The Dinner Guest by B Walter (best short books to read txt) 📕

‘And this is Peter Catton,’ my father continues, ‘who I’m sure you are familiar with by name.’

I can place him now. And I’ve realised why we’re all here together. I don’t like it. But at the same time, I can understand why it’s happening.

We all shake hands and sit down while my father goes out into the corridor to tell his housekeeper, Mrs Flint, that she may go home. Once we are all settled and in private, he starts to explain properly.

‘First, I need to make some things clear to my wife and Charles before we go any further.’ His eyes fix onto me like lasers. ‘Charles, I don’t think I need to tell you how astonishingly foolish it was to allow the police to interview you without a solicitor present. Jacob is here to go through with you the correct way to approach instances like this if and when they occur in the future, but I think he will agree with me when I say this: when in doubt, call him. If the police arrive at the door and request a word with you or Titus, call him. If they require you or Titus to go to the station for whatever reason, call him. Understood?’

I offer a small nod, if only to put an end to the icy gaze he has fixed upon me. ‘Good. Now, Peter is here in, er, shall we say, a sensitive capacity.’

I sense my mother shifting uncomfortably in her chair. It seems she disapproves of Mr Catton. And I don’t blame her.

‘Peter was accused earlier this year of a crime. He has maintained his innocence ever since, and, through some careful engineering, his case did not go to court. Meanwhile, a number of other people – some of whom you know in person – did end up going to prison. The difference here is that Peter was wise enough to contact me to see what could be done. He, along with another key individual who shall remain nameless, saw the bigger picture. He knew things did not need to be black and white, good and evil, all that weak watery stuff the justice system feeds the public. And thankfully, some of the connections he has, and some of the people I know, will potentially prove very useful when helping us sort out your, um, little difficulty.’

Peter nods in response to my father’s monologue and offers me a smile. It makes him look like a vampire. ‘Your father is right. If the two of us combine our resources – and mark my words, our resources are considerable, we’re pretty confident all of this will go exactly the way … well, the way we’d like it to go.’

I frown at him, slightly confused. ‘I take it my father has told you what has happened? Rachel, our … for want of a better word, friend has been arrested for killing my husband. She has confessed. It’s likely she’ll be charged imminently then go to prison.’ I now turn my gaze towards my father. ‘I’m rather puzzled as to why all this is necessary?’

To my surprise, my father directs a nod to my mother, who gives a polite cough. ‘That would be down to me,’ she says.

It’s my turn to stare at her now. ‘What do you mean?’

She sighs, then purses her lips, clearly deciding how to word her reply. Eventually she says, ‘I telephoned your father before he boarded his flight. About … about something I was concerned about.’

‘Concerned about what?’ I ask, looking from my mother, then back to my father, intensely aware of the presence of the two outsiders, watching this very personal, very private family situation unfold.

‘This is, in a way, the heart of the matter, and why we’re all here,’ my father says. ‘And we’ll get to it. But first, it is important you tell us everything that happened, everything you did on that day, everything Titus did on that day, and how it came about that your husband ended up on the floor with a knife in his chest.’

The last few words of his sentence shock me a little and I feel a touch of the dizziness, the disconcerting corruption of my sense of balance, return for a few seconds. When I open my mouth to speak, I struggle to get the words out. ‘I … er … well … I just told you how it happened. Our friend from our book club, Rachel, stabbed Matthew at the dinner table. She just randomly came over. Said she needed to talk to us about something. It was all quite surreal, really.’

My father’s brow creases, his eyes drilling into me. ‘And her motive for this?’

I make a sort of half shrug. ‘I think … I think she might have been in love with Matthew. There were a few times recently, particularly during our holiday in The Hamptons, when she did things that … well, I got the feeling she wanted to start an affair with him, and he rejected her advances.’

Silence greets this for a good few seconds, then my father says, ‘And Titus?’

I feel something plummet within me. ‘What about him?’ I ask, trying to keep my voice level and convincing.

‘Where does he fit into all this?’

I think about this question. Think about the many ways I could answer it. Then I say, with all the confidence I can muster, ‘He doesn’t. He has nothing to do with it.’

My father’s frown strengthens, and when he speaks, his voice is even lower and quieter than before. ‘I think that may be the first time since you were a child that you’ve told me an outright lie.’

It’s as if he’s shot me. I turn to look at my mother, who has her eyes trained on the carpet in front of her, then look over at Jacob and Peter. Both look grave and, in the case of the former, a little embarrassed. Unable to stand it any longer – whatever this weird little