‘And,’ said Lucy, ‘you’re going to use the Ashwood murders as the cornerstone.’
‘Yes, I am.’ A touch of truculence. ‘I don’t suppose you mind, do you?’
‘Not in the least. Half the rainforests in South America must have been cut down to provide paper for books about Lucretia. She was a celebrity almost before the word was invented, and the Ashwood case was one of the biggest causes célèbres of its day.’ Lucy paused, and then said, ‘Listen, though, Ms Smith—’
‘Call me Trixie, for goodness’ sake. Life’s too short for formalities.’
‘Uh – Trixie, if you’ve got any wild ideas of solving a mystery, you should know there truly isn’t one to solve. In the late twenties and thirties my grandmother was the original sultry temptress of the silent screen. The men adored her and the women disapproved of her. Her lovers were legion and her scandals were numerous. She got somehow tangled up in the Second World War – not very creditably by some accounts – and then afterwards she tried to make a comeback.’
‘Ashwood Studios,’ said Trixie Smith, nodding. ‘She was making a film at Ashwood, wasn’t she, and two men – both of them supposed to be her lovers – got into a jealous argument. Upon which Lucretia flew into a tantrum, killed both of them, and then killed herself – either from remorse at their deaths, or from panic at the thought of the hangman’s noose.’
‘Two murders, one suicide,’ said Lucy rather shortly. ‘And clearly you’ve found out most of the facts already. I don’t think there’s likely to be anything I can add to any of that.’
‘Don’t you care that your grandmother was branded as a double murderess?’
Bother the woman, she was like a steamroller. But Lucy said, ‘I don’t know that I do care very much. I wouldn’t have chosen to have a grandmother who was a murderess, and I’m not very happy about the alleged spying activities either – but it all happened a long time ago and it was years before I was born. I don’t think any of the family is particularly bothered about it these days. I’m not; I never even knew Lucretia – oh, and I’m not named for her in case you wondered. But I hope your thesis works out well, and I hope you get your doctorate out of it.’ She stood up, hoping this would end the interview.
It did not. ‘What I really want,’ said Trixie, ‘is to talk to any members of your family who might actually remember Lucretia. She had two daughters, didn’t she?’
‘Yes. They changed their surname after Lucretia died – or their guardians or trustees changed it on their behalf or something like that. My mother was the younger daughter—’ Lucy hesitated briefly, and then said, ‘She died when I was eight. The other daughter is my aunt – Deborah Fane.’
‘The books all mention her, but I hadn’t got a surname.’ Trixie Smith wrote it down industriously and Lucy thought, Damn, I didn’t mean to give that away. ‘And she’s still alive, is she?’ said Ms Smith hopefully. ‘Deborah Fane? How old is she? Would she agree to see me, d’you think?’
‘She’s certainly over seventy and her heart’s a bit tottery – a touch of angina – but she’s pretty lively. She might talk to you.’ This was quite possible; it had been Aunt Deb who had told Lucy most of the stories about Lucretia, and she had always seemed to rather enjoy Lucretia’s smouldering legend. Lucy rather enjoyed it as well, although she was not going to admit this to a stranger. The rest of the family had always found Lucretia slightly shameful, of course; and as for Edmund…Lucy repressed a mischievous grin at the thought of her cousin Edmund’s probable apoplexy if he discovered that Lucretia was being dragged into the spotlight again.
She said carefully, ‘I could ask Aunt Deb if she’d talk to you. I can’t promise anything, but give me your phone number and I’ll call you later this evening. It’s just background stuff you want, is it?’