Heathen/Nemesis

Thirteen

Donna was crossing the hall when she heard the car pull up outside.

She paused as she heard the car door shut and footsteps approach. She moved towards the front door, peering through the spy-hole. She smiled as she recognised her visitor and opened the door before he could ring the bell.

Martin Connelly looked surprised to find himself gazing into her face.

‘I heard your car,’ she said, beckoning him inside.

Connelly accepted the invitation and stepped in, turning to hug Donna briefly.

‘When you didn’t call me back I thought I’d come round and see how you were. I hope you don’t mind,’ he said.

‘It’s very thoughtful of you,’ she told him as they walked into the sitting-room.

Julie was glancing at a magazine when Connelly entered. She looked up and saw him, smiled tightly and nodded a greeting.

‘Martin, this is my sister Julie,’ Donna announced. ‘Martin Connelly. He was Chris’s agent.’ The two of them shook hands a little stiffly and Connelly looked at Donna.

‘If I’m interrupting,’ he apologised. ‘I just wanted to see if you were okay. I won’t stay.’ He smiled at Julie again.

‘Stay and have a drink.’

‘If I do it had better be coffee. I’m driving,’ Connelly explained.

‘I’ll make it,’ said Julie. ‘You two talk.’ And she was gone, closing the sitting-room door behind her, leaving them alone.

Connelly wandered over to the fireplace and glanced at the framed book covers that hung there. Donna studied him.

He was in his mid-thirties, smartly dressed (he was always smartly dressed, she remembered), his light brown hair impeccably groomed. He had been Ward’s agent for the last five years. The relationship between them had never been business-orientated, though; it was something stronger than that. Although it was not powerful enough to be true friendship, there was nevertheless a mutual respect of each other’s abilities coupled by a ruthless streak they also both possessed. It had been a formidable combination.

‘You’re okay for money, aren’t you?’ Connelly asked her.

‘I won’t starve, Martin.’

‘I always made sure Chris had enough insurance policies and stuff like that.’ He turned and looked at her. ‘But if you need anything, anything at all, you call me. Right?’

She smiled.

‘I mean it, Donna,’ he insisted. ‘Promise me you will.’

‘I promise.’

He reached into the pocket of his jacket and took out a packet of cigarettes, lighting one with his silver lighter. He regarded her coolly through the haze of bluish smoke. Despite the dark rings beneath her eyes and the fact that her hair needed brushing she still looked extremely attractive. Prior to Ward’s death he’d seen her dressed up, her make-up done to perfection. On some of those occasions the only word he could find to describe her was breathtaking. Now he ran appraising eyes slowly over her, a little embarrassed when she looked up and caught him in the middle of his furtive inspection.

‘How long’s your sister here for?’ he asked, feeling the need to break the silence.

‘For as long as she wants to be. Certainly until after the funeral.’

‘Do you know when it is yet?’

She shook her head.

‘I’ve got to sort all that out tomorrow,’ Donna told him.

‘Do you need any help?’

‘I’ll be all right. Thanks, anyway. It’s probably better in some ways. The more I’ve got to do, the less time I’ve got to sit around and think about what’s happened.’

‘I know what you mean. No good brooding about it, is it?’ He realized the clumsiness of his statement and apologised.

‘It’s okay, Martin. Say what you think. People can’t tip-toe around the subject for the rest of their lives. Chris is dead, and there’s nothing I can do about that. Ignoring it isn’t going to make it any more bearable.’

‘You know that he had it written into all his contracts that, if anything happened to him, you were to become beneficiary of all his money from royalties and advances?’ Connelly said.

She nodded.

‘I remember when we first met, before Chris was earning decent money from his books. People used to tell me I was crazy to stay with him, that he’d never earn a good living. Then, when he did start earning good money, those same people told me that was the only reason I’d stayed with him.’ She shook her head.

‘Jealousy. You’ll always get it. The wives of successful men always get that thrown at them, that they’re only with the bloke because of his money. It happens the other way round, too. Behind every successful woman is a spongeing bastard; behind every successful man is a gold-digger.’ He smiled and took another drag on his cigarette. ‘Of course sometimes it’s true.’

Now it was Donna’s turn to smile. The atmosphere seemed to lighten a little.

Connelly moved away from the fireplace and sat down opposite her, chancing another swift glance at her as she ran a hand over her face.

‘How much did you know about Chris?’ she asked.

Connelly frowned.

‘What do you mean?’ the agent asked, looking a little puzzled.

‘I mean about his work, his character. What he did in his spare time. How much did you know about what he thought?’

Connelly looked bemused.

‘Would you say you knew him, Martin? Knew him as a person, not just as a client?’

‘That’s a strange question, Donna. I don’t see what you’re driving at.’

Their conversation was momentarily interrupted as Julie arrived with a tray of coffee cups, milk and sugar. She set it down and poured cups for Donna and Connelly, saying she had some things to unpack. ‘I’ll leave you to talk.’ She smiled at Connelly. ‘It was good to meet you.’ Again she disappeared and Donna heard her footsteps on the stairs.

Connelly dropped sugar cubes into his cup and stirred gently.

‘What do you mean, did I know Chris?’ he asked.

‘You were pretty close, weren’t you? I mean, he must have told you things. About himself, about his work, about me.’

‘Donna, I was his agent, not his bloody confessor. If my clients want to tell me their problems, that’s up to them. I care about them, and I like to think it’s not just on a professional level.’

‘Did Chris tell you his problems?’

‘What kind of problems?’ Connelly said, taken aback by her questions. ‘What made you think he had any? If he had, you’d know more about them than me. You were his wife.’

‘I hadn’t forgotten, Martin,’ she said acidly. ‘But there might have been things he told you that he couldn’t tell me.’

Connelly shook his head.

‘Did he tell you he was having an affair?’ she demanded.

The agent looked at her evenly.

‘What makes you think he was?’ he wanted to know. ‘And even if he was, which I doubt, what makes you so sure he’d tell me?’

‘You said you were close to your clients. He couldn’t very well tell me, could he?’

‘What gives you the idea he was having an affair, for Christ’s sake? He loved you. Why would he want to screw around with other women?’

‘Does your professionalism run to protecting him when he’s dead, Martin?’

‘Donna, I know you’re going through a bad time, I understand that. But this is shit.’ There was a hint of anger in Connelly’s voice. ‘Chris wasn’t having an affair and if he was, he didn’t say anything to me about it. You’re on about that crap in the paper about him being found in the car with a woman, aren’t you?’

‘He was found in the car with a woman.’

‘That doesn’t mean she was his mistress. Jesus Christ, Donna. Think about it logically.’

‘I don’t know what to think any more, Martin,’ she hissed. ‘But I’ll tell you this, if you’re keeping quiet just because you think it’s saving me hurt then you may as well tell me what you know. I couldn’t suffer any more than I’m suffering now.’

‘Just listen to what you’re saying, Donna,’ Connelly told her, trying to keep his voice even. ‘Your husband is dead and all you can think about is whether or not he was having a fucking affair.’

An uneasy silence descended.

Donna rested her head on her hand, her eyes averted. Connelly kept his gaze on her. When he sipped at his coffee again it was cold. He put the cup back on the tray and got to his feet, taking a step towards her.

‘He never said anything to me, Donna, believe me. I know as much as you.’ He wanted to reach out and touch her shoulder but resisted the temptation. ‘If I knew anything I’d tell you.’

‘Would you, Martin?’ she said, eyeing him challengingly.

‘I’d better go,’ he said quietly. ‘I’ll let you get on.’

She got to her feet and they walked to the front door where she paused on the step and pecked him on the cheek.

‘Don’t forget,’ he said. ‘If you need anything, just let me know.’

She nodded and watched as he walked to the waiting Porsche and slid behind the steering wheel. He started the engine and waved, watching her disappear back inside the house. Connelly pulled away, the house falling away behind him.

On the landing, hidden by the curtains, Julie Craig also watched the agent leave.