continuing relationship.â
âThat does suggest Aunt Ada.â Jean looked suddenly and shrewdly at Eve. âBut there was something else, wasnât there, in the letter. Something you havenât told me.â
Eve now didnât hesitate.
âYes . . . There is a passage of reminiscence about a lesbian affair.â
âA lesbian affair weâd once had, May and I?â
âYes.â
âAbsolute nonsense,â said Jean, with authority in her voice. âBut we seem to come back to Aunt Ada again.â
âIt does seem like that. Do you mind telling me: are you a lesbian?â
Jeanâs mouth puckered up into a moue.
âDo we have to? Oh well, yes. Iâve had lesbian relationships. But not one with your mother.â
âWhy not?â
âIsnât it obvious? She wasnât that way inclined.â There was something intense, almost fanatical, about her tone of voice that suggested rejection still rankled. âCan we recap? I need to know exactly the situation. After yourmotherâs death you received a letter from someone called Jean who apparently thought May, your mother, was still alive. That letter purports to be from me, or at least contains information that could lead someone to think it was from me, and it described lesbianâwhat?âpractices?â
âMore situations.â
âRight. So what we have here is someoneâprobably quite old, and male just as possibly as femaleâwho has an obsession about lesbians, and probably gays as well, who knew about May and me and our friendship in the past, knew about my small successes in amateur drama, andâwhat? Wanted to make trouble?â
âMaybe. If that was it, I wonder why she didnât write directly to me.â
âSomeone with a sense of drama as well as of mischief. Someone who likes to go at things indirectly. So who could it be? All I can think of is Aunt Ada, but indirect she isnât. And I suppose thereâs the possibility of your father.â
Eve gaped at her.
âI was always told he was dead.â
âAlways? Since when?â
âSince as long as I can remember. I suppose since I was about five or six.â
âWell, I have no way of knowing if heâs alive or dead, but might there be reasons why she, May, preferred to consign him to the graveyard rather than admit separation or divorce?â
Eve thought.
âIt meant I was never curious to see or meet him.â
âExactly.â
âIt seems rather extreme to suggest that he was dead ifhe wasnât. And my mother was not an extreme sort of person . . . Youâve missed out one possibility, by the way: that you wrote the letter, genuinely thinking that my mother was still alive.â
Jean Mannering looked at her pityingly. Eve had a strong sense of reactions practiced in advance, perhaps by someone who accepts the popular image of an actress.
âEve, you may feel you have to consider that possibility, but I donât. I know I didnât. And I think if you go further into this, if you agree that the handwriting isnât mine, and that I havenât had any contact with your mother for many, many yearsâalmost as many as your age, I would guessâthen youâll see that the idea is a nonstarter.â
âI expect youâre right.â Eve got up, and Jean Mannering followed her lead sharply. âI really should apologize for coming to see you, and for practically accusing you ofâsomething, Iâm not sure what.â
âDonât mention it.â She went again to the desk. âLet me give you my personal phone number, in case you want to get in touch again. The one in the book is for the professional me. And thank you: youâve given a little bit of spice to an otherwise pretty routine sort of existence.â
Eve wondered how sincere she was.
âI suppose my mother would have found retirement