contract, but he never did. Said we didn’t need one.’
‘And when he died?’
‘His solicitor, nice chap, elderly…’
‘Brian Marks,’ Anna supplied.
‘That’s him. I met him at the hospital.
Afterwards… after the funeral that is, I went to see him. I told him about the arrangement, but he said as there was nothing documented about the loan in Anthony’s will or in his papers, I should forget about it. When I said I couldn’t do that, he suggested that I pay something to one of the charities named in Anthony’s mother’s will when I was on my feet.’
‘Generous of him.’
‘He insisted it was what Anthony would have wanted. Being a solicitor, Anthony must have realised what would happen in the event of his death. A few weeks later Mr Marks called in here.
He brought some of Anthony’s private things from the house. Told me to take my pick. Drove round to see some of Anthony’s other friends too.’
‘What sort of things?’ Peter had the list Brian Marks had compiled, but there was no mention of any loan to Luke Davies on it.
‘His silver hairbrushes, a few paintings, modern art, nothing valuable, Anthony patronised the students at the art college and he had a good eye.’
As Davies’ description tallied with the list Marks had given him, Peter didn’t press any further.
They sipped their drinks in silence for a while.
‘I’ve been thinking about that man in the film ever since I saw the news last night. Even if I hadn’t seen Anthony dead, there’s still no way I’d believe he was him.’
‘Why not?’
‘Anthony would have shot himself sooner than dress in the filthy rags that man was wearing. He was fastidious and abhorred dirt of any kind. He wouldn’t even use my bathroom unless I cleaned it first.’
‘So, you don’t think he would have survived Jubilee Street?’
‘Jubilee Street?’ Luke looked quizzically at Peter.
‘The area where the down-and-out was murdered,’ Anna told him.
‘I don’t know about Jubilee Street. But I do know he wouldn’t walk behind the bar in case beer splashed on his clothes. Wouldn’t even sleep in my bed until I’d showered twice to rid myself of the smell of alcohol and food.’ He looked at their empty glasses. ‘Another?’
‘We’ve either got to drive back tonight, or find a room.’
‘No one’s driving anywhere,’ Peter said flatly.
‘We’ve both just drunk three pints.’
‘I’ve a room I can let you have upstairs.’
‘As long as you bill us for it. And the drinks, this trip’s on expenses.’
‘Glad to.’
‘In that case, another round, barman.’
Both Peter and Anna were the worse for wear when they climbed the stairs of the pub that night. The only difference between them was in the way they held their beer. Peter was slow and deliberate in his speech and movement. Anna was slurring and swaying on her feet.
‘We should have asked him for two rooms as it’s going on expenses.’ Peter tried to insert the key into the lock and steady Anna at the same time.
‘I didn’t hear him say he had two.’
‘I don’t think you’ve heard anything that’s been said for the last half hour.’ Peter turned the key and kicked the door open.
‘I’ve been thinking about the case.’ Anna fell over Peter’s feet as she entered the room.
‘Wait until I’ve found the light switch.’
‘Very nice.’ she sank down on to the pink satin-covered king-sized bed.
Peter walked across to the second door in the room and opened it. The bathroom had a pale pink suite, gilt taps and green tiles. He glanced at the disposable toothbrushes, small tubes of toothpaste, and sample-sized bars of soap and decided he could live with it for one night.
‘Do you want first shower?’ He turned around.
Anna had fallen asleep sideways on the bed.
‘Bloody women. Never can hold their booze.’
He stripped off her shoes. Her jacket was easy enough, her blouse and skirt complicated and difficult with buttons and hooks in
‘And when he died?’
‘His solicitor, nice chap, elderly…’
‘Brian Marks,’ Anna supplied.
‘That’s him. I met him at the hospital.
Afterwards… after the funeral that is, I went to see him. I told him about the arrangement, but he said as there was nothing documented about the loan in Anthony’s will or in his papers, I should forget about it. When I said I couldn’t do that, he suggested that I pay something to one of the charities named in Anthony’s mother’s will when I was on my feet.’
‘Generous of him.’
‘He insisted it was what Anthony would have wanted. Being a solicitor, Anthony must have realised what would happen in the event of his death. A few weeks later Mr Marks called in here.
He brought some of Anthony’s private things from the house. Told me to take my pick. Drove round to see some of Anthony’s other friends too.’
‘What sort of things?’ Peter had the list Brian Marks had compiled, but there was no mention of any loan to Luke Davies on it.
‘His silver hairbrushes, a few paintings, modern art, nothing valuable, Anthony patronised the students at the art college and he had a good eye.’
As Davies’ description tallied with the list Marks had given him, Peter didn’t press any further.
They sipped their drinks in silence for a while.
‘I’ve been thinking about that man in the film ever since I saw the news last night. Even if I hadn’t seen Anthony dead, there’s still no way I’d believe he was him.’
‘Why not?’
‘Anthony would have shot himself sooner than dress in the filthy rags that man was wearing. He was fastidious and abhorred dirt of any kind. He wouldn’t even use my bathroom unless I cleaned it first.’
‘So, you don’t think he would have survived Jubilee Street?’
‘Jubilee Street?’ Luke looked quizzically at Peter.
‘The area where the down-and-out was murdered,’ Anna told him.
‘I don’t know about Jubilee Street. But I do know he wouldn’t walk behind the bar in case beer splashed on his clothes. Wouldn’t even sleep in my bed until I’d showered twice to rid myself of the smell of alcohol and food.’ He looked at their empty glasses. ‘Another?’
‘We’ve either got to drive back tonight, or find a room.’
‘No one’s driving anywhere,’ Peter said flatly.
‘We’ve both just drunk three pints.’
‘I’ve a room I can let you have upstairs.’
‘As long as you bill us for it. And the drinks, this trip’s on expenses.’
‘Glad to.’
‘In that case, another round, barman.’
Both Peter and Anna were the worse for wear when they climbed the stairs of the pub that night. The only difference between them was in the way they held their beer. Peter was slow and deliberate in his speech and movement. Anna was slurring and swaying on her feet.
‘We should have asked him for two rooms as it’s going on expenses.’ Peter tried to insert the key into the lock and steady Anna at the same time.
‘I didn’t hear him say he had two.’
‘I don’t think you’ve heard anything that’s been said for the last half hour.’ Peter turned the key and kicked the door open.
‘I’ve been thinking about the case.’ Anna fell over Peter’s feet as she entered the room.
‘Wait until I’ve found the light switch.’
‘Very nice.’ she sank down on to the pink satin-covered king-sized bed.
Peter walked across to the second door in the room and opened it. The bathroom had a pale pink suite, gilt taps and green tiles. He glanced at the disposable toothbrushes, small tubes of toothpaste, and sample-sized bars of soap and decided he could live with it for one night.
‘Do you want first shower?’ He turned around.
Anna had fallen asleep sideways on the bed.
‘Bloody women. Never can hold their booze.’
He stripped off her shoes. Her jacket was easy enough, her blouse and skirt complicated and difficult with buttons and hooks in
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