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  Rona looked up eagerly. ‘Did she see him up there?’

  ‘Occasionally, she said. Her father sometimes met him in the pub.’

  ‘That could be promising. What’s their name?’

  ‘Bromsgrove. I’ve got her phone number in my briefcase – I thought you’d be interested.’

  ‘Thanks, yes, I am. I cursed Barnie for getting on to the press, but it seems he’s done me a good turn after all. I’ll give them a ring in the morning.’

  Before she could do so, however, she received a call herself. They had slept late, and were still in their dressing gowns having breakfast when the phone rang. Rona hastily swallowed a piece of toast before lifting it.

  ‘Ms Parish?’ enquired a pleasant female voice. ‘This is Sister Maudsley, at Stapleton House; I’m ringing on behalf of Mr Reginald Harvey.’

  ‘Oh – oh, yes?’

  ‘He received a letter from you this morning, and has asked me to contact you to arrange an appointment.’

  ‘It’s good of him to reply so promptly. When would be convenient?’

  The woman sounded faintly amused. ‘He says every day’s the same for him, so he leaves it to you.’

  The sooner, the better, Rona thought. ‘How about Monday?’

  ‘I’m sure that would be fine. Speaking personally, though, I’d be grateful if you could make it after ten thirty; we have quite a complicated morning routine.’

  ‘Of course. How about eleven o’clock?’

  ‘That should do admirably. Do you know how to find us? We’re just off the main road, about six miles outside Chesham.’

  ‘I’ll find you. Thanks, Sister Maudsley.’

  ‘The old father?’ queried Max, spreading another slice of toast.

  ‘Yes, bless him. Let’s hope they’re all as quick off the mark.’

  After their late start, the morning passed quickly. Rona made her call to the Bromsgroves and arranged to meet them at their home at six p.m. on Monday. ‘Two interviews in one day!’ she commented. ‘A promising start; it would be great if I could get through the first batch next week.’

  The heavy rain continued, and to his indignation, Gus was deprived of his morning walk and simply let out in the garden.

  ‘We’ll have to take him somewhere this afternoon,’ Rona said. ‘It’s only fair.’

  Consequently, encased in waterproof jackets and trousers, they set off after lunch to walk to the park, hands deep in their pockets. Rona had pulled her hood up, but Max spurned his, seeming to relish the rivulets which coursed over his hair and down his face. ‘It makes you really come alive,’ he said.

  They had not passed anyone else on the climb up to the park, and when they reached it, it seemed deserted. The usual view of the town was obscured by low cloud, giving them the eerie feeling of being suspended in space, and with each footstep their feet sank deeper into the soggy ground.

  ‘It’ll be nice when we’ve had enough!’ Rona commented some ten minutes later, as Max again threw the dog’s ball.

  ‘It seems we’re not the only maniacs after all,’ he remarked. ‘There’s someone sheltering over there in the trees; he just bent down to pat Gus.’

  Rona peered through the sheet of rain. ‘I can’t see anyone.’ She shivered, watching the dog come bounding back to them. ‘Do you think we’ve done our duty now? A cup of hot tea wouldn’t go amiss.’

  Max, too, was watching the dog’s approach and his eyes narrowed suddenly. ‘What’s that in his collar?’

  Rona, turning back to look, saw something white against the golden fur. As he reached them, Max bent down quickly and extracted a folded piece of paper. ‘What the hell—?’

  ‘What is it?’ She moved closer, looking over his shoulder at the wet scrap of paper. Already the ink on it was running, but its message was chillingly clear.

  You would be well advised not to write Theo Harvey’s biography, it read.

  Rona gave a little gasp. Max crumpled the note in his fist and, before she realized his intention, set off at speed for the clump of trees.

  ‘Max!’ she called frantically. ‘Don’t – please come back!’

  Gus, thinking this a new game, set off after him, leaving her shivering and alone in the wet open spaces. Her heart was hammering uncomfortably. Whoever could have written the note, and why? And – oh God! – how would he react if Max confronted him?

  Max and the dog, meanwhile, had vanished, obscured partly by the mist and partly by the stand of trees on the crest of the hill. For what seemed an eternity she waited, while the wind buffeted at her legs and rain blew in her face. Then, to her enormous relief, he reappeared, walking slowly now, with Gus trotting at his heels.

  ‘No sign of him,’ he reported when he was within earshot.

  ‘You shouldn’t have rushed off like that,’ she upbraided him through chattering teeth. ‘He might have been lying in wait for you.’

  ‘I hoped he was,’ Max answered tightly. ‘I’d have welcomed a chat.’

  ‘He knew who we were!’ she said, the implications striking her for the first time. ‘He must have followed us from home.’

  ‘The price of fame. Forget it, love; he’s just some nutter trying to make his mark.’

  She gave a little shiver. ‘Let’s go back.’

  He bent down and, although they were some way from the park gates, clipped on Gus’s lead. ‘We don’t want you talking to any more strangers,’ he said. And with a last glance behind him at the deserted expanse of grass, he tucked Rona’s arm through his and set off at a brisk pace for home.

  They didn’t speak again until they reached the end of the short-cut and emerged on to Charlton Road, by which time Rona’s uneasiness had been replaced by annoyance.

  ‘What the hell was he playing at?’ she burst out suddenly. ‘If he was watching the house – and he must have been – why follow us all that way on a horrible day like this? Why not simply push the note through the door?’

  ‘I’d say he wrote it on the spur of the moment – it was a page torn from a diary. Think about it: there was no way he could have known Gus was going to run in his direction. As I said, he’s probably some nutter who read about you in that damned paper and decided to play silly beggars.’

  ‘Perhaps it was Justin Grant,’ she said with a forced laugh. ‘He has a habit of popping up when least expected.’

  It was a relief to close the front door behind them, and while Max bent to unclip the dog’s lead, Rona surreptitiously slipped on the chain. The afternoon had darkened prematurely, but as the hall light revealed the familiar outlines of home, the last of her fears evaporated.

  ‘Can I have another look at it?’ she asked, as he hung up their wet jackets.

  Max retrieved the scrunched-up ball of paper from his pocket and handed it to her, watching as she carefully smoothed it out. As he’d said, it was a page from a pocket diary, one side printed with dates in January of the next year, the other headed ‘Forward Planner’. Its unceremonious crumpling, combined with the rain, had made it all but illegible.

  ‘It’s fairly literate, at least,’ Max remarked, ‘but that’s all that can be said for it. It belongs in the bin, and that’s where it’s going.’ He took it from her and set off down the stairs to the kitchen. After a moment she followed him. He was at the sink, filling the kettle.

  ‘I bought some crumpets,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘They’re in the bread bin. Pop them in the toaster, will you, while I make the tea.’

  She did so, then took Gus’s towel off its hook and belatedly rubbed him down. Normally in such weather he waited on the door mat until his paws had been cleaned, but today they’d both been preoccupied. Which doubtless meant a trail of muddy paw-prints on the carpet.

  Hot tea and butter-soaked crumpets were a welcome antidote to a disturbing afternoon. ‘I’ll light the sitting-room fire,’ Max said, ‘and we can have a cosy evening.’ He watched as Rona wiped her buttery fingers. ‘On reflection, it might be wise to choose a different route for your w
alk for the next week or so.’

  She looked up with a frown. ‘Why? I’m not going to let him scare me off. Anyway, if he is following me, he’ll go wherever I go.’

  ‘Then just be sensible and avoid deserted places. Almost certainly this was a one-off, and having created alarm and despondency, I imagine he’s well satisfied. Anonymous letter-writers seldom put their threats into effect – and in any case, this wasn’t a threat so much as a piece of advice. Which,’ he added humorously, ‘you might remember I gave you myself.’

  ‘Well, it’s too late now,’ Rona said firmly. ‘The contract is signed, the advance on its way, and I can hardly write to Jennings and say, “I’ve changed my mind because someone tucked a note in my dog’s collar.” I’d never get another commission in my life. All the same,’ she added diffidently, not looking at him, ‘I’d rather you didn’t mention this to anyone, especially the parents. They’d only panic.’

  ‘Panic is preferable to foolhardiness. Just remember that.’

  The subject wasn’t mentioned again. They had their lazy evening in front of the fire, thick curtains blotting out the wet and windy night, and Rona, curled up in her chair, made a start on reading Game for Fools.

  Since noticing the sameness in Harvey’s heroes, she’d been faintly irritated to find that versions appeared in all but two of the books she’d read so far. He might almost have been a series character, except that his appearance, age and occupation varied from book to book, as, of course, did his name. And here he was again, his loud blustering masking his basic insecurity. Again she wondered if it could in any way be a self-portrait.

  ‘Ah!’ she said aloud, in the middle of chapter four. ‘The code has reared its ugly head.’

  Max looked up. ‘Does it look complicated?’

  ‘Incomprehensible, but I’m not going to waste time on it, since, as you said, it will be explained in the end.’

  ‘How many books have you left to read?’

  ‘Just the last two, Dark Moon Rising and The Raptor. I read them when they came out and created such a furore, but I’ll need to go through them again, making notes and so on.’

  ‘And looking for clues?’

  ‘Yes; I only wish I knew what of.’

  ‘Well,’ Max observed, ‘with these interviews you have lined up, perhaps by this time next week you’ll have a better idea.’

  Sunday passed without incident. The skies lightened, and though still cloudy, the rain held off. At Rona’s insistence, they again went up to the park, and though they stayed for some time, throwing the ball for Gus in various directions and walking round the clump of trees, nothing untoward occurred.

  ‘I never thought it would,’ Rona commented when, on the way home, Max remarked on the fact. ‘Going there today was by way of getting back on the horse after falling off. As far as our friend’s concerned, he’s delivered his message; now, he’ll wait to see if I abide by it.’

  He looked at her sharply. ‘You’re not taking it seriously, are you?’

  She shrugged. ‘I haven’t written a word yet of this blasted bio, but already three people have warned me off – you, Justin, and now this crank. You can’t blame me for feeling defensive.’

  ‘I just wish –’ he began, and broke off.

  She looked at him wryly. ‘So do I!’ she said.

  Stapleton House was an imposing building standing in its own grounds and set well back from the road. Rona followed the sign for the visitors’ car park and drew up beside an assortment of cars. Gus, curled on his blanket, opened one eye.

  ‘You stay there,’ Rona told him. ‘I won’t be long.’

  As she locked the car, a woman was emerging from a red Peugeot, and Rona followed her across the gravel to the front door, where she rang the bell, spoke into an intercom, and went inside, turning to hold the door for Rona.

  ‘Thanks,’ she said. ‘Could you tell me what the procedure is? I haven’t been before.’

  The woman indicated a visitors’ book on the desk in front of them. ‘You have to sign yourself in and out, giving the time in each case. If you know where you’re going, fine; if you need help, ring that bell.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Rona said again, and rang. After a minute there was the sound of approaching footsteps and a young woman appeared. She was wearing a pale blue blouse and navy skirt. A badge on her blouse bore the name Sarah Bliss.

  ‘Can I help you?’ she asked with a smile.

  ‘I have an appointment with Mr Harvey,’ Rona told her. ‘My name’s Rona Parish, and I’ve signed in.’

  ‘Fine. If you’d like to come this way, Miss Parish?’

  Rona followed her down a corridor. It was thickly carpeted, muffling their footsteps, and French doors at the far end, apparently opening on to the garden, gave an impression of light and air. Voices and the sound of a radio came from behind the closed doors.

  Half way down, Sarah Bliss came to a halt, knocked on a door on the right, and opened it. ‘A visitor for you, Mr Harvey.’

  Thank God she hadn’t called him Reg, Rona thought as she walked into the room, deciding a moment later that it would be a brave soul indeed who attempted such familiarity. There was still much of the headmaster about the old man who, notwithstanding his obvious frailty, stood up to receive her. Despite his stoop he could give her several inches, and the grip of his bony hand was firm and strong. As she seated herself at his invitation, she took stock of him, noting the full head of thick white hair, the hooked nose and the piercing eyes that were steadily regarding her over the top of a pair of spectacles.

  ‘You’re younger than I expected,’ he stated.

  She smiled. ‘Should I apologize?’

  ‘Quite the contrary; any young face round here is a bonus. I’ve been expecting you, you know. Before I received your letter, I mean. When I heard Meriel had approached you, I immediately began considering what you might want from me, and what I should and should not tell you.’

  She looked at him quickly, unsure if he was serious. ‘And what did you decide?’

  ‘That in the first instance I would read your work, and if I considered it slipshod or unprofessional, I should refuse to co-operate.’

  She waited for him to continue, and when he did not, said mildly, ‘I hope that, since you’ve agreed to see me, it met your criteria?’

  ‘Oh, indeed. I was most impressed, by both your style and the depth of your research. I’d thought in my arrogance that I knew all there was to know about Conan Doyle, but you unearthed some facts new to me. So –’ he made an expansive gesture with one gnarled hand, ‘go ahead, young lady. Ask what you will, and I’ll answer as fully as I can, reserving the right of refusal if I consider a question intrusive or irrelevant. Are you happy with that?’

  ‘Perfectly. Is it all right if I use a tape recorder? Some people—’

  He waved his hand again. ‘Anything to make your task easier.’

  Rona took it and her notebook out of her bag, but before she could start they were interrupted by a tap at the door, followed by the entry of a girl carrying a tray with two cups of coffee and a plate of biscuits. While she set them out on the table, Rona took the chance to look about her. She’d been so focused on the old man that she hadn’t yet taken in his surroundings. Now, she saw that the room was large and well proportioned, and furnished with what were obviously his own pieces: a grandfather clock ticking melodiously in one corner, a bookcase reaching almost to the ceiling and crammed with books, an antique chest of drawers, a desk, a handsome old bed with a hand-stitched quilt. A door in the corner no doubt led to an en suite bathroom.

  She turned from her brief inspection to find him smilingly watching her, and flushed. ‘Sorry; put it down to a biographer’s curiosity. You have some lovely pieces.’

  ‘Yes; I’m much better here than parked in the spare bedroom of one of my offspring. I have my independence, which I value almost more than anything.’

  Leaning forward to pick up her cup, Rona discreetly switched on the recorder. ‘
How long ago did your wife die, Mr Harvey?’

  ‘It must be twelve years now, but she’d had a good life. She was eighty-five.’ Seeing her surprise, he smiled. ‘Doing your sums? You’re quite right, she was older than I. We married when I was twenty-one and she twenty-five, and my parents were very stuffy at the time: acted as though she were cradle-snatching, poor girl! They came round eventually, though. Had to, it was so obviously a love match.’

  ‘And you had three children.’

  ‘Correct. Tristan, Phoebe and Theo.’ He raised a humorous eyebrow at her. ‘My wife insisted on distinctive names, which wouldn’t have to be shared with half the form. Having taught herself, she complained of the confusion that a plethora of Jennies and Sues could cause. Made no difference to the boys, of course – they were known by their surname – but Phoebe remained satisfyingly unique.’

  ‘I believe Theo was quite a lot younger?’

  ‘Yes; it’s no secret that he wasn’t planned, though none the less welcome for that. In fact, Frances considered him her Benjamin and spoiled him shamelessly. Consequently he grew up expecting his own way – not a good start in life.’

  ‘Was he popular at school?’

  Harvey shook his head sadly. ‘Unfortunately not. I dare say my being headmaster didn’t help; I couldn’t show favouritism, but with hindsight I believe I was excessively hard on him, and he reacted by being disobedient and generally disruptive. He used to clown around, distracting the other boys, and in fact several times came within a whisker of being expelled. He never did his homework, never paid attention in class, and then confounded everyone by coming top in every subject.’

  ‘He must have had some friends, surely?’

  Harvey made a pyramid of his fingers. ‘There was an inner coterie, yes – not boys I’d have chosen for him – and unfortunately a couple of them followed him to Cambridge.’

  He paused, looking inwards into the past before taking up the story again. ‘And that’s where, freed from me and the restraining influence of home, he came into his own, and joined a wild bunch whose sole interests appeared to be women and drink. It was a continuing wonder to us that he obtained his degree, since he seemed to do no work at all.’