“But what time did he leave?”
A pause. A muttered consultation. “Madam, you are still there? We did not see him go. If you would like to give me the name of your company, we will send you on the bill.”
They sat opposite each other, in curiously formal poses, heads bowed, hands on their knees, observing another silence. Then Frances said, “The car, you know … there’s been a problem with the steering. I suppose that might have been it.”
“But you don’t think so.”
“I don’t think I shall ever believe that this was just pure chance.”
“He was frightened. We know that. I mean he was frightened before last night, maybe last night had nothing to do with it. He said himself, it wasn’t rational. He’d decided to get out, he was making for the airport, he was driving at a fair speed—”
“Yes, I know. But what was he driving away from?”
The telephone startled them. Andrew had been about to speak; he broke off. “Who will that be?” He reached for it. Her fists clenched in her lap. She tried to uncurl them. I have to be calm, she said to herself. I have to ask the right questions, very rigorous and unavoidable questions, before the answers slip away and vanish forever. Oh, hello Eric,” Andrew said. He sounded calm. “Yes, I have. Well, naturally she is.”
Eric spoke. Andrew listened. Andrew said, “We feel that we are responsible for Fairfax. As much as anyone is.”
She got up, crossed the room and huddled at his side, listening in to the call. Eric said, “ … some kind of certificate from the police, without which nothing. Unfortunately his passport seems to be missing—”
She took the phone from Andrew. “Eric, listen to me. Where are Fairfax’s things?”
Eric took a moment to understand this. It seemed, when he answered, that he had already taken on the accents of the police file, of the coroner’s court. “You mean his personal effects, Frances?”
“Yes, that’s what I mean. Not just his passport, but his clothes, his suitcase, his toothbrush—do you see what I’m getting at, Eric?”
“I’m afraid I don’t.”
“Were they with him in the car, or back at the hotel? The hotel says he never checked out.”
“You phoned them?”
“Yes, why not?”
“Because I don’t want you to interfere, that’s why not. Please give me Andrew.”
“No. Do listen please. We have to find out about his clothes.”
“Oh yes, I see … sorry, my dear, I didn’t mean to snap at you. I suppose you think they ought to be returned to the widow. The Embassy has telephoned her, of course.” Eric sounded sorrowful now; he had convicted himself of insensitivity. Clearly he thought this concentration on the clothes, the suitcase, the personal effects, it was some feminine angle on mourning, some piece of etiquette he had forgotten. “The fact is, Frances, we don’t know. I mean, we presume they were in the car with him. That would seem to make sense. I know that he appears to have departed on impulse, but surely he’d stay to pack?”
“Then have the police recovered the stuff? From the roadside? Or from the car?”
“They haven’t said.” Eric was bemused. “They do deny all knowledge of the passport, but then they deny all knowledge of practically anything.”
“You’d better ask them.”
“But Frances, you’ve no idea, have you? You’ve no idea what I’m up against? Look, I have been dealing with these people for years. I have been dealing with these people since you were a little lamb in your school blazer. They don’t tell you anything. That is their habit. That is their policy.”
“Have the police asked questions about the car? The steering?”
“Oh, look now.” Eric had forgotten his embarrassment; he was coldly hostile. “Don’t try to lay this at my door. The car had been fixed. I have the receipt, Frances, the receipt for the repairs. It’s here in my petty-cash drawer. I have my hand on it now. I’ll keep it for you, shall I? Andrew can drive you down. You can come in right now and inspect it.”
“For the record,” she said wearily, “I don’t think the faulty steering killed Fairfax. If I did, Eric, it would almost be a relief. That’s not what I think. I can’t prove what I think, but what would be the point? I tried to talk to you before, but you wouldn’t listen. You’re too thick to take in what I tell you, aren’t you? You’re too thick and too terrified.”
Andrew took the receiver out of her hand. She turned away, collapsed into her chair, not listening anymore. Eric’s voice ran on for a while. Then Andrew said, “Okay. Yes, I think she’ll insist on that. Call me when you find out where. Goodbye.”
He put the phone down. “Well, I’ll never work for Turadup again. After that outburst.”
“You do understand, don’t you? We can’t trace his movements, or know if he was taken away by force, unless we know whether he packed his things up. If he didn’t—then it was sudden. Or he didn’t even go back to the hotel. We do need to find them.”
Andrew sounded weary, resigned; much as Eric had, before she antagonized him. “If you can take away a man, sweetie, you can take away his suitcase. If you can abduct a businessman, you can abduct his spare drip-dry suit.”
Frances didn’t reply. She felt too tired to think about it anymore. Life is not like detective stories. There is a wider scope for interpretation. The answers to all the questions that beset you are not in facts, which are the greatest illusion of all, but in your own heart, in your own habits, in your limitations, in your fear. She sees the vehicle spin out of control; she sees the panic-stricken driver. Then she sees, alternatively, the felon, the corpse,
