Chapter 15

‘ANNA WAS AT the theatre,’ Martins told me, ‘for the Sunday matinée. I had to see the whole dreary comedy through a second time. About a middle-aged composer and an infatuated girl and an understanding – a terribly understanding – wife. Anna acted very badly – she wasn’t much of an actress at the best of times. I saw her afterwards in her dressing-room, but she was badly fussed. I think she thought I was going to make a serious pass at her all the time, and she didn’t want a pass. I told her Harry was alive – I thought she’d be glad and that I would hate to see how glad she was, but she sat in front of her make-up mirror and let the tears streak the grease-paint and I wished afterwards that she had been glad. She looked awful and I loved her. Then I told her about my interview with Harry, but she wasn’t really paying much attention because when I’d finished she said, “I wish he was dead.”

‘“He deserves to be,” I said.

‘“I mean he would be safe then – from everybody.”’

I asked Martins. ‘Did you show her the photographs I gave you – of the children?’

‘Yes. I thought, it’s got to be kill or cure this time. She’s got to get Harry out of her system. I propped the pictures up among the pots of grease. She couldn’t avoid seeing them. I said, “The police can’t arrest Harry unless they get him into this zone, and we’ve got to help.”

‘She said, “I thought he was your friend.” I said, “He was my friend.” She said, “I’ll never help you to get Harry. I don’t want to see him again, I don’t want to hear his voice. I don’t want to be touched by him, but I won’t do a thing to harm him.”

‘I felt bitter – I don’t know why, because after all I had done nothing for her. Even Harry had done more for her than I had. I said, “You want him still,” as though I were accusing her of a crime. She said. “I don’t want him, but he’s in me. That’s a fact – not like friendship. Why, when I have a sex dream, he’s always the man.”’

I prodded Martins on when he hesitated. ‘Yes?’

‘Oh, I just got up and left her then. Now it’s your turn to work on me. What do you want me to do?’