They had changed trains at London Bridge, and then again at Blackfriars. Blackfriars Station is on a bridge, and Joyce was thrilled about it. Although there was only a Costa Coffee. Apparently there was also a WHSmith, but it was down the escalator, and Joyce didn’t want to risk missing the next train. She would catch it on the way back. They spoke about Ibrahim’s discovery. That the note found in Heather Garbutt’s drawer was written by someone else. The killer presumably, but why would the killer mention Connie Johnson? Unless the killer was Connie Johnson, and even then it would make no sense.
They are now on a commuter service up to Elstree & Borehamwood, which is where Fiona Clemence films Stop the Clock. Joyce explains the rules to Elizabeth for the umpteenth time.
‘Really, for an educated woman, you can be very slow, Elizabeth,’ she says. ‘Four players each have a hundred seconds on their clock at the start of the game. The longer they take to answer questions, the more time they lose, and once they get down to zero seconds they’re out of the game.’
‘No, that much I understand,’ says Elizabeth. ‘It’s all the other nonsense.’
‘Nonsense? Hardly,’ says Joyce. ‘They each have four lifelines. They can steal ten seconds from an opponent, they can freeze their own clock, they can speed up an opponent’s clock, or they can swap a question. Steal, Freeze, Speed or Swap, simple as that. Though if your opponent steals from you or speeds you up, you receive an additional lifeline, Revenge, which you can play even when you’re out of the game. All the winner’s remaining seconds are converted to money, and to win the money they have to answer twelve questions, working their way around the clock from one to twelve before their time runs out. It couldn’t be simpler.’
‘And they put this on television?’ Elizabeth watches closely as a man walks past them.
‘Every day,’ says Joyce. ‘You can watch it instead of the news, that’s why it’s so popular.’
The train stops at Hendon, home of the famous police training college. Joyce texts Chris to say, Guess where we are? Hendon!’, but Chris texts back and says, I didn’t train at Hendon. Joyce texts the same thing to Donna but no reply yet.
‘Tell me about Fiona Clemence,’ says Elizabeth.
‘She was a junior producer when Bethany was the presenter of South East Tonight,’ says Joyce. ‘When Bethany died, she became the presenter. Ever so ambitious, but they only use “ambitious” as a criticism about women, don’t they?’
‘I have been called ambitious many times,’ says Elizabeth.
‘She hosted the show for about two years – you could really see she was starting to bed in – and then she went to work for Sky News. I always liked to keep up with her, you know, just in case she mentioned the South East. Then she started doing Breakfast News on the BBC, and now she presents everything. I even saw her doing Crufts the other day.’
‘I’m sure she’s famous, Joyce, but I’m really only interested in what she can tell us about Bethany Waites.’
‘You have honestly never heard of her? I find that very hard to believe.’
‘Have you heard of Beryl Deepdene?’
‘No,’ says Joyce.
‘Then you see that different people have different interests,’ says Elizabeth.
‘Who is Beryl Deepdene?’
‘It was the cover name for a particularly brave British operative in Moscow in the nineteen seventies,’ says Elizabeth. ‘Well known in my circles.’
‘I doubt that Beryl Deepdene has won a TV Choice Award,’ says Joyce.
‘And I doubt that Fiona Clemence has won a George Cross,’ says Elizabeth. ‘It’s horses for courses, isn’t it? Ah, look, we’re here.’
It is a ten-minute walk from Elstree & Borehamwood Station to Elstree Studios. Joyce likes nothing more than a high street she has never walked down before, and points out a number of things to Elizabeth. ‘Starbucks, Costa and Caffè Nero, as you’d hope’, ‘Does that Holland & Barrett look bigger than usual?’, ‘My goodness, they still have a Wimpy, Elizabeth.’
A queue snakes from the security gates of the studio, but Joyce and Elizabeth are able to walk straight to the front. Joanna has a friend whose sister is a production manager, whatever that might be, on the show, and they have special guest tickets. They are ushered straight into a bar and offered tea or coffee. Joyce is wide-eyed.
‘Isn’t this something? Have you ever been on television, Elizabeth?’
‘I was once called to give evidence to the Defence Select Committee,’ says Elizabeth. ‘But, legally, they had to blur my face. And I was once in a hostage video.’
They are called through to the studio and given seats in the front row. It is freezing cold, but they are asked to remove their gloves (‘Otherwise we won’t be able to hear you when you clap’). There is no food allowed in the studio, but Joyce opens her bag wide enough to show Elizabeth that she has sneaked in some Fruit Pastilles. While they wait, Joyce gets her phone out of her bag. She spots a security guard.
‘Are we allowed to take photos?’
‘No,’ says the security guard.
‘Righto,’ says Joyce.
‘You’re not going to stand for that Joyce, surely?’ says Elizabeth.
‘I’m certainly not,’ says Joyce, taking a photo. ‘This is going straight on Instagram.’
‘Makes me wonder why you asked,’ says Elizabeth. ‘In a way.’
‘It’s just polite, isn’t it,’ says Joyce, taking another photograph. ‘Did you know Fiona Clemence has three million followers on Instagram? Can you imagine?’
‘Barely,’ says Elizabeth.
As Joyce puts her phone away, she finally gets a reply from Donna. I didn’t train at Hendon, Joyce. Where was everyone training these days, Joyce wonders.
She hopes Ron and Viktor are having a nice day too; she waved them off, with Bogdan driving, this morning. Jack Mason has a snooker table, and apparently that means they’ll be gone for the day. Joyce can see the appeal of snooker. The waistcoats and so on. She thinks she would marry Stephen Hendry were the opportunity to arise.
The music being played into the studio fades now, and the crowd applauds as Fiona Clemence walks onto the set.
‘Flawless skin,’ says Joyce to Elizabeth. ‘Flawless, isn’t it?’
‘How long is all this going to take?’ asks Elizabeth. ‘I’m really only here to ask questions.’
‘Not long,’ says Joyce. ‘Three hours or so.’
The famous theme tune starts up.
50
They are fighting out a hard-earned draw. Bogdan with his bishop and his pawns, Stephen with his rook. They have played each other enough to know exactly where it is heading, but each is having fun regardless. Stephen is looking thin. He forgets to eat when no one is in the flat with him, and Elizabeth has been busy lately. He wolfed down the sandwiches Bogdan made for him. There is a shepherd’s pie on the kitchen worktop, and Bogdan will put that on in an hour or so.
‘Can I ask you something, as a pal?’ says Stephen, eyes not leaving the chessboard.
‘Whatever you need,’ says Bogdan.
‘It’s a ridiculous one,’ says Stephen. ‘Just to warn you.’
‘I am used to this already,’ says Bogdan. ‘You’re a ridiculous man.’
Stephen is nodding, and looking between his pieces and Bogdan’s, looking for avenues that aren’t there. He speaks without looking up. ‘Am I all right, do you suppose?’
Bogdan waits a beat. They have had this conversation before. Variations of it at least. ‘No one is all right. You’re OK.’
‘If you say so,’ says Stephen, eyes still avoiding contact. ‘But something is muddled somewhere. Something isn’t straight. You know the feeling?’
‘Sure, I know the feeling,’ says Bogdan.
‘Here’s a for instance,’ says Stephen, and then waits a moment. ‘I don’t know where Elizabeth is today.’
‘She’s gone to a TV show,’ says Bogdan. ‘With Joyce.’
‘Ah, I met Joyce,’ says Stephen. ‘The other day. Where does she know Elizabeth from?’
‘She’s a neighbour,’ says Bogdan. ‘She’s very nice.’
‘That came across,’ agrees Stephen. ‘But even so. Queer that I didn’t know where Elizabeth was? Unusual?’
Bogdan shrugs. ‘Maybe she didn’t tell you? She likes her secrets.’
‘Bogdan.’ Stephen finally looks up. ‘I’m not a fool. Well, no more than any of us. I miss things from time to time, people don’t quite make the sense they did.’
Bogdan nods.
‘My father, God rest him, lost himself towards the end. In those days they said he went doolally – probably that’s not what we say these days.’