do. He never had. 'Did you take anything else?'
'No. It was Hughes's address I wanted, but he didn't have any cards of his own.' She glanced toward the stairs as if wondering if there was anyone else in the house. 'He's a bit of a weird bastard, isn't he? His eyes were rolling the whole time I was talking to him ... I thought he was a junkie.'
'He was ill.'
She wasn't interested enough to pursue it. 'Do you mind if I sit down?'
'Be my guest.'
She took off her jacket and dropped into one of the armchairs. 'How about offering me a drink?'
He opened a kitchen cupboard and took out some wineglasses. 'Red or white? I've a halfway decent Margaux or an excellent Pouuly-Fume.'
'What about vodka?'
'Wine's my limit, I'm afraid.'
'Jesus!' she grumbled. 'It's not much of a life, is it? I thought people made a fortune out of books.' She eyed the two bottles that he held up for her. 'OK, give me some of the red.' She watched him cut the foil from the neck and insert the corkscrew. 'Aren't you going to ask me why I'm here?'
'Do I need to?' he murmured, sniffing the cork to make sure it wasn't tainted. 'Aren't you going to tell me anyway?'
She scowled at what she clearly thought was a piece of effete snobbery. 'Not if you're gonna act like a ponce.'
He poured some wine into one of the glasses and held it briefly to his nose before filling them both. 'This isn't a particularly expensive Margaux,' he said mildly, 'but it still costs around twenty pounds a bottle.' He took the glasses in one hand and the bottle in the other and brought them to the coffee table. 'How much is vodka these days?'
'Twelve ... fifteen quid, but you'd have to be an alky to drink that much every night.'
'Mm. Well, corked wine's about as disgusting as drinking sour milk,' said Andrew, handing her a glass and lowering himself into the other chair. He raised his glass to her. 'Cheers.'
She took a tentative sip. 'I guess it'll do,' she said churlishly. 'I prefer vodka and lime, though. Are you going to let me smoke?'
'Do I have a choice?'
She gave an abrupt laugh. 'Not if you want to hear what I came to say.'
Andrew rose to his feet again and fetched an ashtray from one of the cupboards. 'Feel free,' he said, handing it to her. 'I'll open the window.' He pulled the curtains back and unlatched one of the panes, glad of the excuse to make his affairs public. He didn't think she was going to pull a knife on him, but at the back of his mind was what happened to Grace.
'You're a strange bloke,' she said, lighting up. 'Don't you ever say no?'
He resumed his seat. It wasn't a question he'd ever been asked before and he was surprised by its perspicuity. 'Not often,' he admitted. 'I turn down manuscripts fairly regularly, but those are business decisions.'
'So what are you? A soft touch ... a bit lonely?' Her gaze traveled about the room again and came to rest on the soup stains on his shirt. 'You're not married, that's for sure. Are you gay?'
Andrew shook his head. 'Heterosexual and divorced. My two daughters are in bed upstairs.'
She glanced toward the ceiling. 'How old?'
'Old enough to phone the police if I raise my voice,' he said good-humoredly. 'Young enough to stay asleep if this encounter remains peaceful and legal.'
She gave a small laugh. 'What do you think I am?'
He tilted his glass to the light and gently turned it, watching the Margaux run legs down the curved inside. 'I don't know, Louise. I'm waiting for you to tell me. Your old headmistress, Miss Brett, says you're a liar ... Jonathan Hughes says you're a thief ... and both he and George Gardener think you witnessed Grace Jefferies's murder.' He watched her for a moment before savoring a mouthful of wine. 'Does anyone have anything good to say about you?'
He expected her to take offense, but she didn't. 'I doubt it. I've been a fuckup most of my life. What did Billy say?'
Louise nodded.
'Nothing much,' said Andrew, recalling George's transcript. 'I believe he said you were married and your family thought you were in Australia. But he didn't recognize your photograph ... or claimed he didn't.'
She drained her glass at one swallow and put it on die coffee table, leaning forward to stare at the floor. 'He's OK, is Billy, except he only sees what he wants to see ... wouldn't notice a fucking elephant if it sat on his bed unless it flattened him in the process.' She dedicated herself to smoking her cigarette.
Strange expression, thought Andrew, reaching for the bottle and topping her up again. She didn't seem to notice.
'I hated that bitch,' she said suddenly. 'She was always hauling Cill in for a lecture, but it never amounted to much-everyone knew she liked her. It was me she dumped on. People think an upfront punishment's a bad thing, but it's the drip-drip stuff that's worse. She'd tell Cill she was too bright to hang around with the likes of me ... then tell me I was thick as pig shit and only good for bringing other kids down. It wasn't true. Cill was a maniac-stubbed a cigarette out on my arm once when I told her to get stuffed.'
