Free Hard Going by Cynthia Harrod-Eagles Page A

he like? As a person?’
    ‘Oh, lovely, a lovely man!’ she said with enthusiasm. ‘Gentle, rather shy, which was odd when you think he was a solicitor. Very intelligent, educated of course. Just the best company. He knew so much about everything, you could never run out of things to talk about – and I don’t mean he was a bore, either. He listened as well as talked. Everybody loved Lionel.’
    The door opened and a dreadlocked female child stuck its head in. ‘Please, miss, Mrs Gandapur says—’
    Mrs Shepherd’s face snapped into ferocious denial. ‘No!’ she bellowed.
    The child blenched. ‘But, miss—’
    ‘ Out !’
    The head was withdrawn, and she resumed her pleasant mien. ‘What were we saying?’
    Connolly had been at school herself within living memory, and in Dublin at that. She adjusted smoothly. ‘Did you and him have a romantic relationship?’
    ‘Oh, goodness, no, nothing like that. He was just a dear friend. He was such a kind man – he’d do anything for you.’
    ‘He was pretty well off, wasn’t he?’
    ‘I think so,’ she said, offhandedly. ‘He didn’t flash it about, but he always seemed to have plenty – and I bet some of those paintings in his flat are worth a bob or two. He was generous with it. When a group of us went out, often he’d just quietly pay the whole bill. If you said anything, he’d say, “From each according to his means.” I don’t think money meant much to him, actually.’
    ‘Is that why he lived in that flat?’
    Mrs Shepherd raised her eyebrows.
    ‘I mean, it’s not a posh sort o’ kip, is it – a flat over a shop?’
    ‘Oh, that was Lionel all over. He was an odd creature in many ways. Didn’t have a car, for instance – said living in London, he had no use for it. Went everywhere in taxis – must have cost him a fortune in the end, probably would have been cheaper to run a car. But he wasn’t keen on modern machines.’
    ‘No computer?’ Connolly suggested.
    Mrs Shepherd smiled. ‘That’s right – how does anyone live without a computer, these days? He hated the social media. He could do a very good piece – funny, but you knew he meant it – about young people who never spoke to another human being face to face. He said Twitter and Facebook ruined people’s lives – well, we all have to cope with that problem,’ she added with a frown, ‘we teachers. Internet bullying, “sexting”, terrible lies being spread about people, obscene pictures posted on YouTube, kids driven to suicide. Well, I don’t need to tell you. Funny, we used to think Lionel was behind the times when these things first came out and he condemned them,’ she added with a sigh, ‘but I wonder now if he wasn’t ahead of the times after all. He saw the dangers before we did.’
    The door opened again. A pallid, spotty youth said, ‘Please, miss, is Mr Sullivan here?’
    The bellow returned. ‘Does it look as if he’s here, you half-witted object? Get out !’ The door closed. ‘It’s like Piccadilly Circus in here this morning,’ she said in a normal voice. She got up and fetched the coffee.
    When she was settled again, Connolly picked up the thread. ‘But his kitchen and bathroom are fierce modern, full o’ gadgets.’
    ‘Yes, funny that, isn’t it? But I suppose he liked his comfort, and he did love to cook. Very good at it, too,’ she added, almost wistfully.
    No more din-dins at Lionel’s, Connolly thought. ‘Did you ever meet his wife?’ she tried.
    ‘No. I heard from someone that he had been married once, or they thought he had been married, but he never mentioned a wife. In fact, he never said anything about his past, or his family, his career before he retired, anything like that.’
    ‘Did you ever meet any of his friends from before he came to Hammersmith?’
    ‘Never a one. Strange, don’t you think? That’s what I meant, about wondering whether you ever really knew him.’
    ‘Did he have any lady friends while you knew him?