Page 83 of Marble Hall Murders

It was early evening by now and I was beginning to think about what I was going to do for the next five hours. This was the part of the day I found hardest, when I was most aware of living on my own. I heard Hugo purring and looked down. He was curled up next to my feet and it bothered me that Iwas beginning to like him. A gin and tonic? No. Too early. An early-evening quiz on TV? I’d rather shoot myself.

I decided to call Eliot.

It seemed the right thing to do. Eliot had been keen for me to read his work and I’d promised to get back to him quickly; he’d even written his address and phone numbers (two of them) on the envelope. I wouldn’t let him draw me into any further criticism of what he’d done, but I would make the right noises and urge him to finish it. At the same time, I wanted to ask him aboutFront Row. He’d said he wasn’t going to do it, but what if he’d changed his mind? I could see all sorts of dangers in an appearance on BBC radio, not the least of which was that he might be drunk when he turned up at the studio. I really didn’t want him to do it.

I called the first number, Eliot’s mobile, which went straight to voicemail. Not wanting to leave a message, I tried the second, a landline. It rang four or five times before it was answered, but it wasn’t Eliot whose voice I heard at the other end. It was his wife, Gillian.

‘This is Susan Ryeland,’ I said. ‘I was wondering if Eliot was there.’

‘No. No, he isn’t. I don’t know where he is.’

I could tell at once that something bad had happened. Gillian had been crying. I could hear it in her voice. She sounded desperate. ‘Gillian, are you OK?’ I asked.

‘No. I’m not.’

‘What’s happened?’

‘It’s Eliot. He was so angry with me. I’ve never seen him like that before.’

‘You’ve had an argument …’

‘Yes.’

‘Has he hurt you?’

A pause. Then: ‘He hit me.’

I felt a sickness in my stomach. ‘Is there anyone there with you?’

She started crying again and for a few seconds all I could hear was racking sobs, which sounded all the worse for being transmitted across the ether. ‘I’m on my own,’ she said eventually.

‘I’m coming round.’

‘No. There’s nothing you can do.’

‘I’ll be with you as soon as I can. I’m on my way.’

*

I was weaving in and out of the rush-hour traffic and knew I’d be lucky not to set off every speed camera between Crouch End and Notting Hill Gate. As I drove across London, part of me was screaming that none of this was my business. After all, barely a week ago, Eliot Crace had been little more than a memory and I hadn’t even heard of his wife. But what else could I do? I felt terrible about Gillian, who had seemed so vulnerable when I met her at Elaine’s. Although there was no good reason for it, I felt responsible for what had happened to her. I was supposed to be looking after Eliot and that meant looking after her too.

At the same time, I couldn’t ignore the more cynical voice whispering in my ear. If it got out that Eliot had behaved violently towards his wife, there would be no book. Nobody would want to go near him, and quite right too. I wasn’t sureI wanted to continue working with him myself and as I made my way down towards King’s Cross Station and the turning onto the Euston Road, the thought was growing in me that it could all be over: the book, our relationship – and my career.

By the time I reached Madame Tussauds and the traffic snarled up, as always, around the Baker Street traffic lights, I’d had second thoughts. I couldn’t do this on my own. Elaine Clover had started all this when she had introduced me to Eliot and Gillian. She was much closer to them than me. She should be the one to sort out this mess. Surrounded by cars and buses going nowhere, I eased my mobile out of my bag and speed-dialled her number. I was relieved when she answered at once.

Quickly, I explained what had happened. I had put the phone on speaker and was balancing it on my knee. The traffic still wasn’t moving. ‘I feel terrible for Gillian,’ I told her. ‘My first instinct was to go to the house, but now I’m not so sure.’

‘Where are you?’

‘I’m stuck in traffic at Baker Street.’

‘I’m only five minutes from the house. I can meet you there.’

‘Are you sure, Elaine? It might be better if—’

She interrupted me. ‘It’ll be a lot easier if there are two of us. And I’d like you there if Eliot shows up.’

I couldn’t argue with her. ‘All right,’ I said. ‘But you’ll probably get there ahead of me. I’ll arrive as soon as I can.’