but the implication will be clear. She can be pretty vitriolic when she chooses.' He stared at the floor.
'Is it true?' prompted Galbraith after a moment.
'Not in my opinion. The only thing Kate wanted was something better for her children than she had herself. I admired her for it.'
'And your mother didn't?'
'It's not important,' said Sumner. 'She never approved of anyone I brought home, which probably explains why it took me so long to get married.'
Galbraith glanced at one of the vacuously smiling photographs on the mantelpiece. 'Was Kate a strong character?'
'Oh, yes. She was single-minded about what she wanted.' He gave a lopsided smile as he made a gesture that encompassed the room. 'This was it. The dream. A house of her own. Social acceptance. Respectability. It's why I know she'd never have had an affair. She wouldn't have risked this for anything.'
Yet another display of naivete? Galbraith wondered. 'Maybe she didn't realize there was a risk involved,' he said dispassionately. 'By your own admission, you're hardly ever here, so she could easily have been conducting an affair that you knew nothing about.'
Sumner shook his head. 'You don't understand,' he said. 'It wasn't fear of
It was on the tip of the DI's tongue to ask this man if he had ever loved his wife, but he decided against it. Whatever answer Sumner gave, he wouldn't believe him. He felt the same instinctive dislike of William that Sandy Griffiths felt, but he couldn't decide if it was a chemical antipathy or a natural revulsion that was inspired by his own unshakable hunch that William had killed his wife.
Galbraith's next port of call was The Old Convent, Osborne Crescent in Chichester, where Mrs. Sumner senior lived in sheltered accommodation at number two. It had obviously been a school once but was now converted into a dozen small flats with a resident warden. Before he went in, he stared across the road at the solidly rectangular 1930s semidetached houses on the other side, wondering idly which had been the Sumners' before it was sold to buy Langton Cottage. They were all so similar that it was impossible to say, and he had a sneaking sympathy for Kate's desire to move. Being respectable, he thought, wasn't necessarily synonymous with being boring.
Angela Sumner surprised him, because she wasn't what he was expecting. He had pictured an autocratic old snob with reactionary views, and found instead a tough, gutsy woman, wheelchair-bound by rheumatoid arthritis, but with eyes that brimmed with good humor. She told him to put his warrant card through her letter-slot before she'd allow him entrance, then made him follow her electrically operated chair down the corridor into the sitting room. 'I suppose you've given William the third degree,' she said, 'and now you're expecting me to confirm or deny what he's told you.'
'Have you spoken to him?' asked Galbraith with a smile.
She nodded, pointing to a chair. 'He phoned me yesterday evening to tell me that Kate was dead.'
He took the chair she indicated. 'Did he tell you how she died?'
She nodded. 'It shocked me, although to be honest I guessed something dreadful must have happened the minute I saw Hannah's picture on the television. Kate would never have abandoned the child. She doted on her.'
'Why didn't you phone the police yourself when you recognized Hannah's photograph?' he asked curiously. 'Why did you ask William to do it?'
She sighed. 'Because I kept telling myself it couldn't possibly be Hannah-I mean, she's such an unlikely child to be wandering around a strange town on her own-and I didn't want to appear to be causing trouble if it wasn't. I phoned Langton Cottage over and over again, and it was only when it became clear yesterday morning that no one was going to answer that I phoned William's secretary and she told me where he was.'
'What kind of trouble would you have been causing?'
She didn't answer immediately. 'Let's just say Kate wouldn't have believed my motives were pure if I made a genuine error. You see, I haven't seen Hannah since they moved, twelve months ago, so I wasn't one hundred percent sure I was right anyway. Children change so quickly at that age.'
It wasn't much of an answer, but Galbraith let it go for the moment. 'So you didn't know William had gone to Liverpool?'
'There's no reason why I should. I don't expect him to tell me where he is all the time. He rings once a week and drops in occasionally on his way back to Lymington, but we don't live in each other's pockets.'
'That's quite a change, though, isn't it?' suggested Galbraith. 'Didn't you and he share a house before he was married?'
She gave a little laugh. 'And you think that means I knew what he was doing? You obviously don't have grown-up children, Inspector. It makes no difference whether they live with you or not, you still can't keep tabs on them.'
'I have a seven- and five-year-old who already have a more exciting social life than I've ever had. It gets worse, does it?'
'It depends on whether you approve of them spreading their wings. I think the more space you give them, the more likely they are to appreciate you as they get older. In any case, my husband converted the house into two self-contained flats about fifteen years ago. He and I lived downstairs, and William lived upstairs, and days could go by without our paths crossing. We lived quite separate lives, which didn't change much even after my husband died. I became more disabled, of course, but I hope I was never a burden to William.'
Galbraith smiled. 'I'm sure you weren't, but it must have been a bit of a worry, knowing he'd get married one day and all the arrangements would have to change.'
She shook her head. 'Quite the reverse. I was longing for him to settle down, but he never showed any inclination to do it. He adored sailing, of course, and spent most of his free time out on his Contessa. He had girlfriends, but none that he took seriously.'
