‘Oh, don’t talk to me about honesty,’ he said, relief giving way to resentment. ‘Why didn’t you say something? If you wanted this so-called truthful relationship, you could have made it easier for me to talk to you. But no – instead, you have to piece it all together like some sort of cheap detective story, building your 285

evidence out of my feelings and my silence. Do you have any idea how cold that is?’

Afraid of what he might say next, Archie turned to walk on but Josephine caught his arm. ‘All right, I should have done things differently, too. I know that, and I’m angry with myself as much as with you. But I needed to feel you couldtell me – don’t you understand that?’

‘But I couldn’t,’ he said. ‘Facing up to it with you would have meant dealing with it myself, and that was too much to ask.’ He paused, wondering how he could ever give Josephine the explanation she wanted when he barely understood it himself. ‘You see, I didn’t know much about it at the time. I was unconscious for days, and it was a long time before anyone thought I was well enough to talk about it. I don’t know if they’d ever have told me exactly what had happened if I hadn’t started to remember bits and pieces, and to ask questions about Jack. When I heard the whole story, it was as if it had happened to someone else. I don’t know if it was some sort of defence mechanism or just cowardice, but I distanced myself from the whole thing, acted as though I hadn’t been there.

I’d talk about that soldier in the third person, as if he were a complete stranger. Eventually, I came to some sort of peace with myself

– well, acceptance rather than peace – but I could never find that with you. All I could think about was that last summer when I went to stay with Jack in Scotland, and I’d watch the two of you together and marvel at how happy you were. So no, I couldn’t own up to what I’d taken from you, and the longer I left it, the more impossible it became ever to say anything.’

‘Did it never occur to you that it might be easier for me to know Jack died for someone I care about?’ As soon as the words were out, she realised how selfish they seemed. Archie smiled, but there was no reassurance in it.

‘That’s a nice sentiment, but I doubt it’s true, however much you care. It’s not to my credit to be jealous of a dead man, especially one I loved, but if you’d had the chance to play God back then, it wouldn’t be me you’d have allowed to live.’

Now it was Josephine’s turn to pull away. ‘Listen to yourself, 286

Archie,’ she said, oblivious to the scene they were making. ‘How can you talk about playing God after all that’s happened? You know, I’m sick and tired of people making decisions for me, telling me how I would and wouldn’t feel. First I’m caught up in a private war between Vintner and Aubrey, and now you’ve manoeuvred me into some sort of no man’s land between you and Jack.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ he said, stunned. ‘It isn’t the same thing at all.’

‘Isn’t it? You’re manipulating me because of your own guilt, and from where I’m standing that’s exactly the same thing. How dare you tell me how I’d have felt when you never gave me the chance to find out? Yes, I was in love with Jack, but it was young love and it didn’t ask for very much. It might have grown, of course – I assumed it would at the time – but I would have looked for something more sooner or later. I’m not going to live my whole life according to the options I had when I was nineteen. So don’t think you know what’s best for me, because you don’t.’

‘And when exactly is this sooner or later going to arrive? You were let off the hook in deciding whether or not to commit to Jack, and ever since, you’ve used his death as an excuse not to commit to anyone. Instead, you just throw yourself into your work, living with people who don’t exist and never will.’ He stopped, and turned away, unable to trust himself not to go any further and suspecting that he had already said more than he would be forgiven for.

Josephine let him walk away. Shaken by the truth in his parting shot, she sat down on the cold, stone steps of one of the government buildings that lined the street and watched him stride angrily down Whitehall. He stopped by the Cenotaph, and bent down to pick something up from the foot of the memorial. As he stood there, looking at it, she wondered what was going through his head, and realised sadly that she would never truly know: no matter how hard she tried to put herself in his position, or how strong the instinct for forgiveness and reconciliation, understanding was one of the casualties of the war; even now, there was an unbearable void between those who had fought it and those who had not, a stifling of emotion which was not so different from the deaden-287

ing of joy that Marta had talked about. How many generations would it last, she wondered? And what would the future have held for Elspeth if those who loved her had not been so crippled by the past? In the distance, Archie replaced whatever he had taken up and walked on towards Derby Gate. Before he could move too far out of reach, she got up and went after him.

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Author’s Note

To write fiction about historic fact is very nearly impermissible.

Gordon Daviot, The Privateer

An Expert in Murderis a work of fiction, inspired by real lives and events.

Gordon Daviot was one of two pseudonyms created by Elizabeth Mackintosh (1896–1952) during a versatile career as playwright and novelist; the other, Josephine Tey, was taken from her Suffolk great-great-grandmother and did not actually appear until 1936, with the publication of A Shilling for Candles. It was reserved for detective fiction, and is the name by which we know her best today.

By 1934, she had written a mystery and two other novels as Daviot, but it was Richard of Bordeauxwhich made her name and led to a number of important friendships and professional relationships. Mackintosh divided her time between London and her hometown, Inverness, where she looked after her father, and, when she died, she left the bulk of her considerable estate to the National Trust for England. The Josephine Tey who appears in An Expert in Murdermixes what we know about Elizabeth Mackintosh with the personality which emerges so strongly from her eight crime novels – novels which are loved for their warmth and originality by those who have discovered them, but which are still vastly underrated in comparison with the work of her contem-poraries.

Richard of Bordeauxran for 463 performances at the New Theatre (now the Noël Coward Theatre) in St Martin’s Lane, closing on 24 March 1934. It took more than £100,000 at the box office under the management of Howard Wyndham and Bronson Albery (who lived to enjoy the success), and acquired the sort of 289

popularity that films enjoy today: hundreds of Elspeths went thirty or forty times to see it; the cast took part in high-profile publicity stunts; commemorative portrait dolls were produced; and it turned its leading man, John Gielgud, from a brilliant young actor into a celebrity overnight. The beauty of the set and costumes, designed by ‘Motley’ (Margaret and Sophia Harris and Elizabeth Montgomery), was vital to the play’s success, as was Gwen Ffrangcon-Davies’s performance as Anne. Bordeauxtoured provincial theatres and was produced on Broadway, but the over-all experience was not entirely positive for its author: fame was unwelcome, particularly in Inverness, and, according to Gielgud, she was subject to unfair accusations of plagiarism which hurt her deeply. Gielgud’s own hopes for a film starring himself and Lillian Gish were never realised.