want to have seen.’
‘She thought she recognised the photographer, as someone who worked for the same newspaper as her husband.
‘Why was he photographing you?’
‘At first he said he wasn’t, and that it was the scene he was taking. I did wonder whether …’
‘What?’
‘No. I’ll say no more on that.’
‘That her husband was having her followed, or that the photographer may ask a high price for his wares?’
When he stayed silent, I asked, ‘Who put you in contact with Deirdre?’
His answer came out so quickly and so pat that I knew it to be false. ‘We met in a café and hit it off. She was a good sport.’
‘What café?’
‘Does that matter? It was a café, that’s all. I can’t tell you the name.’
‘Where was the café?’
‘Just a café. We met in a café.’
‘That’s what the solicitor told you to say?’
He repeated his answer, word for word.
‘Thank you.’ There would be little more to draw out of him. I stood up.
‘Wait!’ He touched my sleeve. He let out a sigh and lowered his head. ‘If someone has hurt that lovely lady …’
This seemed an odd way to describe a ‘good sport’ he met in a café. ‘Mr Barnard, what can you tell me?’
‘It was her first time, and … Well I’m sure it was her first time.’
‘Do you mean her first time meeting a man in a café and going to a hotel with him?’
He hesitated. ‘I can’t divulge.’
I sat down again. ‘Mr Barnard, if you have any regard for Mrs Fitzpatrick, then please help me. I enjoyed HMS Pinafore, but I’ll probably be waiting in this station for the milk train, so have a heart, for Deirdre and for me.’
‘It was as I said, we met in a café and …’
‘Oh, spare me! She was with another man, in the same situation as you, and the outcome was rather unfortunate. And now I don’t know where she is.’
He had turned red and uncomfortable. He tugged at his collar. ‘What kind of husband does she have? What sort of man is he?’
‘It’s a little late for you to be asking that. You realise that your wife’s petition for divorce could be at risk?’
He hesitated, and then said, ‘Mrs Fitzpatrick, Deirdre, she needed the money. That was why she did what she did.’
‘You can rely on my discretion.’
Could he? I was not so sure, but he nodded. ‘I hope so.’ He did not look at me, but stared at his feet. He spoke quietly, but his actor’s voice allowed every word to come out so very clearly.
‘When I said it was her first time, I did not mean her first time meeting someone in a café. We agreed that intimacy need not form part of our arrangement. What you do in a situation requiring a certain sort of proof is not as important as what you are seen to do. What is seen, what can be used as evidence, that is what counts. We agreed to sleep with a bolster between us, and then we didn’t; didn’t have the bolster I mean. We liked each other, very much. I wished I had met her years ago, and I believe she felt the same. The next morning …’
‘The next morning?’ I prompted.
‘There was blood on the sheets. She was very embarrassed and tried to wash it out. We had a wash basin in the room.’
‘She had her bleeding period?’
‘No. It wasn’t that. It was her first time.’
A silence held between us, and then he spoke again. ‘She was lively, and funny, and told me about her mother, and her brother in New York who she thought must have died or moved because he never answered her letters. And now I feel helpless, because to act in any way on her behalf … the solicitor stressed …’
‘The solicitor …?’
‘That’s as much as I can say.’
Barnard stood up, and offered his hand. ‘I hope you don’t have to wait too long for a train.’
‘If there’s anything else, you have my card.’
‘You might as well know. I thought the photographer might be working for the solicitor, a belt and braces idea of seeing us together on our way to the hotel, but I cannot be sure. Deirdre thought not.’
‘Thank you.’
He nodded. ‘Goodnight.’
‘Goodnight.’
It would have been a better night’s work if I had found out the name of the solicitor. But at least I had eliminated the slim possibility that Deirdre would be with Barnard. I gave him time to leave the station, and then went to