Brought to Book (15 page)

‘Miss Parish,' she said, in her cool, clear voice. ‘How do you do? Please come in.'

Rona followed her down a short passage to a room overlooking the front of the building. The sofa and chairs were of cream leather, the carpet and curtains a soft shade of green. A heavy glass coffee table stood in the centre of the room, bearing a tray with a silver coffee pot and china cups and saucers. No ornaments were in evidence, but a photograph of a wedding group stood on a low bookcase, and a couple of paintings hung on otherwise bare walls. Outside the French windows she could see a wrought-iron balcony, colourful with potted plants, which would be a pleasant place to sit in summer.

While the obligatory cup of coffee was being poured, Rona settled on the butter-soft sofa and discreetly studied her hostess. Isobel Harvey was petite – considerably smaller than either herself or Meriel – and her grey, white-collared dress gave her a Quaker look that was enhanced by the reddish gold hair coiled severely into a chignon. Her hands and feet were small and she wore grey high heels in what was presumably mock-croc. Her eyes, as they met Rona's over the proffered coffee cup, were a disconcertingly pale blue. She must be in her fifties, but her skin was smooth and the only noticeable lines were at the edges of her eyes.

‘Thank you for agreeing to see me,' Rona began.

A barely perceptible nod. Then, as she seated herself: ‘I believe you were commissioned by Mrs Meriel Harvey?'

‘Not exactly; the initial approach came from her, but it was my publishers who commissioned the biography.' She paused, but Isobel remained silent. ‘I'm hoping to gather memories and impressions from as many people as possible,' she went on, ‘to build up a complete picture of Theo Harvey. I've already spoken to your father-in-law, as he might have told you.' Or was he her ex-father-in-law? Rona wondered belatedly.

‘Yes, he told me.'

Still no point of contact. Rona tried again. ‘Would you mind if I switch on the recorder?'

‘I've no objection, but I must warn you it's unlikely I can tell you anything of interest.'

Translated as
I have no intention of telling you,
Rona thought with a heavy heart.

‘But you knew Theo as a young man.' She saw an eyebrow go up at the Christian name, but it was too late to retract. ‘You were married to him for eighteen years, and during that time he switched careers, turning from a school master into a best-selling novelist almost overnight. Your lives must have changed completely.'

‘Many people's lives change.'

Rona leaned forward and switched off the recorder, then sat back, meeting the faintly hostile blue eyes. ‘If you're not happy to speak to me, Mrs Harvey, why did you agree to see me?'

Before Isobel could reply, the phone in Rona's handbag interrupted with its shrill chiming. With an apologetic murmur, she located it and read the number that was calling. It was Justin Grant's surgery. Damn, damn, damn!

Flushed and aware of her disadvantage, she said quickly, ‘I do apologize, but I've been waiting for this call. Would you excuse me for a moment?'

She hurried out of the room, flipping the phone open as she went. ‘Hello? Rona Parish speaking.'

‘Good morning, Ms Parish.' A different voice from last time. ‘This is Mr Grant's secretary; he wonders if you'd be free to lunch with him today? He could meet you in the Grill Room of the Connaught Hotel at twelve thirty, if that would be convenient?'

Lunch
? Rapidly Rona assessed the situation. On the one hand, she wouldn't be able to use the recorder, nor take notes, and his role of host might mean tempering some of her questions. On the other, it at least offered her an early interview, and if she declined, he might prove elusive.

‘That's very kind of him,' she said formally. ‘Thank you, I should be delighted.'

‘Twelve thirty, then,' repeated the secretary, as though stressing that his time was valuable, even in the lunch hour.

‘I'll be there,' Rona confirmed, and ended the connection. But before lunch, there was humble pie to be eaten. She made her way back to the sitting-room, where Isobel awaited her, ankles neatly crossed.

‘I'm so sorry about that,' she said, reseating herself. ‘Now, where were we?'

‘You were asking why I'm wasting your time.'

Rona flushed. ‘I'm sure I didn't say that.'

‘It was implied, but you're right, you're entitled to an explanation.' She looked down at her clasped hands. ‘The only reason I agreed to this meeting was damage limitation. I – needed to put my side of things.'

Rona said carefully, ‘As far as I'm concerned, Mrs Harvey, there are no “sides”. I'm not from the enemy camp, you know.'

Isobel smiled faintly. ‘Perhaps I'm paranoid, but I instinctively distrust Meriel and anything she instigates. In any case, she must have told you all you need to know about me.'

Rona looked at her in surprise. ‘We haven't discussed you at all,' she objected.

Isobel held her gaze. ‘Is that true?'

‘Absolutely. All she said was that you're not on speaking terms.'

Isobel drew a deep breath. ‘Then perhaps I've misjudged her. And you.'

‘Then may I start the interview?'

‘On one understanding; I have no objection to giving you any facts you need, but don't expect me to indulge in emotional assessments, either mine or Theo's. I have an inbuilt distaste for – washing my linen, dirty or otherwise, in public.'

‘Fine, but I hope that won't prevent you from giving me some idea of his character as a young man, and how it changed as he grew older.'

Isobel spread her hands, not committing herself. Rona switched on the recorder.

‘Perhaps we could start by your telling me how and where you met?'

‘It was in London, at a party. I was twenty and Theo twenty-six. We married within months.'

‘Can you remember your first impressions of him?'

‘Principally, that he was unlike anyone I'd ever met. Even as a young man, he had a commanding presence and seemed larger than life. And he was rather loud.' She smiled. ‘Actually, that put me off a bit at first. He laughed a lot – too much – but that was his public face. When I realized that underneath it was a sensitive man, unsure of himself – that's when I fell in love with him.'

She was silent for a minute, and Rona, recognizing Theo's stereotypical hero in the description, made no move to prompt her. Then, as though shaking herself out of her retrospection, she went on. ‘So, as I said, we were married. Theo was in his first teaching post, at a boys' prep school in Buckingham, and we were – very happy.' She looked down at her clasped hands.

‘Was he writing at all then?'

‘No, although English was his subject.'

‘Did you work yourself?'

‘Nothing high-powered. I did some PR, but I stopped when Gavin was born, and didn't go back. I was perfectly happy at home with the children.'

‘How old were they when you separated?'

‘Fifteen, twelve and nine, but in fact the major change in our lives had come, as you suggested, four years earlier, when Theo's first book was published. The sudden fame – radio interviews, books tours, television panels – completely went to his head and he couldn't get enough of it. He wanted to be out every night, drinking or clubbing, meeting new people. It took me completely by surprise, and I was horrified when he threw up his job; after all, it had been his life and our livelihood. I was convinced that he'd jettisoned our security, that we'd have to sell the house and move the boys from their private school, and I looked round in panic for something I could do to fend off an emergency.

‘Theo laughed at me, but I enrolled at the local business college, and, to my surprise as well as his, discovered a flair for it. By the time I graduated it was clear we were in no danger of bankruptcy, but I decided to go ahead anyway and set up my own business, arranging cultural tours abroad – Florence, Rome, that kind of thing. The economic climate was just right and the business took off, and, I'm glad to say, has continued to flourish. It has been my lifeline.'

‘And meanwhile Theo continued to write best-sellers?'

‘Yes, and I was seeing less and less of him. He bought a cottage up near Spindlebury and spent all week there, only coming home for weekends. And whereas I wanted to spend that precious time by ourselves, he was only happy when we were out somewhere in a crowd. If I protested, he accused me of being boring and went without me. Sometimes –' she coloured – ‘he stayed out all night, and I began to hear unpleasant stories about him, which became harder and harder to ignore.'

She met Rona's eyes with a mixture of defiance and embarrassment. ‘I'm only telling you this because it's common knowledge. I still thought we could weather it – we had before. But then he met Meriel.'

Her fingers twisted together. ‘She was married, too,' she said in a low voice. ‘She even had a child, but neither fact prevented her making a set at Theo. I – saw her in action.' She bit her lip. ‘I'm sorry if I sound bitter, but, unchristian or not, I can never forgive her for what she did to us.'

Rona steered her off at a tangent. ‘Were these people he socialized with old friends, or new ones?'

Isobel said bitterly, ‘I wouldn't call them friends at all. They were spongers, most of them, pandering to his vanity and eager to be seen with him because he was a celebrity. I doubt if any of them stood by him later, when he really needed friends.'

‘Did you see him during the time he had writer's block?'

‘No, there was virtually no contact between us by then. In the early days, we had to keep in touch because of the boys. Theo moved in with Meriel before the divorce, and as I refused to let them go to their rented house, he'd no option but to come home to collect and deliver them. It was a traumatic time, because they didn't want to see him.'

She shot a swift look at Rona. ‘No, I did
not
try to turn them against him; that would have been grossly unfair. But they weren't stupid; they could see the way he was behaving, and basically they couldn't forgive him for leaving us. By the time he developed the block they were older and had virtually lost touch. I wrote to him, though; just a short note that I addressed to the cottage, saying I was sorry to hear about it, and hoped things would right themselves. He never replied. I didn't really expect him to.'

‘Were you surprised by the block?'

Isobel shrugged. ‘While he was with me, his writing was like water pouring out of a tap, but I didn't really know him any more.'

‘Had you any thoughts on what might have caused it?'

‘Reginald – my father-in-law – thought it was some kind of breakdown. He and Theo were estranged for a while after we split up,' she added, ‘but they came back together, and I was glad for both their sakes.'

‘Could the block have had any bearing on his death?'

She looked genuinely surprised. ‘I can't see how. He'd been writing again for over two years.'

Nothing to be gained there. Rona glanced at the photograph on the bookcase. ‘Where are your sons now?'

‘In London, all of them. I see them quite frequently, though.' She stood up and brought over the silver-framed photograph. ‘This was taken last year, at Gavin's wedding. Luke, on Amy's left, was best man, and Jonathan, next to Gavin, was chief usher.'

Good-looking young men, all of them, Rona thought. Fortunately they'd taken after their father in height, though their mother's genes were apparent in their red-gold hair. They'd been caught at a happy, informal moment amid the official photograph-taking, and all three, together with the curly-haired bride, were laughing.

‘That's lovely,' Rona said sincerely, handing it back. ‘Was Theo at the wedding?'

‘He came – alone – to the service, but not the reception. I wouldn't have credited him with so much tact. As it happened, it was only two months before he died.' She replaced the photograph on the bookcase and stood for a moment looking down at it.

‘Do the names Scott Mackintosh and Michael Pennington mean anything to you?' Rona asked.

Isobel turned, wrenching her thoughts from her family. ‘Weren't they friends of Theo's? I think he sent them Christmas cards.'

‘You never met them?'

‘No, why?'

‘I'm trying to trace people who knew him in the early days. Mr Harvey gave me their names.'

Her face softened. ‘Reginald is a poppet. I love him dearly.'

‘It seems to be mutual,' Rona said smilingly.

‘I collect him most Sundays and bring him out here for lunch. He appreciates the change of scene.'

‘But surely his son and daughter keep in touch?'

‘Oh yes, they visit him regularly, and he goes to them for high days and holidays. The trouble is, they tend to fuss, which Reginald hates. I think Meriel sees him too, every now and then, but –' a smile touched her mouth – ‘I have the impression he doesn't encourage her. I presume you'll be seeing Tristan and Phoebe?'

‘I hope so; they're scheduled for my second round of interviews.' Rona checked her watch. ‘I mustn't hold you up any longer. Thank you so much for being so frank with me.'

‘After a shaky start!'

‘Before I go, could you tell me how to find the Connaught Hotel? I'm meeting someone there for lunch.'

‘It's in the centre of the town, in the main street – an imposing grey building. There are several car parks nearby; you shouldn't have any trouble.'

Isobel walked with her to the door and waited until the lift came. She had, after all, washed some of her linen in public, Rona thought as she was conveyed silently down to the foyer, but there was little in it that she'd not already known.

In the car, Rona checked with her answer machine at home. Three messages awaited her. The first was a hurried call from Max: he had to go to Birmingham, and as he'd be late back, would not be over that evening. Next, Meriel, sounding jittery and asking her to ring back as soon as possible, and lastly a call on behalf of Theo's university tutor; the old man was unfortunately in hospital suffering from angina, and would not be available to interview for the foreseeable future. Which left only two outstanding replies from her first batch of letters – Theo's agent and his publisher.