything then, as well. Alice Simmons was terrified of the effect it would have on their relationship. She thought she was going to lose the only thing that mattered to her.’

‘I can understand that. It’s so hard for anyone on the outside to know how families work, but Elspeth didn’t strike me as a girl who’d forget love. There’s no doubt she would have embraced a connection to something she was so passionate about, but not at the expense of the life she already had. If anything, knowing where she came from might have settled her and satisfied the restless curiosity that Betty spoke about.’ She sighed heavily. ‘It hardly feels right to sit here speculating over lives we didn’t understand and people we didn’t know when there’s no future left for any of them. Elspeth didn’t make it to eighteen, for God’s sake, and I can’t even begin to contemplate what hell Alice Simmons is going through. In all of this, I think it’s her I feel for most. What a burden that must be to carry. Confession is a very selfish thing, it seems to me. I’m sure Walter felt much better afterwards, but I can’t help thinking it would have been kinder of him to take his secret to the grave rather than pass the guilt on to his wife.’

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‘That’s all very well, but are you honestly telling me that if you were in her position you’d rather not be told the truth?’

There was an urgency in his words and Josephine understood that he was asking two questions, only one of which was about Alice Simmons. She thought before answering, realising what was at stake, and said eventually, ‘You’re right, of course. I would have wanted to know – when the time was right. But I’d rather not have had to wait until one of us was on our deathbed.’ Archie had walked over to the window now, and she had no way of knowing if he realised the significance of what she was saying. When he did not speak, she continued, but on safer ground. ‘I wonder what happened to Elspeth’s real mother? Or how much she knew about what happened to Arthur?’

He turned round, and she was sad to see how relieved he seemed to pull back from the conversation he had tentatively begun. ‘I don’t know. Alice Simmons thinks Vintner was capable of finding a way to dispose of her, and she could well be right. I was hoping you might be able to help me there. Did you learn anything about Vintner’s background during the trial? Anything that might help us link what we know about Arthur’s death with the current murders?’

‘Well, I wasn’t exactly in the mood to be impartial about him, but I remember being surprised by how arrogant and manipulative he was. I know hindsight’s a wonderful thing but I can easily see now that he would be capable of murder, and confident of getting away with it. At the time, though, what struck me was how at odds his personality was with the sensibility of his book. It seemed extraordinary that someone so narcissistic – and now, as it turns out, so evil – could have written a novel with such compassion and insight.’ She thought about what Marta had said on the subject, and added, ‘His later books were much more in character – very masculine, almost to the point of misogyny. But The White Heartshowed a real understanding of women. He painted the historical relationship between Richard and Anne in very human terms and made them real people. That’s supposed to be what I stole from him. There was nothing like that in his other books – they tended 236

to be full of relationships founded on power, even cruelty. I suppose he’d argue now that his wife’s betrayal with Arthur changed his view of women.’ She considered that for a moment. ‘Who’s to say what effect it had? But you didn’t ask for a literary critique of his work, did you?’

‘No, although it’s interesting that his outlook changed so radi-cally. I’m sorry to revert to something more superficial, but did he remind you of anybody? Did he look like anyone you know from the theatre?’

She smiled at the thought that someone who prided himself on his intellectual and emotional approach to detection had been forced to fall back on such a storybook line of enquiry. ‘Not that I can think of, but you were in court for a while as well. What do you think?’

‘I only saw him briefly. You had a chance to study his manner-isms, and I suppose I was hoping for some miraculous moment of revelation when you realised that he scratched his head in exactly the same way as Terry, say, or Fleming.’

Now they were both laughing at the absurdity of his question, and some of the earlier tension between them disappeared.

‘Definitely not Johnny,’ she said. ‘Vintner would never have entertained all that feminine grace. Fleming’s dark-haired, I’ll give you that, but it’s not much to go on.’

‘What about Esme McCracken?’

‘Who?’

Archie smiled. ‘I can’t tell you how furious she’d be if she knew you weren’t even aware of her existence. She speaks very highly of you. She’s the stage manager and about Vintner’s age.’

‘Oh yes, I know. The pinched woman who writes plays. Johnny says they’re actually quite good. I’m afraid I can’t recall precisely what she looks like, though, so I can’t help you there.’

‘What about family? Do you remember any relatives from the trial? Was there anyone there to support him?’

‘No, only his lawyer.’ She thought for a moment. ‘He did have a family, though. I remember now – he played the big sympathy card about having to bring up his son on his own. That’s why he started 237

writing, apparently – he needed to stay at home and earn money.

But there was no indication of how he lost his wife.’

‘And the son wasn’t in court?’

‘No. I don’t think he was even mentioned by name. I certainly don’t remember it if he was.’

‘Any idea what he does or where he might be?’

‘No. There were obituaries after the suicide, of course, but nothing very significant. Vintner’s reputation soon dwindled when each book turned out to be a bigger flop than the last. By the time he died, the general feeling was that the most exciting plot development he’d come up with in years was to shoot himself. Still, the papers might tell you something about his family life.’

‘Yes, they might. It’s a good place to start, at least.’

‘Do you know how he found out about the affair?’ Josephine asked.

‘He read a letter that was meant for Arthur. I remember letters from home getting mixed up all the time – it was a miracle they got there at all. They arrived in one big pile, and there was such a stampede to get to them. You can just imagine it, can’t you?

Vintner automatically reaches for something in his wife’s handwriting and then notices it’s not for him; he’s hardly likely to put it back on the pile and say nothing. It was a stupid thing to do, really

– to send something so damning with no guarantee of its getting to the right person.’ There was a sound of footsteps on the stairs.

‘That’s my cue to get going,’ he said. ‘The Fox woman’s on the prowl.’

‘You don’t have to rush off,’ Josephine said. ‘She really isn’t as fierce as all that.’

He grinned. ‘No, but it sounds like she needs a heart-to-heart without interruptions. Anyway, I’ve left Bill chasing phone numbers and post-mortem reports, so I ought to see how he’s getting on. And I want to have a look for those obituaries. Tracing Vintner’s son is vital – he’s the obvious candidate if we’re looking for someone desperate to protect Vintner’s reputation.’

Before he could go any further, though, the front door was flung open with almost indecent vigour. ‘Only us,’ called Ronnie from 238

the hallway. ‘Has anyone else died while we’ve been at lunch?’ She sauntered into the room and collapsed onto the chaise longue, apparently oblivious to the pile of sketches that she was sitting on.

‘Shouldn’t you be out catching criminals, cousin dearest?’

Archie flashed what Josephine had come to recognise as his Ronnie smile. ‘I’m on my way to do just that,’ he said. ‘I’d hate to think that your exquisite neck was in peril.’

‘Oh do stay and have some tea, Archie,’ Lettice said on her way through to the kitchen. ‘I’m gasping for a hot drink. Guermani’s was so crowded today that we ended up on the table next to the Daintrey-Smythes and you know how Angelica gets on my tits. I couldn’t possibly stay for coffee – as it was, dessert took endurance beyond all measure. All those loud-but-oh-so-self-effacing references to her double-page spread in The Sketchwhen we know full well what she had to spread to get it. It’s enough to make a witch spit.’

Archie had to laugh at this uncharacteristic outburst from his cousin, who normally left vulgar asides to her more experienced sister, but he stuck to his guns about going. His goodbyes were drowned by a squeal from the next room. ‘Oh lovely!’ Lettice exclaimed, and emerged carrying a vase with a single flower that looked a little the worse for wear. ‘You brought something to cheer Josephine up, Archie. How thoughtful. And what an extraordinary colour.’

‘Good tactic, dear – move in when she’s vulnerable,’ piped up Ronnie. ‘You may get somewhere at last. A little tip, though –

bring one that’s alive next time.’

‘Stop teasing him,’ said Lettice, but Archie just stared at the flower, oblivious to them all.

‘Archie didn’t bring it,’ Josephine said quickly, in case he was feeling awkward. ‘I found it tucked in Marta’s manuscript. She must have forgotten it was there. She thinks Lydia left it at stage door for her but I know she didn’t, so, for harmony’s sake, I thought I’d better find a home for it. Another admirer on the scene isn’t what their relationship needs right now.’