less.
'Where's Quaker, love?' I whispered.
Maud had her hand on my leg. 'He won't be coming.'
Who'd passed her that message?
A tenor was singing. I recognized him as a cricket umpire. Were we down to this, a musical of neffie warblers? No wonder people were vanishing in droves.
'And your dad?'
'Shhh.'
One newcomer crept in with that slow apology the body naturally makes when interrupting someone's performance. Florence Giverill, looking tired.
The show finally trailed to an end. By then only a scattered few were left. The applause was desultory. Some geezer came on to say ta and how marvellous. The curtain swished to with relief. The place seemed so hot. I wanted to wave to Florence but she was in the stalls below and didn't look up.
We went into the corridor. I kept looking about. No familiar faces now, just Maud's bright visage excited beyond what the evening deserved. It had been a mediocre show.
She looked almost feverish.
'Let's have a drink on the balcony, Lovejoy.'
'Have we got time?' The place was closing fast. 'What about your meeting?'
She didn't hesitate, 'You're always so particular.'
The bar, usually so crowded, was almost deserted, just one barman washing glasses and tidying up. A couple had obviously sat out the last half-hour. They left as we entered. Maud put a note on the counter. I got the drinks and followed her out onto the balcony and stood beside her in the night air.
This was where Sandy's soaring staircase had risen from the swan barge on the river below. I looked over. All gone now. Fairy lights still adorned the riverbanks, but the fireworks had ended and the crowd dispersed. A last pair of snoggers glided below the bridge. Lucky bloke. I realized that I'd thought that thought about a lot of people tonight. Lucky others, not me.
'Isn't it blissful, Lovejoy?'
'Constable painted this stretch. He liked it.'
'And Gainsborough.'
Well, Gainsborough would, randy git. Hardly a blade of grass hadn't carried Tom G and his various birds at some time along his riverside. I didn't say this because the truth maddens women.
'When's the meeting?' I asked, to get things clear.
She leaned against the balcony, appraising me. The lights went out on the floor below, darkening the river. Probably last of the singers and ushers going home.
'Why are you so concerned about the meeting, Lovejoy?'
'The brigadier'll be narked if I make you late. And Quaker.'
'What's the difference? You can't come to it.' She sounded mischievous, like she was setting me up for the laughter of others. I looked about. Nothing. Coloured lights downriver doused with appalling swiftness, leaving their imprint in my eye. The point was, I wanted to see who would be there. It was the last piece of the jigsaw puzzle.
Whoever killed Vestry, drove Bernicka to suicide, and killed Timothy Giverill, was in the brigadier's syndicate. They were all responsible. Maybe it had been real democracy, let's take a vote, who's for executing Vestry, Bernicka, Timothy Giverill, show of hands?
There's no telling when money rules.
I felt sudden pity for Bernicka, always worrying that her fifty-four years would show, crow's feet, her crazed love for Leonardo da Vinci, then dying like that. It simply wasn't fair.
'Can I lock up?' The barman came to the balcony doors and started setting catches.
'Yes, fine,' Maud said, while I said no. 'We can go down the outer staircase.'
'It's regulations, see.'
He closed us on the balcony. I heard him shooting bolts along the doors. Reinforced, I now saw. I was ill at ease.
Cars started up, a door slammed. Voices called, a girl laughed, hurry up or Jane'll be late again, hahaha. Maud sipped at her glass. I didn't sip my drink, no wish for it. I find I only hold one because it's expected, don't imbibe as much as others want me to.
It wasn't like I was trapped. And there were worse fates than being encaged with a gorgeous bird like Maud. She placed her glass on the balcony rim and moved close. Her palm came on me. I gasped. Another choice taken out of my hands, so to speak. It isn't the same for women. They can simply say stop it, step aside and that's the end of the matter. A bloke can't. It's their power. My throat went thick. I managed to speak.
'How did you stop Quaker coming here?' I asked.
'I didn't. A friend did it for me.'
'Lanny Langley-Willes?' Had my voice gone higher? I don't usually sound breathless.
Her hand kneaded me.
'Him?' Contempt, so soon? 'He just does a few valuations for Dad.'
Another one from the old regiment, hey? I couldn't speak. She held me in thrall, poets would have said.
