“I…I…don’t know.” Rebecca did love Daniel. Somewhere inside her, the feeling was still there, she knew: battered, bruised, half-evaporated, but still there. She couldn’t explain that to Patrick.
“I shouldn’t tell you this, but…”
Rebecca felt a tingle run up her spine at the words, nothing to do with sex. “Yes?” she prompted him. “Go on.”
“Yesterday evening your husband came to see me.”
“Daniel went to see you? Why?”
“He came to talk to me.”
Rebecca sat up. She quickly slipped her bra down and rearranged her skirt to cover herself, holding the front of her blouse together as best she could. “What about?” she asked, feeling awkward and stupid.
“About us.” Patrick flicked his ash into the ashtray on the bedside table. It was a small room, with the curtains drawn, and Rebecca already felt claustrophobic.
“But he doesn’t know about us.”
“Oh, but he does. He says he’s known for a while. He suspected something, then he watched you. He’s seen us together.”
“My God.”
“He told me not to tell you he’d been to see me.”
“What did he want?”
“He asked me to stop seeing you.”
“What did you say?”
“I told him the truth. That we were in love. That you were discovering for the first time your true erotic nature. And that as soon as we could manage it you were going to leave him and we were going to live together.”
Rebecca couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Daniel knew? Had known for ages? “You bloody fool.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed and pulled up her knickers. Then she buttoned her blouse, put on her jacket over it and went to the wardrobe where her raincoat was hanging. “You bloody fool,” she muttered again under her breath. “Daniel. I must go to him.”
Patrick sat up and stubbed out his cigarette. “What do you mean? It is the truth, isn’t it?”
“You idiot. You’ve ruined everything.”
He got up and walked over to her. She thought he suddenly looked ridiculous with his glasses on, the limp penis hanging between his thin, hairy legs.
“Rebecca,” he said, grasping her arms. “He’s only concerned about how it looks. With appearances. Don’t you see? He wants everything to seem normal, for you to act like the dutiful vicar’s wife. But it’s not you. It’s really not you. I know you, Rebecca. I know your true nature. We’ve discovered it together. You’re a wild, passionate, sensual creature, not a bloody dried-up vicar’s wife.”
“Let me go!”
She tore herself out of his grasp, finished putting her raincoat on and grabbed the door-handle.
“Don’t do this, Rebecca,” he said. “Stay with me. Don’t be afraid of finding out who you really are. Follow your passion, your feelings.”
“Oh, shut up, you pompous bastard. It was just a fuck, that’s all. You don’t know a bloody thing, do you?”
“Wait. I’ll drive you,” he called out as she walked through the door.
“Don’t bother,” she said over her shoulder. “I’ll catch a bus.” And she slammed the door behind her.
III
A couple of uniformed policemen kept the press away from Sir Geoffrey’s house. When Banks and Susan got there early in the afternoon, there were only about six reporters hanging around at the end of the driveway. They fired off a few questions, but Banks ignored them. Too early to start giving statements to the press. Unless you were Chief Constable Riddle, of course.
The only new information Banks had was that the swabs taken from Deborah had revealed no traces of semen, and he certainly wasn’t going to tell the media that. He had also discovered that Sir Geoffrey’s reception at the Royal Hotel in York had ended at four o’clock, plenty of time to get back home by six, even in the fog. Lady Harrison had, indeed, been at the health club; but she hadn’t arrived there until almost six-thirty.
Banks hadn’t noticed in the fog last night, but the house had a large lawn and beautiful flower-beds, clearly the work of a gardener. Even keeping the lawn trimmed would have been a full-time job. The house itself was an ostentatious pile of Victorian stone, complete with gables, probably built for one of the get-rich-quick wool merchants in the last century.
Sir Geoffrey himself answered Banks’s ring and beckoned the two of them in. Banks introduced Susan.
“Is there any news?” Sir Geoffrey asked.
Banks shook his head. “Not yet, sir. Sorry.”
Sir Geoffrey looked drawn and stooped, and he had large bags, like bruises, under his eyes. Banks followed him through to the white room with the bookcases, the Chagall and the grand piano. Michael Clayton was sitting in one of the armchairs, also looking as if he had gone without sleep for a week.
“Michael, I believe you met Detective Chief Inspector Banks last night,” Sir Geoffrey said.
“Yes,” said Clayton, “and I know Detective Constable Gay, too. I don’t know if I ever thanked you.”
Susan smiled. “All part of the service, sir.”
Banks gave her a quizzical look.
“Mr. Clayton had his car and a valuable notebook computer stolen in August,” she explained. “We got them back for him. Someone was trying to sell the computer at Eastvale market.”
“I don’t think I explained last night,” Sir Geoffrey went on, “but in addition to being a dear friend, Michael’s the scientific genius behind HarClay Industries. I simply provide the sales and marketing strategies.” He clapped Clayton on the shoulder. “I don’t know what we’d do without him. Please, sit down.”
“Where’s your wife, sir?” Banks asked.
“Sylvie’s resting. She…we didn’t get much sleep last night. She’s exhausted. Me, too. Look, we…er…I’m sorry. Things are a bit of a mess around here. How can I help you?”
“We won’t keep you long. Just a couple of questions.”
Sir Geoffrey nodded wearily. “I’ll do the best I can.”
“Thank you,” said Banks. “We’ve talked to a few people at Deborah’s school, and everyone seems to agree that Deborah was a cheerful and talented girl.”
Sir Geoffrey nodded. “Sylvie and I are very proud of her.”
“But even the best of people make enemies,” Banks went on. “Often inadvertently. Can you think of any enemies Deborah might have made?”
Sir Geoffrey closed his eyes and thought for a moment, then shook his head. “No. She got along well with her schoolfriends and teachers-I’m sure they’ll all bear that out-and there wasn’t really anyone else in her life aside from family.”
“I heard that she had a tendency to show off at times. Would you say that’s fair?”
Sir Geoffrey smiled. “Yes, Deborah can be a show-off, and a bit of a devil at times. But what child can’t be?”
Banks smiled, thinking of Tracy. “And Deborah was still a child in some ways,” he said. “She might not always have realized the effects of her actions on others. Do you see what I mean?”
Sir Geoffrey nodded. “But I can’t see us getting anywhere with this,” he said. “Unless you’re implying that someone at the school had something to do with her death. Or that bloody minister at St. Mary’s.”
“Daniel Charters?”
“That’s the one.”
“Why do you dislike him so?”
“The man’s a pervert. He abused his power.”
Banks shook his head. “But nothing’s been proved against him. Isn’t he entitled to be presumed innocent until proven guilty?”
