‘You look well,’ Hilda said. She herself was showing off a luminescent suntan from her recent holiday in Barbados. ‘Have you started your book about Alderney yet?’
‘You know I’m working on Moonflower Murders,’ I told her. I sat down in the other empty chair. ‘Did you see my play?’ I asked.
‘As a matter of fact, I had tickets to the Saturday matinée. I was going to take the whole office, but when we got to the theatre they said it had closed that very day.’ She sniffed. ‘At least we got our money back.’
‘What is this about?’ I asked, a little tetchily.
‘How are you doing, mate?’ Hawthorne looked across at me. He was unusually cheerful too. ‘I was just telling Hilda about the murder of Harriet Throsby.’
‘Yes. You know, for once I actually got it right!’ I hadn’t meant to blurt it out like that, but it was true. When I’d left his dressing room, I’d named Tirian Kirke as the killer.
‘You didn’t exactly,’ Hawthorne returned. ‘You only thought it was him because he’d refused to do your drama on TV.’
‘Well, I didn’t trust him. I was right about that.’ While I’d been in France, I’d had time to think about what had happened and now I couldn’t stop myself asking, ‘Why did they all gang up on me, Hawthorne? I mean, Jordan said I agreed with him when he was making his threat to kill Harriet. Ewan said the same. Olivia told you I threatened her mother. And Sky Palmer said I’d seen Harriet’s address in the magazine. None of that was true!’
‘Basic psychology, mate. All four of them felt under pressure. Olivia probably blamed herself for nicking her mum’s review and sending it to her girlfriend. Sky felt guilty about reading it out. Ewan was defending Jordan, and Jordan … well, he’d started the whole thing. It was the same for all of them. Deflection! They accused you to stop me accusing them.’
‘There’s something else.’ This had also been on my mind. ‘On the first night of the play, Martin Longhurst was sitting right behind me and I was sure I felt something prick at the back of my neck. All along, I thought he was the one who might have pulled out one of my hairs.’
‘Why didn’t you mention it?’
‘I don’t know. I couldn’t be sure …’
‘Well, he had nothing to do with it. It was probably first-night nerves.’
‘Or you could have nits,’ Hilda suggested.
‘I don’t have nits,’ I growled.
Hawthorne smiled. ‘Anyway, Tony, it’s all over. And I’ve got to tell you, if it wasn’t for me, you know where you’d be right now.’
‘That’s true.’ I couldn’t deny it. ‘You worked it all out, Hawthorne. You stood by me. I owe you a big vote of thanks.’
He coughed quietly. ‘Actually, you owe me a bit more than that.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, you hired me. This time, I wasn’t helping the police. You were the client. I put four days into this and Kevin helped too.’ He held up a hand before I could protest. ‘Don’t worry. I’ll do it for mate’s rates. I can give you a ten per cent discount—’
‘Hawthorne! I don’t believe you’re saying this. It’s outrageous.’
‘I don’t see why. If it wasn’t for me, you wouldn’t have a career any more. I was just talking about that with Hilda.’
‘I don’t think it would have been a good look, being arrested for murdering a critic,’ Hilda agreed.
I stared at Hawthorne. ‘So that’s all there is between us? You just think of me as a client?’
‘You were the one who said you didn’t want to write any more books.’
He let this sink in. Suddenly, I knew where this was heading.
‘I’ve spoken to Penguin Random House,’ Hilda chipped in. ‘They were very saddened by your decision. The Word is Murder has done much better than any of your other books, and you know how keen they are on series. Hawthorne asked me to call them on his behalf – I didn’t want to trouble you while you were away – and I have to say, they’ve made an extremely generous offer.’
‘An offer?’
‘Four more books once you finish A Line to Kill.’ She opened a drawer in her desk and took out a contract. ‘Of course, it’s entirely your decision. I wouldn’t want you to do anything you weren’t comfortable with.’