Before answering her question, Hanway, as everyone observed, took the time carefully to construct a tiny Indian wigwam out of his crossed hands and fingers. Then he said:
‘I beg your pardon?’
‘Were you pleased? Pleased that Farjeon had passed on his film to you?’
‘Well, of course,’ he replied at last, ‘of course, I was pleased that he had, as you put it, passed on his film to me. I would, though, prefer to use the word “honoured”. It was a great compliment to me from somebody I not only admired, even revered, as an artist but also regarded, on a personal level, as a mentor. A father-figure, almost. And since it’s always been my ambition to direct a film of my own, and since I’ve had to wait a very long time for the opportunity to do so, there was obviously no question of my rejecting that opportunity when it finally did arise.
‘I want you to understand, however, that I was extremely close to Farje, I was his collaborator and friend for nearly a decade, and his recent death came as a huge shock to me, a shock from which I still haven’t recovered. And I believe I can claim in all honesty that my ambition was never such as to have made me wish that he might die prematurely so that I’d be free to direct my first film. If that was the implication of the question you’ve just asked me – if you were implying, in short, that I was pleased not just that he’d passed on his film to me but that he’d passed on, full stop – then I must say I resent it.’
‘Nothing of the kind, young man. Please accept my assurances that I was imputing no underhand motives to you. But tell me,’ she continued, affording him next to no time to be mollified, ‘and please don’t take further offence at how I express this, why would Farjeon propose you, a mere assistant, as his substitute, his heir, rather than another experienced director?’
‘Miss Mount, I don’t think you realise what it means to be a director’s assistant, a First Assistant, as we call it in the picture business. For instance, I have no notion whether you, a writer, have an assistant or not. But, if you do have one, I imagine it must be some efficient young lady who takes dictation from you, types out your manuscripts, helps you with any research you might have to conduct and perhaps even makes your tea. A First Assistant in the film industry, by contrast, is the director’s right arm. He offers advice, makes suggestions if a scene is not working properly, even directs the odd shot or two if for some reason the director himself is temporarily unavailable. It’s a very important post and, as I say, I’ve filled it at Farje’s side for ten years. He trusted me implicitly and I have to suppose that, in consequence, he trusted me more than anyone else to take over his film.’
‘Yet, from what poor dear Cora told us, Mr Trubshawe and me, that trust of his was originally misplaced. You were a pretty catastrophic director, were you not, to start with? You were so hopeless, it appears, there was even talk of closing down the production a second time. Wasn’t that the case?’
Though he was still disinclined to step in, Calvert did find himself wincing at the novelist’s incorrigibly brutal candour; even Trubshawe, accustomed to her bulldozing style, wondered whether she hadn’t overstepped the bounds.
Hanway, for his part, remained unflinchingly calm.
‘It was indeed the case,’ he replied. ‘Miss Rutherford’s impression was entirely accurate, as I would be the first to admit. Well, evidently not the first, since she got there before me. I won’t deny that those early days on the set were a nightmare for me. I was completely intimidated by the example, by the spectral presence, by the aura, if you like, of the great Alastair Farjeon. I kept asking myself, “What would Farje have done? What would Farje have done?” And the more helplessly I threshed about, the worse it was. A film crew, you know, is not unlike a pack of wild animals. They can sense fear in a director and, when he himself realises that that’s what they’re beginning to do, the situation becomes untenable. To be honest, I might well have packed it in before the studio did.’
‘What happened so suddenly to change everything?’
‘It was quite simple. I stopped asking, “What would Farje have done?” and I started asking what I myself ought to do. I cast off his shadow like some hand-me-down suit of clothes. I knew that I had it in me to make a good job of the film and that all I had to do was to get it out of me.’
‘Can you tell us, Mr Hanway,’ asked Calvert, feeling it was high time he re-asserted his authority, ‘exactly where you were when Cora Rutherford was poisoned?’
‘Ah, so it was poison. There was nothing about that in this morning’s papers. Are we supposed to keep the fact a secret?’
‘Not at all. If it wasn’t in this morning’s papers, it’s because it was only this morning that I myself was informed.’
‘I see.’
‘So let me repeat. Where were you when it happened?’
‘Where was I? I was sitting in my chair watching her, as we all were. Watching her, I mean, not all sitting in my chair.’
‘You didn’t have any suspicion of what was about to occur?’
Hanway looked incredulous.
‘Are you serious?’
‘Just answer the question, sir.’
‘Of course I had no suspicion. None whatsoever. How could I have? I was as dumbfounded – and horrified – as everyone else was.’
‘And Miss Rutherford herself? What were your feelings about her, your own personal feelings?’
‘Cora? Well …’
For an instant the director’s attention was distracted by the return of Sergeant Whistler, who communicated a message to Calvert by no more than an affirmative nod of the head. Then the young officer faced Hanway again.
‘Did you like her? Dislike her? Understand me, I’d prefer you to be completely honest.’
‘On a personal level, I had nothing against Cora. Nothing for her either. You’ve got to realise, Inspector, before I was put in charge of If Ever They Find Me Dead, I’d never once met Cora Rutherford. I’d seen her on stage two or three times, of course, but that was it.’
‘And professionally?’
‘Professionally? Well, from a strictly professional point of view, I can’t deny that Cora Rutherford was not, and would never have been, my first choice for the role. I inherited her as I inherited every single other aspect of the film.’
‘Except Leolia Drake,’ said Trubshawe unexpectedly.
Hanway, for the first time, appeared disconcerted.
‘Yes …’ he answered at last, having taken some time to gather his thoughts. ‘It’s perfectly true. But, you must understand, that specific decision was forced upon me. The actress who had initially been cast in the role was Patsy Sloots, who died along with Farjeon in his Cookham villa. So, yes, of necessity Miss Drake was my own personal choice of actress.
‘You were asking me, though,’ he quickly changed the subject, ‘about my attitude towards Cora Rutherford. The fact is, she isn’t somebody I would ever have cast in the part had I myself been empowered to make such a decision.’
‘Oh,’ asked Evadne Mount, ‘and why not, may I ask?’
The reply came sharply.
‘Miss Mount, I know how close you were to Cora. In this interview, however, you’ve been very candid with me, aggressively so at times, and I can’t see why I shouldn’t be equally candid with you. Cora was desperate for the role, as I already learned from Farje. She would have done practically anything to land it. Why? Because, quite frankly, she was on her way out. Farje knew it, I knew it, Cora herself knew it and I think you know it too.’
‘Whether I know it or not, it surely wouldn’t have detracted from her skill as an actress.’