Authors: Lynne Truss
“What about your wife?” she says. Bingo. I put my hand through my hair, which – I just happen to know this – makes me look super-adorable, and take the camera. She sits on the sofa, arranging her skirt. She’s self-conscious
and blushing. It’s great. “Look at those ankles,” I say. I press the shutter. Flash. “Now. Show me your hands.” She laughs; she’s embarrassed, but she is not saying no. She is not saying stop. “Put your hand to your neck, honey. Here. Oh, that’s beautiful, beautiful.” I help her place it at an elegant angle to her throat, then kneel in front of her, very close. She shuts her eyes, but that’s OK. “Perfect,” I say. I take fifteen shots before I speak again. “Open your eyes, sweetie.”
[
Pause … Last tick-tick-ticks then “Ping” from the timer
] Bingo. And when Elaine gets back from tennis two hours later to find me loading the dishwasher, you know what? The same old story. [
Very pleased with himself
] She doesn’t suspect a thing!
Scene Two: sound of Gaggia machine making an espresso
[
He is angry, but holding it in to start with
] So I was having a good morning, as it happens. [
Clunk of cup on saucer
]
Foot and Shoe Monthly
arrived in the post and that’s always a red-letter day. Plus I just always feel kind of optimistic in the spring. Jack Scrolls mysteries being “Christmas reads” according to Ted, spring is the time for checking off the proofs of one book and then getting down to the next, which is already planned in some detail, of course, [
starts to lose it
] though I don’t know why I should bother,
I DON’T KNOW WHY I SHOULD BUST MY ASS, WHY DO I BUST MY FRIGGING ASS WHEN THEY SEND ME CRAP LIKE THIS?
[
Swigs coffee and reacts to how strong it is, possibly by coughing
] A new copy-editor, they say. Clare without an “i”, a specialist in “crime writing” – although how many times do I have to tell them I’m
NOT
a crime writer, I
write
MYSTERIES.
[
Rustle of paper
] She’s discovered a few “inconsistencies” in
A Brush Dipped in Death.
She has some “queries”. Of course I can over-rule this Clare-without-an-i; that’s my author’s prerogative; but maybe I
OUGHT
to turn my attention, they say, to the scene when Jack Scrolls – and we’re talking about
JACK SCROLLS
here, that’s what gets me, the guy’s frigging
INFALLIBLE –
it’s the scene when Jack Scrolls is inspired by the Riddle of the Sphinx to realise that the whole mystery turns on the victim’s missing walking stick. [
Deep breath
] OK, I need to explain.
A Brush Dipped in Death
is set on a beautiful, unnamed Greek island. An elderly member of a British painting group is found dead in the harbour. Did he maybe lick his paintbrush and swallow cadmium yellow (which is deadly poison if you didn’t know)? The local police are baffled. And since it’s Easter, the Greeks are busy slaughtering lambs and exploding religious fireworks, so there’s blood and dynamite all over the place, contaminating the crime scene more than somewhat. By chance, Jack Scrolls arrives at the island to examine a religious icon on behalf of the Metropolitan Museum in New York, and finds himself intrigued by the mystery.
Now, also by chance, and this new editor says it’s way too much of a coincidence, at breakfast one morning on his sunny terrace, Scrolls dips into his
Larousse Encyclopedia of the Ancient World
(and he
ALWAYS
has Larousse in his pigskin portmanteau; anyone who reads my books would know that) and spots the entry on the Riddle of the Sphinx – and from that he figures the whole thing out. Now, I don’t want to get technical here, but it goes without saying that the whole book, the whole damn book, is built on this epiphany; this moment of almost divine revelation. But is epiphany good enough for Miss
Can’t-Even-Spell-Her-Own-Name? No. She says this is “not proper deductive method … Absence of real clues cheats the reader … If this is typical of Jack Scrolls, no wonder these books are never adapted for TV.”
[
Worked up
] Elaine was out. She was out before I woke up this morning. She’d told me last night she was going to John Lewis to meet a friend, and we have this arrangement that we call each other only in an emergency, out of respect for the importance of my creative process. But I needed to talk! I tried Ted, but he wasn’t in his office; they said he’d gone to Paris “for lunch”, if you can believe that. So I was just fuming over this stupid letter, when the photographer from yesterday rang. “Hi, Jim!” she said, and I said, [
agitated, but attempting to sound cool
] “Oh, hi,” and she said, by the way, she had checked up about the Frankfurt Book Fair and it isn’t three weeks in July; it’s a week in October. So I said, [
as if he knew this already and doesn’t understand why she’s mentioning it
] “Oh, OK.” I thought she might be getting stuck on me, calling so soon, so I started making my caring-husband speech about how it would kill Elaine if she knew I were unfaithful, not that I’d
EVER
betrayed her before, because I love her too much – when she interrupted and said there was something that might be important: she may have left an ear-ring in the bed.
“YOU MAY HAVE LEFT AN EAR-RING IN MY MARITAL BED?”
I said. She said, yes, sorry.
“YOU MAY HAVE LEFT A MASSIVE CLUE FOR MY WIFE TO FIND – IN MY MARITAL BED?”
Well, I raced up to the bedroom and searched for it – under the pillows, under the bed. I just couldn’t help thinking: what if Elaine found it already? What if that’s the real reason she set off so early this morning, when she was only going to W1? What if she was leaving me? We have such a nice
LIFE!
I love this life! But there was
no sign of that frigging ear-ring! I grabbed the bedside phone and dialled Elaine, then realised I wouldn’t know what to say, so I hung up. Do you know what I was like in that mad five minutes? I was like a weak panicky person, panicking! I even chewed my nails! And then, a moment later, the phone rang, and – well, [
desperate
]
WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?
[
Trying to work through it logically
] The caller-ID came up as “
INTERNATIONAL
”, so I thought, “Well, that’s not Elaine; she’s in Oxford Street,” so I lifted the receiver – and –[
confused
] it
WAS
Elaine. She said, “Hello? Did you call, Jimmy, dear?” I didn’t speak. Then she was a bit muffled, as if covering the phone, and said, “Oui, merci, monsieur, avec du sucre.” Then there was a burst of accordion music and I heard
TED
’s voice saying, “Elaine, darling, what are you doing, are you mad?” What on earth does any of it
MEAN?
Scene Three: he is flat, unhappy; it is late the same evening; late-evening music; he’s had a drink or two; he sips a drink occasionally
Elaine called at five. She said she’d had a wonderful day shopping in Oxford Street with her old friend Beryl (Beryl!) and would be home around eight. She’d bumped into Ted – well, what do you know? – so he would be dropping her off. I didn’t bother to cook, even though I’d planned a salmon soufflé with snow peas and my famous seared broccoli. I was just too agitated. Sure enough, at nine, there were the lights of Ted’s Bentley; the slam of car doors; the tip-tip-tip up the steps. Then she swung in, looking [
upset
] so fresh and pretty, festooned with
elegant tiny Parisian carrier bags, with a new diamond bracelet dangling on her wrist. “That’s a nice piece,” I said. “Yes!” she said, as she flung herself down on the couch and her passport slipped out of her pocket. “Isn’t it convincing? It’s only imitation. I got it in the costume jewellery department at Debenhams. Twenty-two fifty.” She reached out and put a handful of change in the bowl on top of the Chinese cabinet, and there were some Euros and little green Metro tickets in it.
She didn’t seem to notice I was quiet. It was horrible. I had to say something, I had to say, “Elaine, I know you’re lying to me!”, but I didn’t, because just as I was preparing to speak, she presented me with this stupendous gift: a pair of immaculate coffee and cream brogues in the original Church Brothers box with an authentication certificate in French to say they once belonged to the Duke of Windsor. Look at them. [
Upset
] They’re so beautiful! They are pearls beyond price! “The man said they were the Holy Grail of shoes,” she laughed, “but I wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic.” I couldn’t speak. “I couldn’t resist them,” she said, kissing my forehead. “Nothing’s too good for my genius husband.” [
A brave squeak
] “And you got these in Debenhams, darling?” I said. She nodded. “Yes. It’s amazing what you can get in Oxford Street these days.”
She went to bed. I said I’d stay up and try on the brogues. And now, and now – [
trying to make light of his confusion; a laugh?
] I don’t know what to think! I mean, it’s crazy. It’s as if she’s having an affair with Ted! But she
CAN’T
be having an affair with Ted, because if she was, well, for heaven’s sake, I’d
KNOW.
And they both love me. And all this. [
Upset
] All this! All this wonderful life –
CAN’T
be built on a
LIE.
[
Sniffs, pulls himself together; the affair is impossible, and he can prove it; the effect of looking at pics of himself is to cheer him up, of course
]
Look, I’ve been studying this photo album. And in all these pictures, over all these years, we look so happy, the three of us. One for all and all for one! Here’s the wedding day in Connecticut, just after I’d finished that little fling with Elaine’s sister Carol. Oh, look how debonair I am; it’s so true that good tailoring never dates. [
Suddenly remembering his task
] And you see – there is no sign of anything between Ted and Elaine in any of these. Look. [
He starts to look at more pics
] The party for the first Jack Scrolls book, the night I met Elaine. [
Excited
] That’s the cake with the Scrolls credo. “First, you look at what’s there; then you look at what’s
NOT
there.” I made that cake! It took me three days to frost it!
It was Ted who first introduced me to Elaine that night, of course. I remember he said, “Look out, James, she’s a smart one! She’ll run rings round you so fast you won’t even see the blur!” [
Laughs, happy
] There’s Elaine at the party. [
Looks more closely
] Oh no, it’s someone else. She was definitely there, though. And Ted made a speech, but he must have gone off somewhere as well. [
Turns another page
] Here’s the house in good old overcast London, with Elaine showing off her bump. Ted must have taken these. [
Not interested because he’s not in them
] I don’t know where I am. Oh and here – [
instantly consoled by pic of the child
] Oh. The birth of Teddy. I bought that tie specially. Our little miracle. We really showed those “experts”. They tell you, “Mr Dance, I’m afraid your sperm count is simply unviable,” but, I ask you, what do these people
KNOW?
Scene Four: A “ping” of the timer; he’s in the kitchen again, baking something for the next day’s breakfast; radio station in background, but a late-night feel. He is very tired; it’s over; but it should be ambiguous whether he’s relieved or depressed
It’s over. What a day. Let’s see how these little beauties turned out – [
Opens oven door and removes tray of something. Sniffs
] Perfect. First things first, OK? [
Drinks coffee
] I found the ear-ring. It seems Elaine found it yesterday, and slipped it into an envelope for Mrs Holdsworth. I discovered it propped against my new Italian espresso machine! I think she wanted me to see it first, but of course I can’t be sure. [
Reads note
] “Mrs Holdsworth, is this yours? Since I found it on the bedroom floor, there can be no other explanation for it getting there.” She’s underlined that part. “Please make sure Mr Dance is not disturbed while working today. His talent is so precious to us all.” [
More reassured than he ought to be
] Well, that’s a nice thing to say, anyway. You know what I was beginning to suspect? I mean, blame my over-active deductive mind, but I had honestly started to entertain the idea that, well, Elaine knew all about my little dalliances; but because she was having an affair herself, she didn’t care!
She cared about that letter from Miss Smartypants Copy-Editor, though. When I told her, she said, “Leave this to me, dear; I’ll talk to Ted.” I said, “That woman really upset my idea of myself; she said you can’t have infallibility as a character trait!” And Elaine said, “You’re a genius, Jimmy. Some people just can’t cope with that.” But after she’d gone, I thought, well, if there is one way to justify Jack Scrolls’s deductive method, it’s to use it myself. Look at what’s there; look at what isn’t there. So
I made a list of everything I’ve learned, or realised, in the past twenty-four hours.
One. The Frankfurt Book Fair is shorter than – and at a different time of year from – what Elaine and Ted have told me for the past twelve years. OK.
Two. Our daughter is named after Ted, and has the same red hair, but we’ve always laughed about that, and Elaine has any number of tawny cousins in Wisconsin. So.
Three. Elaine and Ted often go missing at the same time, sometimes to Paris for lunch.
Four. She tells barefaced lies to cover up such trips.
Five. This morning she wrote to the insurance company to insure the diamond bracelet for thirty thousand pounds, and when I said, “I thought you said it was a cheap thing from Debenhams”, she said, “Yes, but burglars wouldn’t know that, would they?”
I sat in my den for three hours, doodling and nodding to myself, reaching my conclusions, until it got quite dark. The
Larousse Encyclopedia
method, I ought to report, was worse than useless, but we’ll skip over that. Then, when Elaine got home, inevitably with Ted in tow, saying, “Look who I bumped into at the club!”, I called them into the drawing room, where I had made a fire. It was a classic setting for a denouement. I’d drawn the curtains and arranged the furniture so that Elaine and Ted would have to sit in high-backed chairs beside the hearth while I leaned on the mantel and gave them the benefit of my lengthy cogitations. I had decided to start with a solemn, “I know,” and watch their guilty faces while I toyed with my Marlowe Medal in the firelight. So it was a bit annoying when, the moment they came in, Ted switched on the main lamps and moved the chairs
back to their normal places. I always forget that, as far as Ted’s concerned, this is his house.