The Silkworm

After a brief pause Fancourt said:

“Well, yes, I did hold it against him. Exactly why Dan changed his mind about publishing it only Dan could tell you, but I think it was because there was a smattering of press around Joe’s condition, drumming up middle-England disgust about the unrepentant book he was about to publish, and Dan, who had not realized that Joe now had full-blown AIDS, panicked. He didn’t want to be associated with bathhouses and AIDS, so he told Joe he didn’t want the book after all. It was an act of great cowardice and Owen and I—”

Another pause. How long had it been since Fancourt had bracketed himself and Quine together in amity?

“Owen and I believed that it killed Joe. He could hardly hold a pen, he was virtually blind, but he was trying desperately to finish the book before he died. We felt that was all that was keeping him alive. Then Chard’s letter arrived canceling their contract; Joe stopped work and within forty-eight hours he was dead.”

“There are similarities,” said Strike, “with what happened to your first wife.”

“They weren’t the same thing at all,” said Fancourt flatly.

“Why not?”

“Joe’s was an infinitely better book.”

Yet another pause, this time much longer.

“That’s considering the matter,” said Fancourt, “from a purely literary perspective. Naturally, there are other ways of looking at it.”

He finished his glass of wine and raised a hand to indicate to the barman that he wanted another. The actor beside them, who had barely drawn breath, was still talking.

“…said, ‘Screw authenticity, what d’you want me to do, saw my own bloody arm off?’”

“It must have been a very difficult time for you,” said Strike.

“Yes,” said Fancourt waspishly. “Yes, I think we can call it ‘difficult.’”

“You lost a good friend and a wife within—what—months of each other?”

“A few months, yes.”

“You were writing all through that time?”

“Yes,” said Fancourt, with an angry, condescending laugh, “I was writing all through that time. It’s my profession. Would anyone ask you whether you were still in the army while you were having private difficulties?”

“I doubt it,” said Strike, without rancor. “What were you writing?”

“It was never published. I abandoned the book I was working on so that I could finish Joe’s.”

The waiter set a second glass in front of Fancourt and departed.

“Did North’s book need much doing to it?”

“Hardly anything,” said Fancourt. “He was a brilliant writer. I tidied up a few rough bits and polished the ending. He’d left notes about how he wanted it done. Then I took it to Jerry Waldegrave, who was with Roper.”

Strike remembered what Chard had said about Fancourt’s over-closeness to Waldegrave’s wife and proceeded with some caution.

“Had you worked with Waldegrave before?”

“I’ve never worked with him on my own stuff, but I knew of him by reputation as a gifted editor and I knew that he’d liked Joe. We collaborated on Towards the Mark.”

“He did a good job on it, did he?”

Fancourt’s flash of bad temper had gone. If anything, he looked entertained by Strike’s line of questioning.

“Yes,” he said, taking a sip of wine, “very good.”

“But you didn’t want to work with him now you’ve moved to Roper Chard?”

“Not particularly,” said Fancourt, still smiling. “He drinks a lot these days.”

“Why d’you think Quine put Waldegrave in Bombyx Mori?”

“How can I possibly know that?”

“Waldegrave seems to have been good to Quine. It’s hard to see why Quine felt the need to attack him.”

“Is it?” asked Fancourt, eyeing Strike closely.

“Everyone I talk to seems to have a different angle on the Cutter character in Bombyx Mori.”

“Really?”

“Most people seem outraged that Quine attacked Waldegrave at all. They can’t see what Waldegrave did to deserve it. Daniel Chard thinks the Cutter shows that Quine had a collaborator,” said Strike.

“Who the hell does he think would have collaborated with Quine on Bombyx Mori?” asked Fancourt, with a short laugh.

“He’s got ideas,” said Strike. “Meanwhile Waldegrave thinks the Cutter’s really an attack on you.”

“But I’m Vainglorious,” said Fancourt with a smile. “Everyone knows that.”

“Why would Waldegrave think that the Cutter is about you?”

“You’ll need to ask Jerry Waldegrave,” said Fancourt, still smiling. “But I’ve got a funny feeling you think you know, Mr. Strike. And I’ll tell you this: Quine was quite, quite wrong—as he really should have known.”

Impasse.

“So in all these years, you’ve never managed to sell Talgarth Road?”

“It’s been very difficult to find a buyer who satisfies the terms of Joe’s will. It was a quixotic gesture of Joe’s. He was a romantic, an idealist.

“I set down my feelings about all of this—the legacy, the burden, the poignancy of his bequest—in House of Hollow,” said Fancourt, much like a lecturer recommending additional reading. “Owen had his say—such as it was—” added Fancourt, with the ghost of a smirk, “in The Balzac Brothers.”