Текст книги "An Expert in Murder"

Автор книги: Nicola Upson

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Текущая страница: 19 (всего у книги 20 страниц)

I knew the joy had gone with Arthur, but I thought if I could get my children back, I might at least be able to rediscover the happiness. I would have done anything to make up for those lost years.’ She fell silent and Josephine resisted the temptation to prompt her, sensing there was more to come. ‘I knew that what he was suggesting was evil, of course I did, but at the time I didn’t care. And yes, I did hate you but never because I thought you’d stolen my work. It was more complicated than that. You see, the only thing that kept me alive in that place was the thought that I might one day be able to have revenge on Elliott, to hurt him so badly for what he’d done to me.

But you beat me to it. You won that court case and drove him to take his own life before I could make him suffer, and you’ve no idea how much I resented you for that.’

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Josephine did not contradict her, but asked instead, ‘Did you really intend to kill Aubrey?’

‘Yes, at first. I had no idea he was related to Arthur, of course.

I was in such a state on Friday. When you turned up at the taxi with Lydia, I realised what a mistake I’d made in pointing out the wrong person. I went to see Rafe at Wyndham’s as soon as Lydia was on stage, and when he told me he’d gone through with it I was horrified. Then he said that Aubrey suspected something and was on to us, and I panicked. I knew I’d never be with my children again if we were caught, and that was all I wanted. Rafe assured me that we could salvage things if we acted quickly, and at first I went along with what he suggested. But when the moment came I just couldn’t go through with it. Aubrey didn’t know anything, though, did he? Rafe just used that to get me to do his dirty work.’

‘He knew something, Marta,’ Josephine said quietly. ‘But not who you were or what you’d done.’ Marta listened in disbelief as she repeated Alice Simmons’s account of Arthur’s murder and Walter’s pact with Vintner, and Josephine wished that it had not fallen to her to shatter this woman’s world all over again. ‘So Vintner’s suicide had nothing to do with Richard of Bordeauxor the court case,’ she added. ‘He killed himself because he was about to be exposed as a murderer. Arthur’s murderer.’

Marta was silent for a long time, then said, ‘So that’s what Lydia was talking about last night. I sat there listening to her discuss a murder and had no idea it was Arthur. Did Rafe know his father was a killer?’

‘I think so, yes. Archie’s convinced that this has all been about protecting his father’s reputation. Bernard Aubrey had been looking for proof for nearly twenty years to get justice for his nephew and he finally had what he needed. It was all to come out on Elspeth’s eighteenth birthday.’

The platform was beginning to fill with passengers waiting to board the two departing trains, some bound for the Midlands, others further north, but Marta seemed oblivious to everyone but the dead. ‘So many lies,’ she said at last, so softly that Josephine 269

had to lean closer to hear her above the bustle. ‘So many people who just couldn’t let the dust settle and turn their back on the evil.

Arthur would have been horrified to know what he and I set in motion all those years ago. We’ve all magnified Elliott’s violence in our own way. If I’d refused to help Rafe or if Aubrey had been strong enough to let it go, Elspeth would still be alive.’

‘He couldn’t let it go – he wasn’t that sort of man. Bernard had a very clear sense of right and wrong, and it wouldn’t have occurred to him that bringing Elliott Vintner to justice would open more wounds than it healed. He always felt responsible for Arthur’s death, and he loved his sister and her son. According to his wife, Bernard planted irises in his memory all year round.’

Marta had, Josephine thought, remained remarkably composed throughout the exchange but this simple act of homage broke her in a way that more shocking revelations had failed to do. Josephine waited, unable to do anything but hold her until the tears had sub-sided. ‘It was the first flower he planted for me,’ Marta explained, turning her face away in embarrassment as she noticed a porter further down the platform staring at the two women in astonishment.

‘He put it all round the summer house because its name meant “eye of heaven” and it was supposed to be the Egyptian symbol of elo-quence; it was to help me with my writing, he said. And he made me promise to include a flower with the letter whenever I wrote to him in France, because Iris was Zeus’ messenger and he was sure she’d get it there safely.’ She smiled sadly. ‘She failed me with The White Heart, though. It was my love letter to him, and I don’t even know if he read it or not. It’s silly, but sometimes that makes me more miserable than anything.’

‘Then take this. At least it will answer one of your questions.’

Josephine took a sheaf of papers out of her bag and handed them to Marta, who looked down in astonishment. ‘While I was waiting for the police, I looked through the holdall that Rafe was carrying and found this. He must have got them from his father. It’s not the whole manuscript, but most of it’s there and there are some notes in the margins. I’m afraid I was curious enough to read some of them – only a few, but enough to know that whoever wrote them 270

was very much in love with the author.’ Marta was lost for a moment in the pages. ‘That is Arthur’s handwriting?’

Marta nodded, then looked gratefully at Josephine. ‘I think you know how much this means to me,’ she said, ‘so there’s no point in trying to thank you – it could never be enough. I can’t believe what I’ve done, you know. I shouldn’t have trusted Rafe. I should have known what growing up with that man would have done to him.

I knew how wrong I’d been when I listened to you and Lydia talking about Aubrey last night – that wasn’t the man Rafe described to me at all, just as you’re not the woman he said you must be.’ She sat up and looked back towards the main station building. ‘It’s time to put an end to all this. I take it you didn’t come here on your own?’

‘No. Archie’s here with his sergeant and I expect there’ll be re-inforcements outside by now. He promised to give me time to talk to you, although I don’t know how much longer he’ll wait. But he’ll be fair, Marta, and so will the courts. You’ve suffered so much – they won’t ignore that.’

‘You mean they won’t hang me?’ Her wry smile softened the harshness of the words which Josephine had been trying to avoid.

‘The trouble is, the last thing I want is to live. That would be the brave way, to carry this through the years, but I’m not brave, Josephine. I want to die, but I need to do it my way, in a place that’s special to me. And I want to say goodbye to Arthur first. I’m afraid I have no faith in the idea that I might be about to see him again. I’m begging you – please let me get on a train and simply disappear.’

‘It doesn’t have to come to that, Marta. Rafe will live and be made to face what he’s done in court. Let that be the end to it, not this. You haven’t killed anyone, after all.’

‘Haven’t I? You of all people don’t think I could live with what’s happened, do you? There was a rope around my neck from the moment that Elliott sat down to write that letter to Rafe. What does it matter if I do it myself? If they take me in now, I shall plead guilty to Aubrey’s murder. I picked up the decanter to do it, so my prints will be all over it, and Rafe’s hardly going to argue, is he?

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We both have to face what we deserve, but this way is kinder and not just to me – surely you can see that. I don’t want Lydia to go through a trial and an execution. As it is, I’ll never forgive myself for allowing her to find Aubrey’s body. Because I couldn’t bring myself to kill him, though, I didn’t expect there to be a body to find.’

‘Isn’t Lydia worth living for?’

‘Do you really believe I’d come first over her work?’ Josephine could not honestly give the answer that Marta wanted, so she stayed quiet. ‘You have to come first with each other, Josephine.

Do you remember what you said about having someone to make the work less lonely? I know exactly what you meant, but Lydia’s never lonely when she’s at work. She’d be happy to be cast as

“woman with vegetables” for the rest of her life as long as she could be on that stage.’ They both smiled, acknowledging the truth of Marta’s words. ‘Look after Lydia for me, won’t you?

She’ll have to know what I’ve done, but I want her to understand why and you’re the only person who can explain.’

‘Does she know anything about what happened to you before you met her?’

‘We scratched the surface, but that’s all and she obviously doesn’t know who else was involved. It’s funny what ends up being important, isn’t it? I don’t mind her knowing I’m a potential murderer, but I do need her to understand that I wasn’t just using her. It started out like that: we needed access to the theatre and she was close to you.

And she had a certain reputation, of course. But I genuinely loved her. Please make her understand that.’

‘Isn’t there anything I can say to change your mind?’

Marta smiled sadly and Josephine wondered what she was thinking. She seemed about to speak, but changed her mind and instead took Josephine’s hand. ‘There might have been once, but too much has happened now, even for that.’ She stood up.

‘Shouldn’t you go and find your policeman? The train will be leaving in a few minutes.’

Josephine tried desperately to think of something that would make Marta change her mind. She had honestly believed that she 272

would be able to stop her, either with reason or by resorting to emotional arguments, but what could you say to someone who was so determined to die? Would Archie and the courts have more success after all? Perhaps if Marta were forced to live long enough, she would feel differently.

Marta sensed her dilemma. ‘While you decide what’s best, can I ask you to do something else? Will you go to Elspeth’s funeral? Say goodbye to her for me. Hello and goodbye.’

With mixed feelings, Josephine agreed. She wanted to pay her own respects, too, of course, but she had always hated the trappings of professional mourning and resented having to say goodbye to those she loved in such an atmosphere.

‘And make sure the new book gets published – under my name this time. Give the money to a charity that cares for women. Cares for them in this life, I mean, not one that just redeems their souls for the next. That’s if it sells, of course.’

‘Of course it will sell. You don’t need me to tell you how good it is.’ She paused, then gave it her final shot. ‘The third novel would be even better, though.’

It was a straw, she knew, but in spite of everything Marta seemed gratified by Josephine’s regard for her work. ‘At least I know the manuscript’s in good hands this time,’ she said. ‘And I’ve always hankered after a foreword by someone famous if you have time on your hands.’ She held up the papers in her hand, the manuscript of the book that had started so much trouble.

‘Seriously, Josephine, whatever happens to me I want you to put the record straight about this. Write a foreword that explains everything, and make sure people get to read it.’

A crowd of well-wishers was gathering to see loved ones safely on their various journeys, and Marta looked back at the carriages.

As a trail of steam from the engine signalled the promise of departure, Josephine finally made up her mind. ‘No, Marta, write it yourself and send it to me from wherever you are,’ she said, pushing her quickly towards the train. ‘I’ll make sure it’s read, but promise me you’ll do that before you even think of doing anything else.’

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Marta turned and looked at her for a long time. ‘I promise,’ she said. ‘Thank you, Josephine.’

‘And think about what you do after that. Please.’ They kissed as if the journey heralded nothing more than a week at the seaside, then Marta got on board without looking back and Josephine lost sight of her. She waited until the train was pulling out, then turned back to face Archie’s fury. In the end, it was she who had broken her promise, not him, and there was also the small matter of tampering with evidence to own up to. Before she had taken half a dozen steps, however, she heard her name called and looked up in surprise to find Fallowfield coming towards her. He was alone and she looked questioningly at him, wondering where Archie had gone. Shrugging as apologetically as a policeman could, Fallowfield nodded towards the train, which by now had almost disappeared from view.

So Archie had been one step ahead of her after all. She should have known. Her anger and frustration threatened to get the better of her and, on the verge of tears, she brushed aside Fallowfield’s arm and walked back up the platform, desperate for a few moments alone. It was the other train’s turn to depart now, and she had to move several yards further on to get some peace from the hustle and bustle. Shivering from the cold, she looked sadly back at the carriages, remembering the journey down with Elspeth and wondering what would happen when Archie caught up with Marta. Her attention was caught by the lamps going on in the final compartment, and she watched as a mother and daughter settled themselves by the window. How different things could have been, she thought, and was about to turn away when another woman slid back the carriage door and settled into one of the vacant seats.

She stared in astonishment, but Marta simply put her finger to her lips. From a distance, it was difficult to be sure but Josephine could have sworn she was smiling as the train moved slowly out into the evening.

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Sixteen

In the early hours of Monday morning, St Martin’s Lane was still reluctant to engage with a new day. Lydia slipped quietly from the Motleys’ studio and out into the deserted street, confident that the soft click of the front door would not be noticed: everyone inside was exhausted, and unlikely to stir for at least another hour or two. Unable to face going back to her digs the night before, she had been glad of company – but sleep was out of the question. In fact, feeling as she did now, she wondered if she would ever manage to sleep again.

Across the road, the New Theatre seemed strangely untouched by the violence: its walls were as solid as ever; its steps as polished; and the photographs on the boards outside – apart from being half-covered with a ‘Final Week’ announcement – promised the familiar glimpse of romance and excitement. How extraordinary that this glamorous world of make-believe should still exist in the face of such horror, she thought, but exist it did – and the play would indeed go on. Archie had confirmed that performances could begin again as normal on Tuesday and, although Johnny had offered to put an understudy on for Lydia or to cancel the rest of the week as a mark of respect, she had refused both options, knowing that work would get her through as nothing else could and that Bernard would not want Terry’s first week in charge to be dark. She had little doubt that Johnny would make a success of what had been left to him, but what his reign would mean for her she could not say.

She crossed the street and sat down outside the theatre, watching as the light grew stronger over the city. Was Marta somewhere 275

waiting for the day to start, or had she already taken that last, terrible step? Lydia had been furious with Josephine for letting her go, but she knew in her heart that it was a selfish reaction which stemmed in part from jealousy: those vital moments had created a bond between her lover and her friend from which she was excluded and, in her grief, she found that hard to accept. She wanted to believe that she could have succeeded where Josephine had failed, but was too honest to ignore the truth for long. Now, her anger replaced by helplessness and regret, she was left to reflect on what she could have done to make Marta want to live. Could she have put work second for Marta’s sake? Smiling sadly, she was brave enough to acknowledge both the answer and the guilt that came with it. She had loved her, certainly, but that had not been enough – for either of them.

Just for a moment, Lydia saw herself in ten years’ time – grateful for insignificant parts that kept her on the stage; enduring long, second-rate tours in bleak lodgings with poor company; and trail-ing a string of broken relationships. She was grateful to Aubrey for having left her financially comfortable and she had always longed for a house in the country, a place to retreat to when she was not on the stage, but perhaps she should consider more permanent changes?

A van turned into St Martin’s Lane and idled its way up the street, stopping just a few yards away. The milkman got out to place a couple of cans on the Salisbury’s doorstep, and looked surprised to see someone sitting outside the theatre at the wrong end of the day. Then he recognised her, raised his cap politely and returned to his van. Instead of driving on, though, he poured a glass of milk and brought it over with a piece of paper.

‘Early rehearsal, Miss?’ he joked, and handed her the milk.

‘This’ll keep you going till they let you in. I’ve been to the show a couple of times myself, but the wife practically lives here. No disrespect, but thank God it’s finishing or I’d be bankrupt.’

Lydia laughed, and nodded at the paper. ‘Would you like me to sign that for her?’ she asked, taking the stubby pencil that was offered and chatting graciously until the milkman felt obliged to 276

get on his way. How easily the mask came down, she thought, when he had gone. A new career? Who was she trying to fool?

Tired of her own company, Lydia stood up and walked back across the road, hoping that by now someone might be up and about, ready to keep her from herself.

As soon as the police had finished questioning him about Swinburne, Hedley White asked to see Elspeth. Sergeant Fallowfield looked at him kindly, but with concern. ‘Are you sure that’s a good idea, lad? Mortuaries are terrible places, even for people who are used to them. Wouldn’t you rather wait until we take her somewhere else? It’ll be any time now.’

But Hedley had insisted, unable to bear the thought of Elspeth all alone, and he sat now in a poky room off Gower Street, waiting for someone to fetch him. The door opened and a lady came in, but she was not the member of staff he had been expecting: her dress and the circles around her eyes made it obvious that her relationship with death was anything but a professional one. Not recognising her, he was surprised when she spoke his name.

‘I’m Alice Simmons,’ she added, and waited for him to respond.

So this was Elspeth’s mother – the mother who had brought her up, anyway, and of whom Elspeth spoke so fondly. He stood and held out his hand, nervously wiping it on his trousers first. She looked at him for a long time, assessing the boy who had earned her daughter’s love, and he wondered what she saw and how it tallied with anything that Elspeth might have told her about him.

‘This isn’t the sort of place that a mother dreams of meeting her daughter’s boyfriend,’ she said eventually, ‘but I ampleased to meet you and I’m glad you’re here. The more company Elspeth has, the better, don’t you think?’

Hedley nodded, and they sat down. Mrs Simmons made the sort of small-talk that any potential mother-in-law might resort to, and Hedley sensed that she was as reluctant as he was to refer to the evil that had brought them here.

‘What will you do now?’ she asked, and he was touched to see genuine concern in her face, but had no idea what the answer 277

was. He had vowed never to enter a theatre again, and had meant it. His whole love of the stage had been guided by Elspeth’s enthusiasm and Aubrey’s belief in him, and it would never be the same now that they were both gone. Lydia always joked that he had a job with her looking after the elusive house in the country, but who could say if that would ever be a reality? Even so, he knew he could be sure of Lydia’s friendship: they had always got on, but were bound now by a mutual sense of loss for a daughter and her mother, a victim and . . . well, he didn’t quite know how he felt about Marta Fox but, for Lydia’s sake, he would try to focus on sympathy rather than on the bitterness that sprang more readily to mind. As for Swinburne, he would be outside the gaol to hear the clock strike nine on the morning that bastard was hanged.

‘Anyway, you’ll come and stay with us at Frank and Betty’s, I hope, for now?’ she said. ‘They’ve asked me to say you’ll be more than welcome. There’s not much room, I know, but it’ll be good for us all to have each other.’

Hedley accepted, grateful to have his next steps marked out for him. When a woman came to fetch them at last, they went in to see Elspeth together.

The manuscript of Marta’s new novel lay on the table, untouched since Josephine had left it there the day before. She had not felt able to look at it again, but she had read enough to know that its subject was a fictional account of Marta’s marriage, powerful in its own right and not in the least self-indulgent, but poignantly autobiographical nonetheless. Josephine could already imagine a publisher rubbing his hands together with glee. What sort of ending had Marta written for herself, she wondered? She would find out in time, but not yet. At the moment, the manuscript was too strong a reminder of her own doubts and fears. She had felt certain yesterday that she was doing the right thing, but now she questioned her decision.

Archie had been white with rage when he caught up with her at the Yard. It had not taken him long to realise his mistake, but 278

the other train had stopped at three stations before he was able to have it searched, giving Marta plenty of time to disappear. God knows what would happen to her now: Archie had vowed to find her if it was the last thing he did and Josephine had never seen him so angry; he had even threatened to arrest her for aiding and abetting Marta’s escape. In part, his fury was with himself: he had acted rashly in underestimating Marta Fox, and he would regard that as inexcusable. But Josephine also understood that she had betrayed his trust and undermined his integrity, and he might find that hard to forgive, no matter how much he loved her. Yesterday, when he accused her of taking justice into her own hands just like Vintner and Marta and Aubrey, the truth of his words had stung.

For something to do, she went through to the small kitchen to make breakfast and found some bacon in the refrigerator. She took it out, then put it straight back and settled for a pot of tea instead.

Food was more than she could face.

‘Is there enough in that pot for two?’ Lydia spoke hesitantly, as if wondering what sort of reception she would get.

‘There’s plenty,’ Josephine said, delighted to see her. ‘But I’m afraid it’s proper tea, not the scented apology for a hot drink that you prefer.’

‘I’ll slum it, just this once.’ Lydia smiled, sharing Josephine’s relief, and found some cups and saucers in the cupboard. ‘I’m sorry, Josephine,’ she said, suddenly serious. ‘It was much easier to blame you for letting Marta go than to think about how I might have let her down. Who knows, if I’d taken more time to listen to her and read between the lines, she might have felt strong enough to rebuild her life another way. I miss her so much, but I was a cow to blame you because she’s not here any more.’

Josephine took her hand. ‘I’m sorry, too,’ she said. ‘I really thought I was doing what was right, but then so did Marta and Bernard, and even Vintner in his way, and look where that got them. I might just have made it worse. But she does love you, you know. She wanted you to be sure of that.’

Lydia had not missed the present tense. ‘Do you think there’s 279

any chance she might change her mind now that she’s away from everything?’

‘I really don’t know,’ Josephine said, conscious of the irony that, if Marta did have a change of heart, it would be her work that kept her alive. ‘I hoped she would and I asked her to, but I’m honestly not sure if I could live with what she knows.’ She poured the hot water into the pot and looked at Lydia. ‘And Archie’s determined to track her down. It’s become a battle of wills between those two since they first clashed swords. He’s probably staking Cambridge out as we speak.’

‘Is that where she went, do you think?’

Josephine considered. ‘It would be my first guess, although I purposely didn’t ask – I wouldn’t have been able to lie to Archie in the mood he was in. It’s where Marta met Arthur so, in spite of Vintner, she was happy there. If she has gone to Cambridge, though, I don’t think she’ll be able to keep it a secret. It’s a small place, and Archie knows it well.’

‘Has all this caused problems between the two of you?’

‘It certainly hasn’t made things any easier, but then my relationship with Archie has never been easy.’

‘Why is that? Because he loves you and knows you don’t feel the same way?’

‘It’s more complicated than that. It goes back twenty years.’

‘Doesn’t everything?’ Lydia raised an eyebrow wryly. ‘We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.’

‘It’s not that. It just feels disloyal to Archie.’

‘Then you should speak to each other – get it all out in the open.

Look what secrets can do to you.’

Josephine nodded, knowing that Lydia was right. After what had happened in the last couple of days, she was reluctant to let old grudges continue to fester. ‘I’ll talk to him when I get the chance,’ she said.

Voices drifted through to the kitchen from the central studio, confirming that Ronnie and Lettice were finally awake, so she added two more cups to the tray before carrying it in. Lettice thumped down onto the sofa next to Lydia and gave her an enor-280

mous hug. ‘Look on the bright side, darling – you hated that alabaster statue from the moment Hephzibar gave it to you.’

Lydia had to smile, as Ronnie leaned forward and poked her sister in the shoulder. ‘What did I tell you?’ she said triumphantly.

‘Everything that Hephzibar touches is cursed.’ Then the smugness disappeared. ‘She hasn’t ever given us anything, has she?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Lettice snapped, but Josephine was amused to see her glance nervously at a small Buddha by the door. ‘Listen,’

she continued, ‘with all the fuss, we forgot to tell you that Johnny telephoned last night. He wants to talk to you about adding a week to the tour and finishing in Hammersmith as a tribute to Hedley’s girl – he thought of dedicating the week’s performances to her. Do you think the family would like that, or is it too soon?’

‘I think they’d be very touched,’ Josephine said. ‘If it can be made to work, it’s a wonderful idea.’

‘Good. He’s going to see if people are free. It might mean delay-ing rehearsals for Queen of Scotsby a week or so, though.’

‘I’m sure no one will mind,’ Josephine said, adding privately to herself that the longer she could put off going through another play, the better.

‘Actually, we were a bit bewildered by the rest of the conversation,’ Lettice added. ‘It scarcely sounded like the real Johnny.

Apparently, he’s given Fleming three months off on full pay to sort out some personal problems. I don’t know what’s come over him.

We half-wondered if we should do a few sketches for A Christmas Carol.’

There was an abrupt knock at the door and Ronnie got up to answer it. ‘Archie, dear,’ she said, letting him in. ‘Where are you going today? I believe you can get season tickets if you intend to make a habit of rail travel.’

Josephine was relieved to see that Archie’s wrath had been replaced by composure tinged with embarrassment. ‘Is there any news of Marta?’ Lydia asked as soon as she saw him.

‘I’m afraid not,’ he said, sitting down and accepting some tea. ‘I really am sorry, Lydia. I know that whatever professional duty I have to find her, it’s nothing compared to how much you must long 281

for news. I promise I’ll tell you as soon as I know anything. And I owe you an apology, too, Josephine.’ He looked at her a little sheepishly, but a smile hovered at the corners of his mouth. ‘So I’ve decided not to arrest you after all.’ He drank his tea, and continued more earnestly. ‘We’ve checked the hospital records, though, and they confirm what Marta told Josephine about her time there. In fact, she didn’t tell you how bad it was.’ He glanced at Lydia.

‘Go on, Archie,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry about me.’

‘Well, I managed to speak to someone who was a young nurse there at the time – she’s moved on now – and she remembers Marta very clearly. The depression was severe, it seems, and this nurse didn’t mince her words about how Marta was treated by those in charge. Apparently, she made a couple of attempts to take her own life just after Elspeth was born, then simply resigned herself to her fate.’

‘It’s hard to imagine how she got through it at all,’ Josephine said.

‘Yes, but that’s not everything. The reason this woman remembers Marta so clearly is because of what happened when the baby was taken away from her a few weeks later. Her husband came to fetch it, she says, and he brought a young boy of about five or six with him. Marta clung to the baby, desperate not to let her go, but of course it was no use. When the husband – Vintner – had Elspeth in his arms, he turned to the young boy and told him to go and give Mummy her present. The child went over to Marta and, when she bent down to him, he spat in her face. The sisters just stood by and watched. The woman I spoke to left the hospital the very next day – she said she couldn’t bear such cruelty.’

Lydia was pale by now, and even Ronnie and Lettice were too shocked to speak. ‘Have you spoken to Rafe Vintner yet?’

Josephine asked at last. ‘It seems that everyone’s a victim in this. I can’t imagine how being filled with so much hatred must have affected him at that age.’

‘Yes, and I couldn’t begin to tell you how it’s grown over the years. I’ve only spoken to him briefly because he’s still in hospital and fairly weak from that knock on the head, but I don’t think I’ve 282