Man, proud man,
Drest in a little brief authority,
Most ignorant of what he's most assur'd,
His glassy essence, like an angry ape,
Plays such fantastic tricks before high heaven,
As make the angels weep.
.
*20*
Jane Marriott replaced the telephone receiver and held a shaking hand to her lips. She walked through to the living room where her invalid husband was dozing quietly in the bright winter sunshine which poured through the window. She sat beside him and took her hand in his. 'That was Sergeant Cooper on the phone,' she said. 'James Gillespie was found dead in his flat this morning. A heart attack, they think.'
Paul didn't say anything, only stared out across the garden.
'He says there's nothing to worry about any more, that no one need ever know. He also said'-she paused briefly-'he also said that the child was a girl. Mathilda lied about your having a son.' She had told him everything after her return home from the surgery the day Sergeant Cooper had questioned her.
A tear squeezed from between his lids. 'I'm so sorry.'
'For James?' '
For-everything. If I'd known-' He fell silent.
'Would it have made a difference, Paul?'
'We could have shared the burden, instead of you bearing it alone.'
'It would have destroyed me,' she said honestly. '1 couldn't have coped with you knowing that Mathilda had had your child.' She studied his face closely. 'As time went by, you would have thought more of her and less of me.'
'No.' His marbled hand clutched at hers. 'She was in every sense of the word a brief madness so, even if I'd known about the child, it wouldn't have changed anything. I have only ever loved you.' His eyes grew damp. 'In any case, my dear, I think your first instincts were right, and that Mathilda would have killed the baby. We can none of us put any faith in what she said. She lied more often than she told the truth.'
'Except that she left her money to Sarah,' said Jane in a rush, 'and Sergeant Cooper said the baby was a girl. Suppose Sarah-?' She broke off and squeezed his hand encouragingly. 'Nothing's ever too late, Paul. Would it do any harm, do you think, to ask a few tactful questions?'
He looked away from her eager face and, in Cooper's earlier footsteps, traced the fickleness of fate. He had lived his life believing he was childless, and now, at the age of seventy, Jane had told him he was a father. But of whom? Of a son? Of a daughter? Or had Mathilda lied about this as she had lied about so much else? For himself, it hardly mattered-he had long since come to terms with being childless-but for Jane, Mathilda would always cast a long and spiteful shadow. There were no guarantees that Sarah Blakeney was his daughter, no guarantees even that the child, if it existed at all, would welcome the intrusion of parents into its life, and he couldn't bear to see Jane's hopes dashed in this as surely as her hope in his fidelity had been dashed. In the end, wasn't it better to live with the illusion of happiness than the awful certainty of trust betrayed?
'You must promise me you will never say anything.' He laid his head against the back of the chair and struggled for breath. 'If I am her father, then Mathilda never told her, or I'm sure she would have come here of her own accord.' His eyes filled with tears. 'She has a loving father already who has done a fine job-a very fine job-in bringing her up. Don't force her to choose between us, my dearest one. Rejections are such painful things.'
Jane smoothed the thinning hair from his forehead. 'Perhaps, after all, some secrets are best kept secret. Shall we share this one together and dream a little from time to time?' She was a wise and generous woman who, just occasionally, acknowledged that it was Mathilda's treachery that had given her insights into herself and Paul that she hadn't had before. After all, she thought, there was less to mourn now than there was to celebrate.
Joanna sat where her mother had always sat, in the hard-backed chair beside the french windows. She tilted her head slightly to look at Sergeant Cooper. 'Does Dr. Blakeney know you're telling me this?'
He shook his head. 'No. I rather hope you'll make the first move by offering to drop your challenge to the will if she agrees to honour your mother's intentions as set out in her letter to Ruth. A little oil on troubled waters, Mrs. Lascelles, goes a very long way and it's in everyone's interests to put this sad affair behind you and go back to London where you belong.'
'In Dr. Blakeney's certainly, not in mine.'
'I was thinking more of your daughter. She's very young still, and her grandmother's death has distressed her a great deal more than you realize. It would be'-he sought for a word-'helpful if you pursued an amicable settlement rather than a continued and painful confrontation. Barristers have a nasty habit of unearthing details that are best left buried.'
She stood up. 'I really don't wish to discuss this any more, Sergeant. It's none of your business.' The pale eyes hardened unattractively. 'You've been seduced by the Blakeneys just as my mother was, and for that reason alone I will not negotiate amicably with them. I still find it incomprehensible that you haven't charged Jack Blakeney with assault, or, for that matter, Ruth with theft, and I intend to make sure my solicitor raises both those issues with your Chief Constable. It's quite clear to me that Dr. Blakeney, ably abetted by my daughter, is using her husband and you to pressure me into leaving this house so that she can gain vacant possession of it. I will not give her the satisfaction. The longer I remain, the stronger my title to it.'
Cooper chuckled. 'Do you even have a solicitor, Mrs. Lascelles? I hope you don't because you're wasting your money if that's the sort of advice he's giving you.' He pointed to the chair. 'Sit down,' he ordered her, 'and thank your daughter and the Blakeneys for the fact that I am not going to arrest you now for the illegal possession of heroin. I'd like to, make no mistake about that, but as I said before it's in everyone's interests, not least your own, if Dorset is shot of you. I should, by rights, pass on what I know to the Metropolitan Police but I won't. They'll find out anyway soon enough because, even with the capital sum Dr. Blakeney pays you, you'll be quite incapable of
