Postscript to Murder

‘A vain hope in a naughty world,’ said Mary, smoothing her dress. It was a misty blue which deepened the dark brown of her hair, and for once she had used eyeshadow. ‘How do I look?’

‘Like a mouse in blue spectacles … No, don’t brush it off, it suits you … I think that’s the cab at the door.’

Kemp was still without his car, which irked him. Lorimers’ Garage had had it over a week but had just taken delivery of a spare part damaged in the incident on the London Road and had told him it would not be ready until tomorrow evening. Kemp had been perverse about not accepting their offer of a hired car; he thought the walking would do him good, though he was not overfond of the exercise, and after a week he’d had enough of it.

‘As soon as I pass my driving test I’m going to buy a Mini of my own,’ said Mary, as they were being driven off. Although she had never possessed a motor vehicle in her life – an odd distinction in an American – Mary was a very competent driver; Kemp had not asked her where she got the experience. ‘And then we shall be a two-car family like those people everyone tries to keep up with, the Joneses, isn’t it?’

‘Never heard of them,’ said Kemp, ‘so we’ll just have to make do with the Allardyces. Tony says they have quite a place …’

It was indeed. Even Kemp was startled at the size of it. Simply called The Leas after the original meadows upon which it was built, the sprawling modern bungalow occupied a large area with plenty to spare for wide lawns and winding walks through newly planted shrubberies. The drive was brightly lit by spotlights fixed on iron standards.

‘Well, I do believe these are old streetlamps,’ said Kemp, peering out. ‘I wonder where young Allardyce picked them up? Probably perks from the Development Corporation he works for. How very ingenious …’

The word ingenious is not one readily applied to an Australian sheep-shearer, and that is what Zachary Allardyce looked like. Tall, bronzed and blond, any typecaster would have swooped on him for the part.

He was not immediately introduced to Kemp, who only came upon his host after doing the dutiful circulating expected of guests at these affairs. When Anita’s brother was eventually pointed out to Kemp by Tony Lambert he was deep in conversation with Mary Kemp. As Kemp approached them he heard the true twang of Australian vowels.

‘Zachary’s a crazy name. I mean, who wants to be called something out of the Bible these days …’

‘I rather like it,’ Mary said. ‘The biblical thing … Back in the States now, they go in for it too, call their sons Seth or Joshua, Daniel or even Jeremiah … as if it sets the seal of the Almighty on them …’

Allardyce laughed – as indeed she intended him to.

‘I shorten mine to Zack … One-syllable names are easier to yell out over a great distance.’

‘And I’m sure there’s plenty of that where you come from.’

‘Yes, ma’am … The old man – that’s my dad – he still runs the sheep station, but Anita and I, well, we quit … Wider horizons, you know … Like in your country, the young must branch out …’

‘They surely do.’ Kemp could see that Mary Madeleine was enjoying herself; she was using one of her many voices. ‘Either they end up wealthy on Wall Street or broke in The Bowery … Oh, have you met my husband, Lennox Kemp?’

Zack Allardyce gave Kemp a handshake that would have pulled his fingers out of shape had it lasted longer.

‘Mr Kemp. We’ve not spoken but of course I’ve seen you around Newtown.’

It was the second time recently someone had said that to Kemp; more folk know Tom Fool than Tom Fool knows, he thought. He must have gone around with his eyes shut to miss so large a specimen.

‘At various planning enquiries,’ Allardyce explained. ‘I remember you represented that little parish council – Amwell, wasn’t it? – when our Development Corporation took over the gravel pits.’

‘And won a famous victory …’ It had not been that for Kemp, nor for the villagers of Amwell. They had had this pretty spot with a flowing brook and a deep, translucent pool. Kemp remembered there had been words carved on the little bridge, and he murmured them now: ‘Sweet Amwell, Blessed Be Thy Stream …’

All gone now of course under the desert of the diggings.

‘Progress, Lennox … Can’t be stopped, you know.’

‘Someone said progress would be wonderful if only it would stop,’ Kemp remarked, with a smile. ‘I notice the Corporation’s gravel workings have fallen on lean times of late.’

‘Recession. Hits everybody …’ Zack Allardyce waved at a tray of wine which was passing, and had their glasses replenished. ‘I liked your style, Lennox, you put up a good fight for the place, but my Corporation looks to the future, you know …’

Kemp didn’t like being patronized, nor the inference that he had somehow been relegated to the past. Although Zack was at least ten years older than his sister, he was still a young man and it might be that he yet had much to learn about his adopted country.

As if picking up her husband’s thought, Mary turned the conversation by asking how long Zachary had been in England.

Some considerable time, it seemed. He had come as a student, taken his degree here – he did not specify at which university – and, after a stint in local government, he had been, in his own words, snapped up by the Newtown Development Corporation some three years ago.

‘Planning’s my forte,’ he told them, ‘so I stick to working in the new towns. Gives me scope for my ideas …’

‘You’ll not be wanting to go back to Australia, then,’ said Mary, innocently. ‘There can’t be much need for planning there with all that empty space to fill and no historic ruins to knock down …’

‘I don’t intend going back. That’s why I advised my sister to come over and do her law here. We’re both staying in your tight little island, you can bet on that … Ah, here’s Anita … I expect you’ve already met Lennox Kemp. This is his wife.’

Anita Allardyce was also fair-complexioned but in no other way did she resemble her formidable brother. She was a small girl, chunky rather than slim, with intelligent blue eyes set wide apart. She had the bouncy look of one in perfect health, and attractive because of it.

‘I didn’t recognize you at first,’ said Mary, ‘but I’ve seen you jogging in the local park. You wear a bandana thing round your hair …’

‘But not tonight.’ Anita laughed, and shook out her red-gold mane which was waved and frizzed in the present dishevelled fashion of the young.

‘Why, you’re a right little lion cub!’ exclaimed Mary, who sometimes said exactly what she thought.

The two ladies went off together, Zack abandoned Kemp and moved away through the crowd like a tall ship in a fishing fleet.

‘I see our friend Stoddart’s here.’ Mike Cantley had come up and was whispering in Kemp’s ear. ‘How’s he connected to the Allardyces?’

‘Well, Roberts get most of the Corporation’s legal work when we are on the opposite side – which happens quite often these days.’

‘Letting Nick loose on planning must be like sending a bull into a china shop,’ Cantley muttered. ‘Look out, he’s heading this way. I’m off … I don’t want my evening’s enjoyment spoiled.’

‘Hullo, Lennox, Gillorns in full force tonight, eh? Nothing like presenting a solid front …’ It was obvious that Stoddart had already imbibed more than his share of the wine.

‘It’s Tony’s engagement party, Nick,’ said Kemp, smoothly, ‘so naturally the firm is here to help him celebrate.’

‘The Allardyce kid? She’ll eat him alive, that one … Great chap, her brother Zack … Did you know he’s now a highflier with the old Corp? And nearly was a corpse that esh-establishment till he took over …’

‘Its work was done,’ said Kemp, shortly, ‘the town’s built. All they’re doing now is scrub round the edges.’

‘Which don’t suit you conservash … conservationists …’ Nick had trouble with the word, so he changed the subject, at the same time modifying his voice and mien – a good barrister’s trick if done swiftly enough to disarm an opponent. Unhappily for Stoddart, alcohol had slowed him down and the effect was merely clownish. ‘You need friends, Lennox, at a time like this …’ He went on nodding solemnly like a drinking duck. ‘Of course, we in the profession know all about your bad time, but no shouting it from the rooftops, eh?’

Usually Kemp could be amused by Stoddart’s antics but tonight he was not in a forgiving mood. He was saved from throwing something bitter in Nick’s face – vermouth by choice but probably only words – by the appearance of Mary at his side. She must have heard at least some of the conversation.

‘They are serving supper, Lennox,’ she said, taking his arm, ‘in the conservatory … As near as the Australians can get to the great outdoors, I suppose, but it will be chilly …’

‘So, this is the little lady …’ Stoddart bent his huge head down towards her, and his loosely held wine glass spilled out a few drops on the shoulder of her dress.

‘Not so little, and certainly no lady.’ Mary fixed him with a direct look. ‘Nor are you so great as a man that you can’t carry your liquor either inside or out …’

As she gently towed Kemp away she continued in a clear, carrying voice: ‘And it’s better manners than that I’ve had from the drunks on Skid Row …’

It was the kind of party where by suppertime those who had indulged themselves too freely were loose of tongue whilst those who had remained sober were grown embarrassed and lacked conviviality. That there had to be the two camps arose naturally from the presence of so many lawyers who knew the extent of police surveillance on the roads home. The various couples split fairly amicably along the line between drinking and driving but the resulting disunity hardly helped the party spirit. Fortunately no expense had been spared, so the food was some consolation.

The members of Gillorns drifted together in an unconscious gesture of solidarity with Tony Lambert. Zack Allardyce dominated the other end of the long table set out under a glass roof among a jungle of potted plants in various stages of greenness and demonstrating verdant health in some, despondent wilt in others.

Sally couldn’t take her eyes off Zack. ‘He looks like a TV ad for Fosters … You can almost see the wide open spaces between his ears …’

Young Franklyn had been at the wine. He gave a loud guffaw – brought on as much by surprise than anything else; he was rather in awe of Miss Stacey as he was finding revenue law beyond his powers. Besides, she didn’t often make jokes.

Nick Stoddart looked up from where he was sitting mid-table next to Anita. ‘I recognize Gillorns’s virgin tax expert,’ he muttered, ‘and I think she of all people should keep her lip buttoned … Who’s the whipper-snapper who thinks she’s funny?’

‘Franklyn Davey … He’s their articled clerk,’ Anita told him. ‘Since your time, I expect. Didn’t you used to work at Gillorns?’

‘Long time ago …’ Nick’s voice was blurred … ‘Before I went on to better things … Just like you’re doing, honey …’

Anita went rather pink. ‘Oh, it’s not fixed yet …’ she began, but found her companion wasn’t listening. He had found something more interesting going on further up the table. Zachary had tackled Lennox Kemp on the subject of the item in the local paper.

‘Hi, there, Lennox … Are these real poison-pen letters?’

‘Not up for discussion, Mr Allardyce,’ Kemp said firmly. He was damned if he’d get on first-name terms with the man.

Nick leaned forward so that his chin was level with his fruit salad.

‘That’s right … No dirty linen, if you please …’ He wagged his finger in the air. ‘Anonymous … synonymous … And your sins will find you out … Y’know what they say …’

‘What does synonymous mean?’ asked Mary of the table in general. ‘I don’t think it’s got anything to do with sinning.’

‘And you’d be right, Mrs Kemp,’ said Franklyn, eager to be of help. ‘It only means equal to … on a par with …’

‘Young Mr Bloody Know-all …’ muttered Stoddart. ‘In my day articled clerks knew their place …’ He pawed Anita’s arm to bring her attention back to him. ‘You thinking of getting your articles with Gillorns?’

She coloured slightly, but whether it was at his touch or because of the question an observer could not have known. ‘I hope so,’ she said, rather primly, ‘once I’ve taken my Part One exams this summer.’

Kemp was surprised; the subject had not been bruited before – at least not in his presence. He looked round for Tony but he was already at the door saying goodbye to the Cantleys.

The party was breaking up. It did not seem the right time to ask Tony whether it was his suggestion that Anita Allardyce should join the firm. Kemp doubted it; Tony was a stickler for doing things the right way, he would have spoken to Kemp first. It looked as if the lion cub – as Mary had called her – had a way with her …

Later, Kemp found himself next to Tony in the hall. Around them the departing guests were jostling for coats, calling up taxis, looking for their spouses, arranging lifts for those unfit to drive, and taking farewell of their host and hostess. For a few moments there was a revival of the original happy atmosphere.

‘You still without your car, Lennox?’ Tony asked him.

‘Get it back tomorrow night, thank goodness …’

‘You know I’m up in town all day tomorrow? It’s to do with my parents’ estate, and I’ve got several other little errands’ – he looked across at Anita, meaningfully – ‘including a present she doesn’t know about yet …’

‘That’s all right, Tony. Your department runs itself anyway. You’ll miss that Law Society Branch meeting on the budget but Sally can fill you in later.’

‘Pity about the meeting … I’m afraid I’d clean forgotten … But this business in town can’t wait. As you know, I’m sole executor and it’s the final winding-up …’

‘You won’t be missing much. It’s a nuisance for me, too … I’d meant to pick up my car earlier but Lorimer says it won’t be ready till after five and that’s when the Branch meets. Sally’s going to take me in her car and then she’ll drop me off at the garage later. The way some of these old boys drone on it’ll be after eight before we get away. But David Lorimer will leave my car out back as he usually does so I’ll just pick it up there after the meeting.’

‘You still go to Lorimers’? Bit out of the way, isn’t it?’

‘David Lorimer’s an old client of ours. Besides, he’s always given me good service. As you know, I’m hopeless with what goes on under the bonnet … Hey, I think that’s my coat you’ve got there.’

‘Gosh, I thought it was mine,’ said Tony, handing it over. ‘I’ve never known you wear an overcoat …’

‘Comes of getting married, and coddled. As a single man I never felt I needed a coat, but now Mary insists …’

‘Well,’ said Tony, ‘it looks as if you and I go to the same outfitters.’

‘Difficult not to. Newtown’s hardly the metropolis …’

‘That reminds me,’ said Tony. ‘Do you want any errands run while I’m up in town tomorrow? I could call in at Clement’s Inn -’

‘Definitely not,’ Kemp interrupted with some fervour. The last thing he wanted was for Gillorns Head Office to get wind of any trouble at the Newtown end. ‘I’m keeping a very low profile as far as they’re concerned until this nasty business blows over – as I’m sure it will …’

The good wine had got to him, and the effect was to make grave matters seem of less moment.

Young Lambert, on the other hand, had been anxious under the eye of his beloved, and therefore somewhat abstemious. ‘I hope so, Lennox, indeed I do. Doesn’t do the firm any favours this thing getting out.’

Had Kemp been his usual discerning self he would have recognized a fair comment from one who was both colleague and close friend. In his present euphoric state, however, he only grinned and said: ‘Nothing for any of us to worry about – certainly not you. Have a nice day in town. Did you say something about a present for your fiancée? I hope she likes it, women can be difficult to please … Ah, here’s my wife with that expression on her face which says I’m talking too much …’

‘Our taxi is here, Lennox,’ said Mary, squeezing his arm. ‘Let’s go and say the proper things to the Allardyces.’

But Zachary had loomed up behind them, and he laughed.

‘Don’t spoil yourself by being proper, Mary,’ he said. It was obvious that he was rather taken with her. ‘All these English, now … they’re too damned polite. Except when they drink, of course. You were a bit hard on old Nick Stoddart, but then you’re a pretty direct lady. Comes of you being an American, I suppose …’

‘Comes of me being me,’ said Mary, firmly. ‘Thank you for a very enjoyable evening. Now I must have a word with your sister.’

Zachary seemed anxious not to let Kemp go. He began a rambling account of a recent planning appeal which had been settled in favour of what he called ‘his’ corporation, dropping some influential local names along the way and making much of his own contribution. Kemp listened politely but with no great interest in the matter, although he was intrigued by the Australian’s self-esteem and could see that it could have impact in some quarters.

He was about to turn away when Allardyce stopped him again. ‘I say, Lennox, I’m sorry if I was out of line asking about those letters … But that piece in the paper did make the thing public. Have you really had your life threatened?’

‘We all step on someone’s toes from time to time. When we deal in controversial issues there are always people who get upset.’ Kemp tried to turn the conversation. ‘You must have met a few angry protestors in your line of work, Mr Allardyce.’

‘Sure, I’ve been threatened by farmers’ dogs and looked down the barrel of a shotgun. Folk don’t always like what we do, but at least they meet us face to face … Anonymous letters, now that’s something else again. That’s sneaky. You’ve not been attacked physically, have you?’

Kemp shook his head. He had no wish to share his experiences with Zachary Allardyce, though the man would make a formidable bodyguard should he ever need one. Fortunately he was rescued from this disturbing thought by the reappearance of his wife and they went out together to find their cab.

‘These people, Lennox …’ Mary Kemp sat contentedly in her own sitting room with a coffee cup in her hand and a glass of cognac on the table beside her. ‘… They don’t act real …’

‘Parties are all the same in Newtown – and in the whole of England, too, for all I know.’ Kemp, back in his home, was apt to be philosophical.

‘Are we holding a postmortem on social events?’ she asked.

‘We do appear to be doing so on this one.’

‘Well … Should I be giving you my impressions of it? From an outsider’s point of view, an American for instance …’

‘For so they took you …’

‘Being not one of them …’

‘Nor an Australian from the outback … Come on, Mary, you’re dying to tell me.’

She took a drink of the brandy although she didn’t need it for the words to come.

‘Zachary Allardyce is on the make. I don’t believe his old man ever owned as much as half an acre, and only counted sheep as an aid to sleep … Little sister, Anita … she’s out on the prowl and your Tony’s a toothsome morsel … Nick Stoddart’s on the slide, pushed down by that chip on his shoulder the size of an oak tree, and his tendency to tipple … Your office colleagues, they’d sure like to be loyal but … self-interest takes the heart out of that …’

Kemp sat up.

‘You were listening to them?’

‘I have good ears. Nondescripts like me get overlooked when people are talking … Same as the servants in eighteenth-century novels …’

Kemp looked across at her fondly, but with some apprehension.

‘You’ve been doing some fast reading, Mary.’

‘And why not? The Irish have always had a way with words. It’s not difficult to catch up. Tonight I was hearing the hesitations, the spaces between the words … When you listen to the silences you know what’s at the root of the talk.’

‘And that is?’

‘There is mistrust of you, Lennox, because of the letters … Of your position as head of the firm. Of course, they are all of them lawyers so they’re careful in their speech, for ever looking over their shoulders for fear they’ll get sued for slander … That’s where what they don’t say matters more than their words …’

She drained the brandy in her glass.

‘Mary Madeleine Blane, I think you’re tipsy …’

‘And what of it? Isn’t it the truth I’m telling you?’

Going upstairs with his arms around her, and comfortable in all else, Kemp hoped it was not so.

CHAPTER 7

Wednesday was an ordinary day. The morning post brought few surprises: fiscal reminders, conflicting claims, routine conveyancing, fervid complaints from dissatisfied clients, the odd appreciation for services rendered, building society cheques towards impending completions, notice of meetings, appeals for charity, and letters from rival firms competing in the matrimonial stakes.

Kemp dealt with them all, distributing among his colleagues their particular headaches for the day, and taking to himself those in which he was concerned. He dictated, saw clients, drafted documents, perused and completed the various forms required by bureaucracy to ensure every citizen’s right to be heard, to be tried, to be scolded, solaced or compensated according to the law. It was Kemp’s framework, the narrow space in which he operated and within which he fervently hoped his intelligence and expertise might make for, at the very least, a happy compromise – justice was too often a will-o’-the-wisp and hard to catch, an abstract concept only possible in an ideal world …

It was already five o’clock when Sally Stacey came into his office.

‘We’re late, Lennox, we’ll miss the sherry …’

‘If it’s what the local Branch usually provides it’s no great loss …’

As he had predicted, the meeting went on and on, petering out finally just after eight when the old-stagers had run out of steam – and their reminiscences of times past when the budget meant little more than a change in tax without the modern complexities brought about by political expediency.

Sally Stacey did not say much at the start of their drive back to Newtown, which was unlike her for she was normally quite a talker. Kemp was reminded of what Mary had said about the silences …

‘Lennox, there’s something I have to tell you …’ When Sally spoke at last she had her eyes on the road, her hands firm on the steering wheel. ‘It’s about those letters … Of course we were all shocked to see that bit in the Gazette … I got to thinking … You know the reporter, Dan Frobisher?’

‘I’ve met him.’

‘What you probably don’t know is his background. You remember when I came to Gillorns four years ago? You had me doing matrimonials …’

‘I’m sorry for that, Sally. We just thought …’

‘Because I was a woman solicitor, the first you’d had, you thought I’d naturally go into that department …’

‘It was a mistake. I know that now, and I took you off it as soon as I realized you’d a business brain …’

‘You were the only one who guessed … And I’m grateful. What I wanted to tell you was that while I was doing what everyone expected me to be good at – the social welfare thing – one of my clients was Amy Frobisher – well, she was Amy Robsart then …’

‘I didn’t know she’d been your client.’

‘To put it bluntly, what she wanted was a bastardy order. She was pregnant. She said the father was Daniel Frobisher and he wasn’t keen to marry her.’

‘And?’

‘She was quite a tough little piece. It was either get him into court or she’d have an abortion.’

‘I see.’

‘No, you don’t …’ Sally’s hands were gripping the wheel very tightly. ‘She came for legal advice …’

‘Which you gave her?’

‘Well … up to a point … But when she talked about abortion, I was in a quandary …’

Kemp waited for her to go on. When she didn’t, he said, gently: ‘I know that you are a Roman Catholic, Sally, and I appreciate that you might have strong views on abortion … but you are first and foremost a lawyer.’