A Line to Kill

‘They’re an online casino.’ She obviously shared none of my misgivings. ‘Alderney is a world centre for online gambling. Spin-the-wheel sponsor a lot of things on the island.’ She brought up another page. ‘They have a historical fiction festival in March and it was so successful that they’ve decided to start another. So far they’ve invited Elizabeth Lovell, Marc Bellamy, George Elkin, Anne Cleary and …’ she leaned closer to the screen ‘… Maïssa Lamar.’

‘I haven’t heard of any of them,’ I said.

‘Marc Bellamy is on television,’ Graham said.

‘He’s a cook,’ Hilda added. ‘He has a morning show on ITV2.’

‘I’m not sure,’ I began, although I was aware that I was the only person in the room who was being negative. ‘Alderney’s a tiny place, isn’t it? It seems a very long way to go …’

‘It’s forty minutes direct from Southampton,’ Hawthorne said.

‘Yes, but—’ I stopped myself. Hawthorne had said that? I looked at him a second time.

‘I’m up for it,’ Hawthorne continued cheerfully as I stared at him in disbelief. ‘I’ve always had it in mind to visit Alderney,’ he went on. ‘It’s an interesting place. Occupied in the war.’

‘But as Hilda just said, we won’t have any books to sell,’ I reminded everyone. ‘So what’s the point?’

‘It could be helpful with pre-orders,’ Graham said. ‘Hilda?’

Hilda looked up from her mobile, which was lying on the table beside her. ‘I can’t see any harm in it. We can look at it as a dry run, a chance for Anthony and Mr Hawthorne to get their act together. And if the whole thing is a complete disaster, there’s nothing lost.’

‘Well, that’s a vote of confidence,’ I said.

‘Then it’s agreed.’ Graham was in a hurry to move on. ‘What else?’

We spent the rest of the meeting talking about Hawthorne. Or rather, Hawthorne talked about himself, focusing mainly on his work. It was interesting how he could say so much and give away so little, something that had infuriated me when I was writing my first book about him. Shortly after twelve, Trish reminded Graham that he had another meeting and told Hilda that her car had arrived to take her to Weymouth Street. Tamara closed her laptop and Hilda drew on her jacket, heading off for her lunch. It was clear to me that all four of them were delighted with Hawthorne. It was smiles all round as they shook hands.

Even the security guard was beaming at him as we exited onto Vauxhall Bridge Road together. I was in a bad mood and didn’t bother to disguise it.

‘What’s the matter, mate?’ Hawthorne took out a cigarette and lit it.

I jerked a thumb back at the office. ‘They were all over you! What was that all about?’

‘They seem like a nice bunch of people.’ Hawthorne contemplated the end of his cigarette. ‘And maybe you should be a bit more charitable. Your agent’s obviously worried about the results of her test.’

‘What test? What are you talking about?’

‘And Graham’s getting a divorce from his wife.’

‘He never said anything about that!’

‘He didn’t need to. He’s having an affair with the publicity director, and that girl, Trish, knows all about it. It can’t be too easy for her. Being a new mother and worried about her job.’

He did this every time we went anywhere new together and I knew he was baiting me. But I refused to play his game.

‘I don’t want to go to Alderney,’ I said. I began to walk back to Pimlico tube station. I didn’t care if he followed me or not.

‘Why not?’

‘Because the book won’t be out. There’s no point!’

‘I’ll see you there, then.’

The crime rate on Alderney is so low that it doesn’t even have a police force of its own. There is a police station with one sergeant, two constables and two special constables – but all of them have been seconded from the neighbouring island of Guernsey and there isn’t very much for them to do. Recent offences included ‘taking a conveyance without authority’ and speeding. It’s unclear if they were connected.

If you ignore the atrocities committed when the island was occupied during the Second World War, throughout the entire history of the place there hasn’t been a single murder.

That was about to change.

2 Departures

Six weeks later, Hawthorne and I met at Waterloo Station on our way down to Southampton Parkway. It was the second time we had travelled together – the year before, we’d taken the train up to Yorkshire – and he was carrying the same suitcase with no wheels on the bottom that he had probably taken with him to school. He reminded me a little of those children evacuated during the war. He had the same lost quality.

It seemed to me that he was unusually cheerful. By now I knew him a little better, which is to say that although I had learned very little about his past history, I could at least gauge his moods, and I was certain he was keeping something from me. He’d made it clear that he had no interest in literary festivals, but he’d leapt at the chance to go to Alderney. He’d even known how long it would take to fly. He was clearly up to something – but what?