He could not help but be intrigued by the hint of discord between husband and wife. Was Stuart a much older man on the brink of retirement and Rosemary an increasingly discontented mother and housewife? Did she see in their departure for Spain an opportunity for romance and adventure?
‘I love children,’ she said, returning so quietly as to startle him with the sound of her voice, ‘but coping with them all day every day is a test of anyone’s devotion. Now, you were saying?’
Harry finished describing the query about the deeds and suggested that she let him see for himself the area of land between the Graham-Browns’ property and the open ground which belonged to a farm on the other side of the slope.
‘Good idea. Let’s sort it out right away, if we can.’
Outside, they took a path which led to a couple of stepping stones in the stream, then strolled up to the dilapidated picket fence which formed the boundary of the grassland. While Rosemary watched, Harry followed the fence’s winding progress until he arrived at its end thirty yards away from the horse chestnuts. Feeling like a Red Indian scout from the pages of Fenimore Cooper, he knelt in the undergrowth and searched around for several minutes.
‘Problem solved,’ he said to Rosemary as they walked back to the house. ‘The pickets haven’t vanished, they’re buried in that tangle of nettles. But you can make out the original course of the fence and it certainly runs around the outside of the trees. Do you remember when it began to collapse? I see from the land certificate you’ve been here a number of years.’
‘Eight, I think,’ said Rosemary. She smiled at him. ‘I was a child bride, you understand. So can we get the Ambroses’ knickers out of their twist?’
‘Leave it to me.’
‘Marvellous. The least I can do in the circumstances is offer you tea. I’m sure you’re very busy, but can you spare the time?’
He paused as they reached the back door. ‘I can’t think of a better way to spend an afternoon.’
Her hand brushed against his. ‘You know, you’re not my idea of a solicitor. Thank God. I’m lucky to have you.’ And she kissed him quickly on the cheek before disappearing in the direction of the kitchen.
As he listened to the kettle come to the boil, he felt lust warring with common sense. It occurred to him that this encounter had echoes of scenes in movies he loved: the glamorous lady of the house charming an eager admirer in the absence of her husband. He thought of Barbara Stanwyck tempting Fred McMurray in Double Indemnity. Was it possible, he asked himself, that when she came back into the room Rosemary would be in seductive mood? Did she see in him a means of escape from a tiresome husband, elderly but rich?
Might she even have murder on her mind?
He became aware that his mouth was dry, his body tense with expectation. Of course, it was ridiculous to let his imaginings take hold — but he could not help himself. She was not a woman he could easily resist.
‘Thinking about the law?’ she asked, making another soft-soled return to the living room.
‘About breaking it,’ he said.
She laid the tray of tea things down on a small mahogany table and, tilting her head to one side, considered him with care, as if in an attempt to make up her mind. Harry waited for her response.
‘I don’t see you as a law-breaker,’ she said.
And the note of regret in her voice told him more plainly than any words that he was not going to be seduced today.
Chapter Twelve
Half an hour later Harry was on his way back to the office. Waiting at traffic lights in Waterloo, he cast his mind back to the small talk he and Rosemary had exchanged while sipping their tea. No conversation between solicitor and client could have been more innocuous. She had neither made love to him nor sought to incite him to murder.
And all too soon she would be sunning herself in her husband’s company at Puerto Banus. Accelerating as the lights turned to green, he instructed himself to blot Rosemary’s face from his mind and treat her as no more than a name on a buff legal file.
On arriving at Fenwick Court his first thought was to ring Heather Crusoe for the latest about Jim.
‘Much better,’ she assured him. ‘It’s amazing what a good night’s sleep can do. He’s off the drip and they’re already talking about the chances of him going home soon. Oh, and he wanted me to remind you specially that he expects you to do your duty at the exhibition. No sudden call-outs to some grotty police cell to get yourself off the hook and he said you weren’t to slope off home until you have a diary-full of new clients.’
‘I think I liked him better when he could hardly speak. Okay, just this once.’
An hour later, as bidden, he made his way to Empire Hall, his gloom at the prospect of having to glad-hand the city’s businessmen more than offset by his relief at the news of Jim’s recovery.
The exhibition was being held in The Atrium, a glass-roofed annexe to the recently renovated main building which boasted more foliage than Kew and waterfalls as noisy as the Niagara. Near the entrance a huge magenta poster urged the city’s businessmen to borrow money from The Bank That Cares. Harry knew it also as the bank that spent much of its time suing debtors, repossessing houses and sending in receivers. He smiled nervously at the under-manager responsible for Crusoe and Devlin’s office account and scuttled away before he could be buttonholed for a chat about extending the partners’ personal guarantees. His progress slowed as someone tugged at his arm.
‘Excuse me, sir, but do you know who wrote The Decameron? Are you familiar with the secret of nuclear fission? Don’t you long for a better understanding of the world in which we live?’
The encyclopaedia salesman who had accosted him was as clean-cut as a Mormon missionary and no less enthusiastic. Harry was tempted to say the answers to the mysteries haunting him could not be found in any of the twenty-four luxuriously bound volumes the man was trying to flog. As he moved away, his eyes fell on the crowded corner bar, where Stanley Rowe was waving at him vigorously. The estate agent’s skeletal features were flushed and at close quarters his breath left Harry in no doubt that he had been sampling the Special Exhibition Tankard.
‘Done any business this afternoon, Stan?’
‘The only joy I’ve had was when an old dear approached me at half four. I supposed she was a widow who wanted to sell the family home, move into sheltered housing perhaps.’ Rowe shook his head mournfully. ‘Turned out she’d wandered in by mistake, expecting to find an all-in-wrestling bout. When I told her that was next week, she swore herself hoarse and stamped off to complain to someone in authority.’
‘Never mind, at least you should be cashing in on the Graham-Brown sale soon. The boundary — ’
‘And that’s another thing. Have you spoken to Geoffrey Willatt yet? There’s a hitch.’
‘About the trees? But it’s — ’
‘Nothing to do with trees, Harry. You need to see the wood, don’t worry about the bloody trees. The whole deal may fall through.’
‘That’s impossible! Contracts have been exchanged.’
Stanley Rowe snorted. ‘Speak to him yourself. He’s on the legal stand.’
On the other side of the aisle, an exhibition floor plan was pinned to a pillar alongside a local government stand mothballed as a result of industrial action on the part of the community’s servants. Looking for the Liverpool Legal Group’s stand, Harry spotted a name he had not expected to see.
Merseycredit. Stuart Graham-Brown’s business.
Unable to contain his curiosity, he hurried over to the Merseycredit stand. There was no sign of Rosemary’s husband, but standing behind the table was a rosy-cheeked brunette in a tracksuit a size too small for her. She greeted him with so much fervour he guessed she was paid by commission only.