'Not even a credit card or a driving licence? You seem to have come singularly unprepared, Mr Percival.'
Something in the deep, arrogantly upper-class voice, the mixture of insolence and contempt, stung him into defiance. He said: 'I'm not from the gas board. I don't see why I need to identify myself. It was just a simple inquiry.
I was hoping to see her, or perhaps Mrs Amphlett. I'm sorry if I've offended you.'
'You haven't offended me. If I were easily offended I wouldn't work for Mrs Amphlett. But I'm afraid you can't see her. Mrs Amphlett goes to Italy in late September and then flies to Spain for the winter. I'm surprised Caroline didn't tell you. In her absence I look after the flat. Mrs Amphlett dislikes the melancholy of autumn and the cold of winter. A wealthy woman need suffer neither. I'm sure you are perfectly well aware of that, Mr Percival.'
And here, at last, was the opening he needed. He made himself look into those terrible bleeding eyes and said: 'I thought Caroline told me that her mother was poor, that she'd lost all her money investing in Peter Robarts's plastics company.'
The effect of his words was extraordinary. She flushed scarlet, the mottled stain travelling like a rash from her neck to her forehead. It seemed a long time before she could bring herself to speak, but when she did her voice was perfectly under control.
'Either you wilfully misunderstood, Mr Percival, or your memory is as unreliable for financial facts as it is for addresses. Caroline could have told you nothing of the sort. Her mother inherited a fortune from her grandfather when she was twenty-one and has never lost a penny of it. It was my small capital – ten thousand pounds, in case you are interested – which was unwisely invested in the schemes of that plausible rogue. But Caroline would hardly confide that small personal tragedy to a stranger.'
He could think of nothing to say, could find no credible explanation, no excuse. He had the proof he wanted; Caroline had lied. He should have been filled with triumph that his suspicions had been justified, his small enterprise crowned with success. Instead, he was swept with a momentary but overwhelming depression and a conviction which seemed to him as frightening as it was irrational, that the proof of Caroline's perfidy had been bought at a terrible price.
There was a silence in which she continued to regard him, but did not speak. Then she suddenly asked: 'What did you think of Caroline? Obviously she made an impression on you or you wouldn't be wishing to renew the acquaintance. And no doubt she has been in your mind during the last two years.'
'I think – I thought she was very lovely.'
'Yes, isn't she? I'm glad you feel that. I was her nurse, her nanny, if one must use that ridiculous expression. You could say that I brought her up. Does that surprise you? I'm hardly the popular idea of a nanny. Warm lap, aproned bosom, Winnie the Pooh, The Wind in the Willows, prayers at bedtime, eat up your crusts or your hair won't curl. But I had my methods. Mrs Amphlett accompanied the Brigadier on his overseas postings and we stayed here together, just the two of us. Mrs Amphlett believed that a child should have stability provided she was not required to provide it. Of course, if Caroline had been a son it would have been different. The Amphletts have never valued daughters. Caroline did have a brother but he was killed in a friend's car when he was fifteen. Caroline was with them but survived almost without a scratch. I don't think her parents ever forgave her. They could never look at her without making it plain that the wrong child had been killed.'
Jonathan thought: I don't want to hear this, I don't want to listen. He said: 'She never told me that she had a brother. But she did mention you.'
'Did she indeed? She talked about me to you. Now you do surprise me, Mr Percival. Forgive me, but you are the last person I should have expected her to talk to about me.'
He thought: She knows; not the truth, but she knows that I'm not Charles Percival from Nottingham. And it seemed to him, meeting those extraordinary eyes in which the mixture of suspicion and contempt was unmistakable that she was allied to Caroline in a female conspiracy in which he had from the first been a hapless and despised victim. The knowledge fuelled his anger and gave him strength. But he said nothing.
After a moment, she went on: 'Mrs Amphlett kept me on after Caroline left home, even after the Brigadier passed on. But passed on is hardly an appropriate euphemism for a soldier. Perhaps I should say was called to higher service, recalled to the Colours, promoted to glory. Or is that the Salvation Army? I have a feeling that it's only the Salvation Army who get promoted to glory.'
He said: 'Caroline did tell me that her father was a professional soldier.'
'She has never been a very confiding girl but you seem to have gained her confidence, Mr Percival. So now I call myself a housekeeper rather than a nanny. My employer finds plenty to keep me occupied even when she isn't here. It would never do for Maxie and me to live here on board wages and enjoy ourselves in London, would it, Maxie? No indeed. A little skilled sewing. Private letters to be posted on. Bills to be paid. Her jewels to be taken to be cleaned. The flat to be redecorated. Mrs Amphlett particularly dislikes the smell of paint. And, of course, Maxie has to be exercised daily. He never thrives in kennels, do you, my treasure? I wonder what will happen to me when Maxie is promoted to glory?'
There was nothing he could say to that, nor, apparently, did she expect him to. After a moment's silence, during which she lifted the dog's paw and rubbed it gently against her face, she said: 'Caroline's old friends seem very anxious to get in touch with her all of a sudden. Someone telephoned to ask for her only on Tuesday. Or was it Wednesday? But perhaps that was you, Mr Percival?'
'No,' he said, and was amazed at the ease with which he could lie. 'No, I didn't telephone. I thought it better just to take my chance and call.'
'But you knew who to ask for. You knew my name. You gave it to Baggott.'
But she wasn't going to catch him like that. He said: 'I remembered it. As I said, Caroline did talk about you.'
'It might have been sensible to telephone first. I could have explained that she wasn't here, saved you time. How odd that it didn't occur to you. But that other friend didn't sound like you. Quite a different voice. Scottish, I think. If you will excuse my saying so, Mr Percival, your voice is without either character or distinction.'
Jonathan said: 'If you don't feel you can give me Caroline's address, perhaps I'd better go. I'm sorry if I came at an inconvenient time.'
'Why not write a letter to her, Mr Percival? I can let you have the writing paper. I don't think it would be right to give you her address but you can be confident that I will post on any communication that you care to trust to me.'
'She isn't in London, then?'
'No, she hasn't lived in London for over three years and she hasn't lived here since she was seventeen. But I do know where she is. We keep in touch. Your letter will be safe with me.'
He thought: This is an obvious trap. But she can't make me write. There must be nothing in my handwriting. Caroline would recognize it even if I tried to disguise it. He said: 'I think I'd rather write later when I've more time to think what to say. If I post it to this address then you can send it on.'
'I will do that with pleasure, Mr Percival. And now, I expect, you will want to be on your way. Your visit may have been less productive than you hoped, but I expect you have learned what you came to learn.'
But she didn't move and for a moment he felt himself trapped, immobilized as if the disagreeably soft and yielding cushions held him in a vice. He half expected her to leap up and bar his way to the door, to denounce him as an impostor, to keep him locked in the flat while she telephoned the police or the porter. What then would he do: attempt to seize the keys by force and make his escape, wait for the police and try to bluff his way to freedom? But the momentary panic subsided. She got to her feet and led the way to the door and, without speaking, held it open. She did not close it and he was aware that she was standing there, the dog shivering in her arms, both of them watching him leave. At the head of the stairs he turned to smile a final goodbye. What he then saw made him stand for a second immobile before he almost ran down the stairs and through the hall to the open door. He had never in all his life seen such concentrated hatred on a human face.
The whole enterprise had been more of a strain than Jonathan could have believed possible, and by the time he reached Liverpool Street he was very tired. The station was in the process of being rebuilt – improved, as the large displays designed to reassure and encourage proclaimed -and had become a clanging and confusing maze of temporary walkways and direction signs in which it was difficult actually to find the trains. Taking a false turn he found himself in a glossily floored piazza and felt momentarily as disorientated as if he were in a foreign capital. His arrival that morning had been less confusing, but now even the station reinforced his sense of having ventured both physically and emotionally on to alien ground.
