‘Maybe it’s the police,’ said Raymond Corby with a hearty chuckle. ‘Have you been a naughty boy, Arthur, got yourself on the wrong side of the law?’
‘Yes,’ joined in Claude, ‘if this were a play, that would be an inspector in your hall waiting to arrest you.’
‘Very droll,’ said Arthur. The smoothness of his words belied the churning in his stomach, however. In the weeks after Christmas, he’d lived in fear of a visit while at work, or a knock on the door here, from a policeman investigating Pamela’s death. But as the weeks slipped by and he heard nothing, he’d begun to relax, his confidence growing that he’d got away with it, that he’d left no evidence in the house that could connect him with the woman.
Yet now, and with a strong sense of foreboding growing within him, he was gripped with a chilling certainty that whoever this caller was, he could only be the bringer of bad news.
The man was waiting for Arthur in the hall. He was staring intently at a particularly large oil painting of a herd of Highland cattle, standing no more than a few inches away from the canvas as though studying it hard. In his hands was an envelope. A gut feeling told Arthur that it contained something he’d hoped never to see again.
The man turned his head at the sound of Arthur’s footsteps on the black-and-white-tiled floor. ‘Ah, there you are, Mr Devereux. Finally we meet.’
‘Do I know you?’ Arthur replied with steely detachment.
‘No. But I know you. Indeed, we once had a mutual friend. Pamela Mills. The name ring any bells for you?’ The man smiled, revealing two rows of badly stained teeth. With an air of sickening amusement, he held out the envelope towards Arthur. ‘This will make everything very clear to you.’
Arthur made no attempt to take the proffered envelope. ‘I can’t imagine what you’re talking about. You must be confusing me with somebody else. Now if you’d kindly like to leave, I have dinner guests who—’
‘No mix-up, I assure you,’ the man interrupted. ‘If you’d just take a few seconds to look at what I’ve brought you, we can settle matters and you can get back to enjoying dinner with your guests. Guests who I’m sure you’d rather didn’t know the nature of our business. If you know what I mean.’
‘I don’t think I care for the tone of your voice.’
‘Come, come, Mr Devereux, please don’t waste my time by playing games. We’re both adults.’ He pushed the envelope towards Arthur, then inclined his head towards the closed door of the morning room. ‘Perhaps you’d prefer some privacy?’
His heart beating like a drum in his ribcage, sweat pooling beneath his shirt and dinner jacket, Arthur knew he had no choice but to do exactly what this odious man said. With resignation, he led him into the morning room, which was primarily Irene’s domain, the room where she wrote her letters and planned memorable dinner parties. Certainly this evening would not be one Arthur would forget in a hurry.
The door closed firmly behind them, he looked inside the envelope and pulled out two black-and-white photographs of himself arriving and leaving Pamela’s house in Wembley. In each of the pictures his face was perfectly visible; there was no question of being able to claim a case of mistaken identity. They were the very same pictures Pamela had shown him on Christmas Eve, and which had led to this moment – a moment he had feared because he’d always known that the involvement of a photographer in Pamela’s deceit was the one thing he could not control.
He slid the photographs back inside the envelope and tossed it carelessly onto Irene’s writing desk.
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ the man said.
‘I doubt that very much,’ replied Arthur drily.
‘I beg to differ. You’re wondering what other photographs I might be in possession of. You’re also wondering whether I suspect you had anything to do with poor Pamela’s sudden and very unexpected demise.’
‘I’m afraid you’re bestowing more knowledge on me than I possess. I didn’t know Pamela was dead. What happened to her?’
‘You know very well she’s dead. Otherwise your … your association with her would have continued. But it stopped as unexpectedly as her death occurred.’
‘You’re right,’ Arthur said, thinking fast. ‘I did curtail our association, as you put it, around Christmas time, when I discovered my wife was expecting our first child. I realised then that things had to change.’
‘Well,’ the man said with a sneer, ‘they certainly changed for Pamela.’
‘While this is all very interesting, I would prefer you to get to the point of your visit. What precisely is it you want from me? Or should I say, how much do you want?’
‘There now, that’s more like it, and do bear in mind that I’m only doing this to honour Pamela’s memory. I should add that this is also an insurance policy for you, because by keeping the matter strictly between us, I shan’t feel the need to share with the police any of the private details of Pamela’s busy and unconventional life, and more importantly how it came to such a dramatic end.’
Arthur knew the man had no real evidence to pin Pamela’s death on him, and he’d be damned if this cheap blackmailer was going to get away with implying he had had anything to do with it. It was time to take control of this wholly disagreeable encounter.
‘You’re clearly here on a fishing exercise.’ he said. ‘I have nothing to fear from the police regarding Pamela’s death, only the embarrassment of having my regrettable association with her made public. So keep your veiled threats for some other dupe. Now I’ve kept my guests waiting long enough. Get to your point and then do me the courtesy of leaving. But firstly tell me how the devil you knew where to find me. I never once disclosed my address to Pamela.’
The odious man tapped his nose. ‘Ways and means,’ he said, ‘ways and means.’
His temper and breathing back under control, and after downing a quick tumbler of neat whisky in the drawing room, Arthur made his entrance back into the dining room. ‘Sorry about that,’ he said, resuming his seat. ‘But it really couldn’t be avoided.’
‘You were gone an awfully long time, darling,’ said Irene. ‘What on earth could the wretched man have wanted?’
‘What, no handcuffs?’ remarked Claude before Arthur could reply to his wife. ‘So we can discount our host getting himself arrested. How very unsatisfactory.’ Everybody laughed.
