A Suitable Vengeance

away.

Sick at heart, Lynley turned from the sight. He felt for the villa door. 'St James,' he said.

The other man was in the hall with Trenarrow's housekeeper who was sobbing into the turban she'd taken from her head. He looked Lynley's way and began to speak but hesitated, face clouded, as Deborah's cries grew more profound. He touched Dora's shoulder gently and joined Lynley at the door, stopping short at the sight of Deborah being dragged away from the ambulance and fighting every step that distanced her from it. He looked at Lynley.

Lynley looked away. 'For Christ's sake, go to her. She thinks it's you.' He couldn't face his friend. He didn't want to see him. He only hoped St James would take matters into his own hands without another word being spoken between them. It was not to be.

'No. She's only-'

'Just go, damn you. Go.'

Seconds ticked by before St James moved, but when he finally walked into the drive Lynley found the expiation he had searched for so long. He forced himself to watch.

St James skirted the police cars and approached the group. He walked quite slowly. He couldn't move fast. His gait wouldn't allow it, crippled and ugly, and halted by pain.

St James reached the ambulance. He shouted Deborah's name. He grabbed her, pulled her towards him. She fought back violently, weeping and shrieking, but only for a moment until she saw who it was. Then she was caught up in his arms, her body shaking with terrible sobs, his head bent to hers, his hands in her hair.

'It's all right, Deborah,' Lynley heard St James say. 'I'm sorry you were frightened. I'm all right, my love.' Then he murmured needlessly, 'My love. My love.'

The rain fell against them, the police began to move round them. But neither seemed cognizant of anything more than being held in the other's arms.

Lynley turned and went into the house.

A stirring awakened her. She opened her eyes. They focused on the distant barrel ceiling. She gazed up at it, confused. Turning her head, she saw the lace-covered dressing table, its silver hairbrushes, its old cheval mirror. Great-grandmamma Asherton's bedroom, she thought. Recognition of the room brought almost everything back. Images of the cove, the newspaper office, the flight up the hill, the sight of the shrouded body all merged in her mind. At their centre was Tommy.

Another movement came from the other side of the room. The curtains were drawn, but a cord of daylight struck a chair by the fireplace. Lynley was sitting there, his legs stretched out in front of him. On the table next to him sat a tray of food. Breakfast, by the look of it. She could see the dim shape of a toast rack.

At first she didn't speak, trying instead to remember the events that followed those horrifying moments at Trenarrow's villa. She remembered a brandy being pressed upon her, the sound of voices, a telephone ringing, then a car. Somehow she'd got from Nanrunnel back to Howenstow where she'd made her way to a bed.

She wore a blue satin nightdress that she didn't recognize. A matching dressing gown lay at the foot of the bed. She pushed herself into a sitting position.

'Tommy?'

'You're awake.' He went to the windows and pushed the curtains back a bit so that the room had more light. The casements were already open a few inches, but he opened them further so that the crying of the gulls and cormorants made a background of sound.

'What time is it?'

'Just after ten.'

'Ten?

'You've slept since yesterday afternoon. You don't remember?'

'Just bits. Have you been waiting long?' 'A while.'

She saw then that he wore the same clothes he'd had on in Nanrunnel. His face was unshaven, and beneath his eyes his skin was dark and puckered. 'You've been with me all night.'

He didn't reply. He remained at the window, far from the bed. Beyond his shoulder, she could see the sky. Against it, his hair was made gold by the sun.

'I thought I'd fly you back to London this morning. Whenever you're ready.' He indicated the tray. 'This has been sitting here since half past eight. Shall I see about getting you something else?'

'Tommy,' she said. 'Would you…? Is there…?' She tried to search his face, but he kept it averted and it showed no response, so she let her words die.

He put his hands in his pockets and looked out of the window again. 'They've brought John Penellin home.'

She followed his head. 'What about Mark?'

'Boscowan knows he took the Daze. As to the cocaine…' He sighed. 'That's John's decision as far as I'm concerned. I won't make it for him. I don't know what he'll do. He may not be ready to draw the line on Mark yet. I just don't know.'

'You could report him.'

'I could.'

'But you won't.'

'I think it best that it come from John.' He continued gazing out of the window, his head lifted to the sky. 'It's a beautiful day. A good day for flying.'

'What about Peter?' she asked. 'Is he cleared now? Is Sidney?'

'St James thinks Brooke must have got the ergotamine from a chemist in Penzance. It's a prescription drug, but it wouldn't be the first time a chemist slipped something to a customer on the sly. It would have seemed harmless enough. A complaint about a migraine. Aspirin not working. No doctor's surgery open on Saturday.'

'He doesn't think Justin took some of his own pills?'

'He can't think of a reason Brooke would have known he had them. I told him it doesn't really matter at this point, but he wants to clear Sidney thoroughly, Peter as well. He's gone to Penzance.' His voice died off. His recitation was finished.

Deborah felt her throat aching. There was so much tension in his posture. 'Tommy,' she said, 'I saw you on the porch. I knew you were safe. But when I saw the body-'

'The worst part was Mother,' he cut in, 'having to tell Mother. Watching her face and knowing every word I said was destroying her. But she wouldn't cry. Not in front of me. Because both of us know I'm at fault at the heart of this.'

'No!'

'If they'd married years ago, if I'd allowed them to marry-'

'Tommy, no.'

'So she won't grieve in front of me. She won't let me help.'

'Tommy, darling-'

'It was horrible.' He ran his fingers along the window's transom. 'For a moment, I thought he might actually shoot St James. But he put the gun in his mouth.' He cleared his throat. 'Why is it that nothing ever prepares one for a sight like that?'

'Tommy, I've known him all my life. He's like my family. When I thought he was dead-'

'The blood. The brain tissue splattered back against the windows. I think I'll see it for the rest of my life. That and everything else. Like a blasted motion picture, playing into eternity against the back of my eyelids whenever I close my eyes.'

'Oh, Tommy, please,' she said brokenly. 'Please. Come here.'

At that, his brown eyes met hers directly. 'It's not enough, Deb.'

He made the statement so carefully. She heard it, frightened. 'What's not enough?'

'That I love you. That I want you. I used to think that St James was thirty different ways a fool for not having married Helen in all these years. I could never understand it. I suppose I really knew why all along, but I didn't want to face it.'

She ignored his words. 'Shall we use the church in the village, Tommy? Or is London better? What do you think?'

'The church?'

'For the wedding, darling. What do you think?'