LITMIR.BIZ

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University was going to be one of the trustees, and Lady Barningham, another. The school had already been accepted by the local education authorities so students would be eligible for grants. Yes, they expected some mature students also. The name was going to be the Pinero School of Dramatic Art.

      Yes, they had the premises: the old Rectory of St Luke’s which had housed a private secretarial school, now defunct, would be converted. Later, they would build.

      ‘Might be a lot later,’ said Letty gloomily. She flexed her hands nervously, she had long delicate fingers which she loaded with rings. She favoured heavy smooth gold. ‘Money’s tight.’

      Her gloom might have been entirely due to the economy but Stella knew her sister-in-law better. ‘No news about Elissa?’

      ‘No, I am having an interview with Tash tomorrow and he’s going to report progress but from what he said on the telephone there isn’t any.’

      ‘I am sorry.’

      ‘I do miss her so, I loved her even when we quarrelled.’ A tear appeared in her eyes.

      ‘Here.’ Stella went across to the drinks table and poured out a gin. ‘Drink it up, mother’s ruin but I reckon it helps.’

      Letty looked at the glass. ‘Is there any ice?’

      ‘Oh, you Americans. Yes, I’ll get some.’

      She came in with a bowlful of ice lumps and some sliced lemon. ‘I’ll have one with you. I don’t feel too jolly myself.’

      ‘Your daughter? How is she?’

      Stella’s daughter was in The Profession but had recently married.

      ‘She telephoned from Edinburgh this morning to say she is expecting twins. I can’t believe it. I didn’t even know she was pregnant. I’ve only just got used to her being married.’

      Letty dabbed the tears from her eyes and managed a grin. ‘Hello, Grandma.’

      ‘Yes. I won’t be called Gran or Granny.’

      ‘What will John say?’

      ‘Grandpa?’ Their eyes met and they both began to laugh. ‘Serve him right for marrying a woman of my age.’

      She was slightly, very slightly, older than her husband whom she had first met as a raw young detective, had loved, quarrelled with, and left. Only to meet him again and repeat the process. They had met for the third time and this time had married. It had to last.

      ‘He’ll probably be very, very pleased.’

      ‘He’s lucky, very lucky, to have you,’ said Letty. ‘You keep him this side of sanity.’

      ‘Oh, he’s very sane.’

      ‘I don’t think his is a job you stay sane in, you see so much that’s corruptible and devious and horrible. I’ve seen him have terrible rages.’

      ‘Not so much as he used to have.’

      ‘They were nearly all inside, I don’t suppose he let them show. We’re a very odd family.’

      ‘That diary,’ said Stella.

      ‘Exactly.’

      A few years ago a diary kept by the mother of the three, John, Letty and brother William, had been discovered in an attic. It revealed a life even more full of lovers, strange adventures and alarming anecdotes than anyone had suspected. None of the three had memories of their mother, whose habit had been to see each child was looked after by someone else as she moved on. Moving on was her speciality.

      Letty had handed it over to Coffin to read and edit with the idea of publishing it. A film had been talked about. She might put money in herself. That was when she had money, she thought regretfully, that lovely liquid stuff.

      Stella had her regrets too. ‘I read some of it when there was this idea of a film. I wouldn’t have minded getting the part of Ma but I thought she was a liar. Did you believe it?’

      ‘Believe, what’s believe?’ Letty nodded tolerantly. ‘But it was fantastic and a marvellous read. I thought: Well, if that’s my mother, I hope I have inherited some of her flair. She could live, that woman.’

      ‘Several lives at once,’ said Stella.

      Letty leaned forward. ‘You know the thing I dread most … and it’s why I gave up the idea of a film: she might still be alive. She might be alive and come forward and say, That’s me. I began to have dreams, nightmares, in which she came back; she tapped me on my face and I woke up and there she was, standing by my bed. That was when the nightmare began.’

      ‘I think John has a nightmare like that,’ said Stella. ‘Perhaps that’s why he married me.’

      ‘No, oh no.’ Letty’s lips curved in a smile of great sweetness which yet echoed some expressions of her brother’s face. ‘He married you for one reason only: that he loved you and could not see life without you.’

      Stella shook her head. ‘We all have our own nightmares, and mine is that one day he will say, Well, that’s it, Stella, sorry it didn’t work. Goodbye.’

      ‘He’s worried about you at the moment,’ said Letty abruptly. ‘But he’s taking measures.’

      ‘Yes, I’ve seen the patrol cars going past. But they can’t watch me all the time. One day I might go round a corner or get in a lift and there he is with a knife or a gun, and no one to stop him. And sometimes I have an even worse fear: that he horribly, terribly likes me.’

      This time it was Letty who poured them both a strong gin.

      Then they turned to discussing the appointment of the Principal of the School of Drama for which they had several good candidates.

      It was not until Letty left that Stella went back to look again at the ring of white roses found on the mat before her front door.

      It was a small ring of blooms, more funeral than celebratory, with a chewed and torn appearance as if it had been about the world a bit. Tiddles the cat had been on it and may have been responsible for the depressing, even menacing look.

      As she took the roses in her hand, she thought: And they’re not even real roses. A card fell out on to the mat. A small old card which, like the flowers, looked as if this was not its first use. It said: LOVE.

      That evening, up the stairs in Coffin’s tower, she handed them over to her husband. He had an apron on and was in the kitchen.

      A pleasant smell as of savoury chicken greeted her. They had arranged to cook in turns and her husband was now doing his part. Even acting the part with his striped butcher’s apron. She guessed the food had come from a famous store which specialized in providing prepared food. She congratulated him, she would do the same. She did do the same, had been doing so for weeks. No good pretending that they were an orthodox domestic pair.

      Dinner was quiet and attended by both animals, cat and dog, who received their own bowls of food with suspicious pleasure. The cat had taught Bob to inspect what he ate before touching a mouthful in case it was poisoned and the dog had taught Tiddles to eat fast or the chap next to you in the feeding line might get it.

      ‘I shall be staying the night.’

      ‘I should hope so.’ He was surprised it had to be mentioned. On the whole, their nights were spent in his tower. At first Stella had called it romantic, now she just called it home which he liked even better.

      The wreath of plastic roses rested on a bookcase by them.

      ‘I feel more nervous than ever. What can you do with the roses?’

      He poured her some more wine and looked across at the wreath, sitting in a melancholy way as if it had a life of its own on the bookcase by the window where Tiddles often sat.

      ‘I don’t suppose the roses take fingerprints well, although you never know, but it shall go off for forensic

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