going to give him a ring.” He slipped out the French doors again, and Gemma saw him pull the cell phone from his pocket as she filled the kettle at the sink.
It took her a few minutes to find her way round the strange kitchen, and by the time she had everything assembled, Kincaid had returned from the patio. As he took the tray from her, he said in her ear, “Adam’s on his way, and he’s called the doctor to meet him.”
Then they tiptoed into the sitting room to find that all their whispering had been in vain. Nathan was fast asleep.
They sat at the kitchen table, drinking their tea and listening to Nathan’s slightly raspy breathing. “It won’t work,” said Kincaid.
Gemma had been looking round the room, thinking how pleasant it was, and wondering if Vic had come here. “What?”
“It’s too quick. If someone put foxglove in Vic’s tea at school, she’d have been ill by the time she left.”
“Did she drink the stuff at home, too?” Gemma wondered. “She might have had a cup once she arrived.”
Kincaid shook his head. “Forensics didn’t find a trace.”
“Could someone have removed it afterwards?”
“Kit’s dark shape in the garden?” He stared at her. “No one’s explained that.” His mouth tightened. “But if she were still alive, how could they have been so thorough?”
Gemma jumped as a sound like a gunshot came from the street, followed by a mechanical cough and splutter. “Adam?” she said, and downed the last of her tea.
He let himself in before they could get up, and greeted them quietly as he came through into the sitting room. He looked harried, his hair tangled from the wind, his collar askew, but Gemma felt the same immediate comfort in his presence she’d felt at the memorial service.
A close look at Nathan seemed to confirm an opinion, for he was shaking his head as he returned to them. “I’ve been afraid of this. He was ill like this after Jean died. It seems to be his way of dealing with shock.”
“Will he be all right?” asked Gemma.
“This seems to have hit him very hard. And the last time he developed pneumonia,” said Adam, then smiled and seemed to make an effort to sound more cheerful. “But he’s stubborn as an ox—this may be simply his body’s means of making him rest. And I’m sure the doctor will pump him full of all sorts of things he’ll despise when he’s coherent enough to know it.” He grinned and added, “Thanks for ringing me. I’ll wait for the doctor and stay with him afterwards.”
Gemma took a last look at Nathan as Adam escorted them towards the front of the house. With his pale hair and his flushed face relaxed in sleep, he looked surprisingly childlike.
“Adam,” said Kincaid when they reached the door. “We heard some odd things today, about Lydia and Nathan, and Darcy, and even Daphne Morris. Morgan Ashby told us—”
“It’s quite true,” Adam interrupted flatly.
Kincaid stared at him. “But I thought you and Lydia—”
“Oh, I had that honor, all right, although if I’d known what would come after I’d never have done it. Youth is no excuse for irresponsible behavior, and ours caused Lydia no end of grief.”
Gemma saw the weariness in his eyes. “Adam, you loved Lydia, didn’t you? How could you let her—”
“How could I stop her?” he said with a quick, impatient gesture of his hands. “What you don’t understand is that Lydia
CHAPTER
16
… I stand here for sense,
Invincible, inviolable, eternal,
For safety, regulations, paving-stones,
Street lamps, police, and bijou residences
Semi-detached. I stand for Sanity,
Comfort, Content, Prosperity, top-hats,
Alcohol, collars, meat…
RUPERT BROOKE,
from the satire “John Rump”
Kit trudged into the wind, his hands in his pockets, his head tucked, turtlelike, into the collar of his jacket. The air smelled sharply of rain, and although it was only a few minutes past four o’clock, the lowering clouds had caused the streetlamps to flicker on.
But Kit didn’t mind the damp cold or the early dusk. He’d been glad of any excuse to get out of the house—had offered, in fact, to fetch his grandmother’s favorite biscuits from the supermarket at the edge of the housing estate.
Eugenia had frowned at him from her bed, and in desperation he’d resorted to guile. Smiling falsely, he said, “Please, Grandmama, it will only take me a few minutes, and then you can have Orange Cremes with your tea. I’m sure it would make you feel ever so much better.”
He waited, holding his breath, smile pasted in place, until the crease between her brows relaxed and she pulled the mauve bed jacket closer to her throat with a little sigh.
