Part 17 (1/2)
”The man you called Marcel, sir!” I shouted. ”The African man you wanted at your side when you made your conference call '
”Was the Queen there?”
”You mean Philip? The man you call the African Queen? No, he wasn't! But Maxie was. Philip didn't show up till the island.”
I had not intended to raise my voice, but I had, and Lord Brinkley's reaction was to lower his own in counterpoint.
”You go on and on about Philip and Maxie as if they were these chums of mine,” he complained. ”I've never met them. I've never heard of them. I don't know who you're talking about.”
”Then why don't you ask your f.u.c.king wife about them?”
I'd lost it. You can't describe blind anger unless the person you're talking to has experienced it personally. There are physical symptoms. Pins and needles in the lips, giddiness, temporary astigmatism, nausea, and an inability to distinguish colours and objects in the immediate vicinity. Plus, I should add, an uncertainty regarding what you have actually said as opposed to what is boiling up in your mouth but you have failed to expel.
”Kitty!” He had flung open the door and was yelling. ”I've got something to ask my f.u.c.king wife. Would you mind joining us a minute?”
Lady Kitty stood sentinel-still. Her blue eyes, devoid of their sparkle, stared straight into her husband's.
”Kitty, darling. Two quickies. Names. I'm going to shoot them at you and I want you to answer straight away, instinctively, before you think. Maxie.”
”Never heard of him. Not in a thousand years. Last Max I knew died aeons ago. The only people who called him Maxie were the tradesmen.”
”Philip. Our friend here says I call him the African Queen, which I find rather insulting to both of us, frankly.”
She frowned, and ventured a forefinger to her lip. ”Sorry. Can't do a Philip either. There's Philippa Perry-Onslow but she's a girl, or says she is.”
”And while we have you, darling. Last Friday evening what time was it, did you say?”
”Now,” I replied.
”So seventy-two hours ago if we're going to be precise -Friday, remember, when we normally go to the country, but forget that for a moment, I'm not trying to put thoughts into your head where were we?” He glanced ostentatiously at his watch. ”Seven-ten p.m. Think very hard, please.”
”On our way to Marlborough, of course.”
”For what purpose?”
”For the weekend. What do you think?”
”And would you swear to that in a court of law if necessary? Because we have a young man here very gifted, very charming, means well, I'm sure who is under some very serious -some very dangerous for all of us misapprehensions.”
”Of course I would, darling. Don't be silly.”
”And how did we go to Marlborough, darling? By what means?”
”By car, of course. Brinkley, what are yon on about?”
”Did Henry drive?”
”You drove. Henry was off.”
”At what time did we leave, would you imagine?”
”Oh darling. You know very well. I had everything packed and ready by three, but you had a late lunch as usual so we hit the worst rush-hour traffic in the world, and didn't make the Hall till nine and sups was ruined.”
”And who spent the weekend with us?”
”Gus and Tara, of course. Freeloading, as usual. High time they took us to Wilton's. They always say they will, but they actually never do,” she explained, turning to me as if I would understand.
I had been cooling down till then, but meeting her expressionless gaze head-on was enough to bring the heat rus.h.i.+ng back.
”You were the reV I blurted at him. I turned back to his wife: ”I shook his b.l.o.o.d.y hand, your husband's. Maxie was there too! He thinks he can do good in Kivu but he can't. He's not a schemer, he's a soldier. They were on the island and they planned a proxy war so that the Syndicate could hoover up the colt an market and short-sell it, and they tortured Haj! With a cattle prod that Spider made for them. I can prove it.”
I'd said it, and I couldn't unsay it, but at least I had the wisdom to stop.
”Prove it how?” Brinkley enquired.
”With my notes.”
”What notes?”
I was pulling back. I was remembering Hannah. ”As soon as I got back from the island, I made notes,” I lied. ”I've got perfect recall. Short term. If I'm quick enough, and I've got the verbatims in my head, I can write everything down, word for word. Which is what I did.”
”Where?”
”When I got home. Straight away.”
”Home being where?” His gaze dropped to the letter lying in front of him on his desk: Dear Bruno. ”Home being in Battersea. You sat down, and you wrote out everything you remembered, word for word. Marvellous.”
”Everything.”
”Starting when?”
”From Mr. Anderson onwards.”
”Onwards to where?”
”Berkeley Square. Battersea Power Station. Luton airport. The island. Back.”
”So it's your account of what you saw and heard on your island, recalled in the tranquillity oiyour Battersea home, several hours later.”
”Yes.”
”I'm sure you're very clever but that is not, I'm afraid, what we would call either proof or evidence. I happen to be a lawyer. Do you have the notes with you?”