A Wayward Game (19 page)

“Stevenson’s
restaurant,” I say. “The Vine Tree, Richmond. There’s something
about that place. I can’t put my finger on it. Are you familiar
with the place at all?”

“Only by
reputation. It’s patronised by the great and the good, I
understand. It’s not quite the Ivy, you understand; it doesn’t have
that kind of exclusivity. It’s a lot quieter and a lot less showy.
But some fairly important people go there – MPs, media types,
various celebrities.”

“But why is
Stevenson running a place like that? He’s just an ordinary
bloke.”

“Does an
ordinary background debar someone from running a restaurant?” Neil
looks at me, a little sharply. “Look, Katherine, you seem to be
desperate to find something against this guy. The problem is that
you are in no position to judge here. You’re getting up to some
pretty dodgy stuff yourself these days: acting under false
pretences, flashing fake ID, telling people you’re working for a
paper you left years ago. It’s dishonest, and it could harm your
reputation if it ever got out. It’s not for you to do the police’s
job for them.”

“If the police
were doing their job properly, I wouldn’t have to.”

There’s a
moment of silence, during which Neil finishes his wine and puts the
glass back on table. His shoulders are taut now, his face tense; my
words have stung him.

“That’s bloody
unfair, and you know it,” he says at last, quietly. “You know that
we can’t press charges if there’s insufficient evidence. And
sometimes, no matter how hard we try, there are cases that just
can’t be solved.”

“And I suppose
that Sallow’s money and connections don’t have anything to do with
that, do they?”

“Only insofar
as they give him access to good legal advice. Katherine, use your
brain. Most conspiracy theories are untrue because, apart from
anything, they’re impractical. A police conspiracy to protect
Sallow would require a huge number of people to be involved, from
senior officers to ordinary constables and civilian staff – people
who have no reason to give a damn about Sallow, or want to protect
him. And all it would take to bring the whole thing tumbling down
would be for just one person to break ranks and speak out. Believe
me, outside of fiction these enormous conspiracies just don’t
exist. There’s mismanagement, of course, and negligence, but
they’re completely different things. Come on, Katherine: don’t be
paranoid.”

“Paranoid?” I
smile in spite of myself. “You’re the one who mentioned a
conspiracy, not me. And you’re the one who’s convinced that I’m
being followed or watched.”

“Caution and
paranoia are hardly the same thing.” Neil looks at me for a moment,
as though he’s uncertain whether to speak. “By the way, if you go
over to the window you’ll see a black Toyota parked opposite the
flat. It’s been there since I arrived this evening, and someone’s
been sitting in the driver’s seat all that time. Go and have a look
if you don’t believe me.”

I creep over to
the window and look around the edge of the curtain. It’s just as he
says: the car is parked almost directly opposite the flat, and when
I peer through the dark windscreen I can just make out the shape of
a man sitting in the driver’s seat. I duck back behind the curtain,
and turn to Neil.

“Is that
paranoia?” he asks softly.

“Neil, I don’t
understand this. Who the hell could possibly be so interested in
me? Is it a stalker?”

“Stalkers
aren’t generally so organised. I think it’s something else
entirely. Someone who feels threatened by you, perhaps.”

“Such as?”

“Well, James
Sallow, for one.”

I feel my heart
give a scared thump as the import of Neil’s words sinks in. I’ve
always suspected that Sallow was ruthless, and I’ve always thought
that he’d take drastic action in his own defence if necessary; but
for some reason I never before imagined that he might one day turn
his sights on me.

“James Sallow
doesn’t know me,” I say.

“You might be
surprised at what he knows. Jesus, Katherine, you’ve been watching
him for all this time. Do you think he hasn’t been watching you in
turn? He’s hired private investigators in the past, you know.”

“He always
claimed that they were employed to find Diane.”

“Nobody really
knows what they were employed for. Only them, and Sallow.”

I sit down
heavily on the sofa. Neil is within touching distance, and I’m in
the middle of a big city, yet for one sickening second I feel
utterly alone, and horribly vulnerable.

“Do you really
think that Sallow might be having me watched?” I ask at last.

“I don’t know.
Perhaps. You’re an obvious target. You wrote a supposedly libellous
story about him. You never openly apologised for that story, or
distanced yourself from it. And now that the internet is part of
everyone’s lives, nobody can be silenced entirely. You have a voice
even now, if you want to use it. You have contacts, and all the
skills of an investigative journalist. You have the potential to be
a considerable thorn in his side. And now, to cap it all, you’re on
intimate terms with a police officer. If Sallow has heard about
that
, it’s hard to believe that he’s not feeling a little
jumpy.”

“What do you
think he might do?”

“Nothing,
probably. But you’d better be on your guard, just in case.”

I turn my wine
glass around in my hands, thinking.

“Tell me,” I
say, “do you think that Sallow killed Diane Meath-Jones?”

“I’ve already
told you. There isn’t enough evidence to charge him.”

“That’s the
police officer speaking. I want to know what the man thinks.”

“All right,” he
says slowly. “My personal opinion – and I warn you, Katherine, this
is off the record – is that the evidence points to Sallow having
been involved in her disappearance in some way. But legal guilt and
actual guilt are two separate things. If you don’t have sufficient
evidence, if you can’t prove something beyond reasonable doubt,
then legally that person is innocent. There just isn’t enough
evidence against Sallow; and believe me, Katherine, after all this
time you’re probably not going to find any.”

“So that’s it,
then. We just give up on Diane because there isn’t enough
evidence.” I laugh – a hollow, bitter sound. “
Evidence
.
That’s a damn cold word, you know. It only translates in a world
where there’s no feeling.”

Neil is looking
at me, intently, his face half hidden by the shadows. He looks
suddenly tired, and older.

“Katherine,” he
says, “your interest in this goes far beyond that of a reporter.
That much is clear. Did you know Diane? Personally, I mean?”

I look down
into my empty glass. For years, I think, I’ve been – not lying,
exactly, but not being entirely honest either. And suddenly I’m
sick of it all, sick of hiding and pretending. I can’t live like
this anymore. I want to live with the truth, because the lie is too
heavy a burden to bear.

“Yes, I knew
her.” My voice sounds quiet, tinged with resignation.

“Was she a
friend? A relative?”

“She was my
lover.”

Neil is silent
for a long moment. It is not, I think, a shocked silence; when I
glance across at him, he is looking down, his face almost entirely
devoid of expression. He senses my eyes upon him, and looks up. To
my surprise, a faint smile crosses his lips.

“I did wonder
sometimes,” he says. “The way you talked and felt about her – it
was obvious that you loved her. I didn’t know you were bisexual,
though.”

“The subject
never came up. Do you mind?”

“Of course
not.” His smile widens, and then, abruptly, vanishes. “Were you
involved with her at the same time as Sallow?”

“No, of course
not. We broke up before he even met her. We remained friends,
though.”

“Did you ever
meet Sallow?”

“I haven’t had
that dubious pleasure, no.”

“Does he know
that you were Diane’s lover?”

“I doubt it.” I
remember how much Diane longed for normality, and how afraid and
ashamed she was of her own desires. “She wouldn’t have told him.
She wouldn’t have told anyone. But he might have known that I was
her friend. She might have mentioned me, and even if she didn’t –
well, we went to the same university at the same time, we lived in
the same Hall of Residence. It’d be easy to join the dots.”

“Does it seem
so unlikely now that someone might be watching you?”

“No,” I
concede.

“Remember just
one thing, Katherine: legally, Sallow is in the clear.
You’re
the one who’s on shaky ground here. You wrote an
arguably libellous article. You’ve interviewed witnesses under
false pretences, and you’ve used false ID. For God’s sake, be
careful. And that’s a warning from somebody who cares.”

I look across
at him. His gaze is steady and unwavering, and seemingly sincere.
For one weak, pitiful moment, I feel like my heart is breaking; but
I learned to control my feelings long ago, and I don’t want him to
see my distress.

“I’ll be fine,”
I say, with a shrug. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Are you quite
sure about that?” He doesn’t look away. “You don’t always have to
be so cool, you know. Everyone’s allowed a few moments of
vulnerability.”

“I can’t afford
them.”

“You can.” He
leans forward, and kisses me. It’s not the other kisses we’ve
shared; it’s gentle, passionless, compassionate. He reaches out and
strokes my hair, and all at once it seems that
he
is the
dominant one here, he the one who warns and reassures. I am unused
to this, but I find it consoling; few things are more comforting
than to give up, let go, and allow someone else to take
control.

The kiss ends,
and he leans back slightly and smiles at me.

“Nobody can be
dominant all the time,” he says. “I don’t expect you to be. You’re
human, Katherine, not a machine.”

“I know. It’s
just that I’ve got to keep going. I can’t be sidetracked. You think
I can’t make a difference, and maybe you’re right, but I’ve got to
try, damn it. And crying and feeling scared and sorry for myself –
those things won’t help. They won’t.”

“You can’t burn
out over this, and you can’t put yourself in danger. You’re
obsessed, Katherine, and it’s not healthy.”

“I’m not
obsessed. Diane meant so much to me. I can’t just forget that she
ever existed.”

“I’m not saying
you should, but there’s far more to life than just this one case.”
He frowns. “It’s taken over your entire life; it’s like there’s no
part of your existence that hasn’t been touched. And the thing is,
I’ve sometimes wondered whether I’m just part of that. Whether
you’ve just been using me as your eyes and ears at Scotland
Yard.”

I stare at him.
“Christ, no.”

“I could hardly
avoid thinking it. From the very start, I always felt that you were
fishing for information – about police procedures in general, and
about Diane Meath-Jones in particular.”

“That’s
nonsense. You’ve never told me anything that I couldn’t have found
out some other way.”

“No, but I
might have.” He shakes his head. “I sometimes wondered if it really
was just a transaction, this thing. You gave pleasure, and I gave
information in return.
Quid pro quo
.”

“Oh God.” I
stand up and wander over to the window. Outside, the London night
is thick with car fumes and artificial lights, and with intrigue.
In the street below, the man in the black Toyota continues to watch
and wait. “God, Neil, you can’t think very much of me. I wanted
you
. All right, so I asked you about the case sometimes, and
what you thought of it. Of course I did; it would be stupid not to.
But that wasn’t why I wanted to see you, be with you – whatever it
is we’re actually doing here, and neither of us seem quite certain
about that.”

I hear him get
up and come to stand beside me. He lays his hands, very gently, on
my shoulders.

“What
are
we doing here, Katherine?”

“Who knows
anymore? At first it was just fun. You needed a distraction, and so
did I. You wanted a new experience, and I wanted more of the same.
It was all supposed to be so easy. No emotions, no complications.
But that wasn’t the way it worked out, was it? I suppose we were
fools to think that we could slam the door on our feelings. They
always creep through sooner or later, don’t they?”

“Is that such a
bad thing?”

“Given that
you’re married, I’d say that yes, it probably is.”

“Katherine,” he
says. I turn around to look at him. His face is very close to mine,
and his expression is gentle and sad.

“I’ve told
myself that too,” he says. “A thousand times or more. At first I
thought I was being very daring here, playing a very wayward game.
But that’s nothing compared to what we’re doing now, in falling for
each other. This is
really
dangerous, and we might get hurt.
I’ve no answers for you, and no promises. Damn it, we don’t even
know each other that well, and it might be that there’s nothing
here after all, nothing that we can build something lasting on. But
you mean so much to me now. I can’t just walk away and pretend that
it’s been nothing but fun. And if you have a problem, then it’s my
problem too.”

I’ve wanted to
hear these words for so long, and feared hearing them too; and now
that they’ve been spoken, I find that I don’t know how to react, or
how to process my feelings. Neil leans towards me, and kisses me,
and though my mind is still churning I find myself responding,
kissing him back. His hands slide up my back, and his body presses
against mine. And then the old desire, urgent and undeniable,
sparks between us, and we begin to pull at each other’s clothes,
hungry for each other.