“Me? No. That’s the thing. Everyone on the planet has something they don’t want the world to know about. I’m no different.” He gave Hugo a sharp look, then smiled. “And no, I’m not gay, if that’s what you’re wondering.”
Hugo shrugged. “Wouldn’t mind if you were.”
“No. Me and Ginny, we’re for real.” Harper’s voice fell off. “Were for real. Jesus, I can’t believe she’s gone.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” Hugo felt a twinge of guilt for needling him. Harper’s self-absorbed behavior didn’t justify Hugo’s own insensitivity, and he needed to remember that even actors had feelings.
“Can I see her? I feel like it’s not real, like I need to see her to believe it. And to say … good-bye.”
“I don’t know,” Hugo said. “I honestly don’t know, but I can ask.”
Both men looked up as the phone rang. Hugo picked it up and nodded as the security guard told him that a Graham Stopford-Pendrith was there to see him.
“Sure,” said Hugo. “He’s early, but send him right up.”
Hugo went to the television and turned it off.
“Who is it?” Harper asked.
“Our visitor.”
“Who?” Harper stood, visibly nervous. “The police?”
“No. You’re on US soil, remember. The cops aren’t going to just come and take you away.” Not yet, he wanted to say.
The elevator doors opened and a head appeared around the door, led by a red and pocked nose and the handlebar mustache Cooper had mentioned. “Hullo. Graham Stopford-Pendrith.”
“Come in, my lord,” Hugo said, moving forward and hoping he’d used the right form of address.
Stopford-Pendrith stepped through the door, a hand extended. “None of that ‘lord’ nonsense, old boy. I go by Pendrith.”
“You’re a lord? A real one?” Harper moved forward, hands working his hair back into place. “Dayton Harper, nice to meet you.”
“Pleasure’s all mine, old chap.” Pendrith said, pumping his hand. “Never met a movie star before, jolly exciting.”
“You’ve seen my movies?” Harper shot a sideways look at Hugo.
“Lord no, can’t stand the cinema. Wait, I did see one, something about hoodlums in Chicago. You played …”
“Johnny Moretti. A button man.”
“A what?” Pendrith asked.
“Low-ranking hood,” Harper explained. “I was a Mafia soldier. Started off low down and worked my way up. Ended up sleeping with the boss’s wife, which got me killed at the end.”
“Right, if you say so. Generally don’t watch movies, all that public chewing and sticky floors, it’s downright uncivilized. Even so, a movie star. Marvelous.” He finally let go of Harper’s hand and moved over to Hugo. “Heard a lot about you, sir. Delighted.”
The men shook hands and Hugo steered him to the couch. “Cup of tea?”
“I think something a little stronger to mark the occasion, eh what? What do you have?”
“A decent Macallan.”
“Splendid.” Pendrith turned back to Harper, and the smile on his face melted. “Good heavens, Harper, I am a fool. Please, accept my condolences. I am frightfully sorry, so caught up with meeting you that I … forgot myself. Terribly sorry, old boy. Suicide. Unimaginable.” He shook his head slowly, then looked over at Hugo. “Just a couple of rocks, Marston, if you don’t mind. Don’t like to pollute the good stuff too much.”
“Yes, sir,” Hugo said. “Dayton?”
“No, thanks, I’m fine. Wait, you got any beer?”
“Fridge,” Hugo said. Harper got up to help himself, and Hugo’s hand hovered on the bottle, wondering whether he should. Might as well join the party, he thought.
Pendrith mumbled his thanks as Hugo handed him his drink. “Bloody rotten do,” he said, shaking his head again. “How’s he holding up?”
“Hard to tell,” Hugo said truthfully. “People deal with this kind of thing differently.”
“I gather you have some experience with the seamier side of life.”
Hugo smiled. He couldn’t help but enjoy the Brit’s mastery of understatement. “Yeah, I’ve seen my share.”
“More than, I’m sure,” Pendrith said. He stood and held up his glass as Harper came back into the room with an open bottle of beer in his hand. “To your good lady, Mr. Harper. May she rest in peace.”
It was actually quite touching, Hugo thought. Pendrith’s obvious sincerity and Harper’s surprise at the Englishman’s words. He raised his glass.
“Right, shall we talk shop?” Pendrith said, settling himself back on the couch. Hugo sat in his chair, Harper to his left. “Bit of a horror what happened up in Hertfordshire,” he went on.
“Yeah. I really am very sorry about what happened,” Harper said, looking into his beer. “Sorry for Mr. Drinker and his family.” He looked up at Pendrith. “But it was an accident.”
“Yes, of course. No doubt. Thing is, the whole business of not stopping to help, not calling the police, not upping and taking responsibility.” He compressed his lips. “Rather smacked of the movie-star arrogance, you see. People are a little bit riled up by the whole thing.”
“That farmer—”
“That’s the other thing,” Pendrith interrupted. “It wasn’t just some old farmer. Chap was the only son of a rather important landowner.”
“Does that make a difference to anything?” asked Hugo.
“I’d like to say no, but honesty forbids. Fellow has pull and doesn’t want this incident to go quietly into yonder night, so to speak.”
“Meaning?” Hugo asked.
“That’s rather what we need to hash out.”
Harper looked over at Pendrith. “I want to go home,” he said, his voice sharp. “I want to take Ginny and go home.”
Hugo saw the pained look in Pendrith’s eyes. “Yes, I’m sure you do, old boy. A few hurdles to that one, I’m afraid.”
“Hurdles?” Harper looked between them. “What are you talking about?”
“Thing is, rather need you to stick around for a bit.”
“What are you talking about?” Harper said again. “Why can’t I just pay a big fine, get put on probation, and go home?”
“Well,” Pendrith frowned at his scotch. “See now, there’s been a bit of a spanner in the works.”
“What the hell does that mean?” Harper said.
“Look,” Pendrith began, “I’m not sure how to tell you this but you can’t go anywhere for a while. Weeks, probably.” He cleared his throat and looked up at Harper. “This is a murder investigation now.”
“Murder?” said Hugo and Harper together.
“It was a fucking accident!” Harper was on his feet. “Fine, I was drunk, I admit it. Two beers, maybe three. Fuck it: four. But Jesus Christ, can’t you people understand? It was a goddamn accident. Now you’re saying I murdered that farmer?”
Pendrith was staring at Harper, eyes wide and unmoving. If Harper didn’t get it, Hugo did, and he put a hand on Harper’s sleeve, pulling him gently back into his seat. “No, he’s not.”
“Yeah, he is. He just fucking said it. Murder, for fuck’s sake.”
“No, Dayton. He’s saying someone murdered your wife.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Harper looked back and forth between them. The silence was broken by the phone ringing in the study, but Hugo ignored it.
“I thought you said suicide?” Harper said to Hugo. The actor wandered over to the large windows and stared into the gray world outside.
“I don’t think anyone can be sure at this stage,” Hugo said gently. He turned to Pendrith, who was recharging his glass. “Why are you saying murder?”
The Englishman looked at Harper and then back at Hugo, as if to say, should we do this in front of him? Hugo walked past the actor, sunk deep into his own world, and stood by Pendrith, who murmured, “Thing is, we’re not sure. All a bit odd, but given everything together, the chaps at Scotland Yard think it best to pursue it as a murder.”