Long Sonata of the Dead Read Online Free Page A

for them, sub-editing, blurb-writing. I’ve ghosted some memoirs. That sort of thing. I’m working on the biography of a poet at present.”
    “Which one?” she asked.
    “Francis Youlgreave.”
    “Really.” Her eyes widened as the memory caught up with her. “You always had a thing about him. Funnily enough, Adam’s thinking of doing something about him too.”
    “There’s an anniversary coming up,” I said.
    She nodded. “It’s part of a series for him. Another documentary.”
    “What’s it about?”
    “Literary culture in the 1890s— The Naughty Nineties , I think that’s the working title. There’s going to be a book, too.”
    “Of course,” I said.
    “It’s going to be revisionist,” she went on. “In the sense that they’re arguing the really influential figures aren’t the obvious ones like Wilde and Henry James.”
    “Hence Youlgreave?”
    “I suppose. I don’t really know. Tony—it’s awfully nice to see you, of course, but is there a particular reason for you coming? Like this, I mean, out of the blue.”
    “This is a bit difficult,” I said. I wanted so much to be honest with her. “I saw Adam today—at the London Library. I didn’t even know he was a member.”
    “So he knows you’re here?”
    “No—I don’t think he saw me. But I … I happened to see his phone—he’d left it lying around. There was a text.”
    She sat up sharply, her cheeks coloring with a stain of blood. “A text—what do you mean? You’re telling me you’ve been reading Adam’s texts?”
    “I didn’t mean to, not exactly.” I knew I was coloring too. “But, Mary, I think you should see it. That’s why I’m here.”
    I took the iPhone from my pocket and handed it to her. She stared at the screen. I couldn’t see her face.
    I miss you more and more every moment we’re apart. J xxxx.
    “He’s having an affair, isn’t he?” I said. “Did you know?”
    She didn’t look up. She shrugged.
    “Did he hit you, too?”
    “If you must know, yes.” Mary put down the phone on the arm of the sofa. She stared at me. “We’re getting a divorce. We—we can’t agree about who gets what. The old story.”
    “I’m so sorry,” I said.
    Her expression softened. “I really think you are. Bless you.”
    “I know what it’s like. I was married for a while but it didn’t take. Who’s ‘J’? Do you know?”
    “She’s called Janine—she used to be his PA. About ten years younger than me.” She swallowed. “Nice woman.”
    “Not that nice.”
    She stood up suddenly. “I’m going to make some tea. Will you have some now?”
    “Is it OK me being here? What if Adam comes back?”
    “He’s meeting his agent for dinner at Wilton’s at nine o’clock. That’s what his diary says, anyway. He was going to work in the library until then.”
    I followed her into the kitchen. She put on the kettle and then stood, arms folded, looking out of the window at the back garden.
    “This is going to be so bloody awful,” she said. “He’s got most of our assets tied up in a couple of companies. One of them is offshore, which makes it even more complicated. And he controls the companies; that’s the real problem. I was so naive, you wouldn’t believe. I just signed where he told me when he set them up.”I thought of the Post-it note I had found in Adam’s library book. You’re such a complete shit. You won’t get away with it. But it looked as if he would get away with it.
    “You’ve talked to a solicitor?”
    “Yes. For what it’s worth. If I fight Adam for my share, it’ll cost a fortune. But I haven’t got a fortune. I’ve hardly got anything. I shouldn’t be telling you this—it’s not your problem.”
    “It doesn’t matter.”
    “Anyway, the odds are I’ll lose if we go to court.”
    “What will you do?” I said.
    “God knows.”
    She turned to face me. I couldn’t see her face clearly; the window was behind her and the winter afternoon was fading into dusk. Neither of