A Suitable Vengeance

He shook his head. 'Not on sufferance, Deborah. I won't have you that way.'

'But I want you,' she whispered. 'I love you, Tommy.'

'I know you want to believe that. God knows I want to believe it myself. Had you stayed in America, had you never come home, had I joined you there, we might have had a fighting chance. But as it is…'

Still he stayed across the room. She couldn't bear the distance. She held out her hand. 'Tommy. Tommy. Please.'

'Your whole life's with Simon. You know it. We both do.'

'No, I…' She couldn't finish the sentence. She wanted to rail and fight against what he had said, but he had pierced through to a truth she had long avoided.

He watched her face for a moment before speaking again. 'Shall I give you an hour until we leave?'

She opened her mouth to pledge, to deny, but at this final moment she could not do so. 'Yes. An hour,' she said.

Part Seven. AFTERWARDS

28

Lady Helen sighed. 'This moves the definition of tedium beyond my wildest dreams. Tell me again what it's going to prove?'

St James made a third careful fold in the thin pyjama top, lining up the last point of the icepick's entry. 'The defendant claims he was assaulted as he slept. He had only one wound in his side, but we've got three holes, each one stained with his blood. How do you suppose that happened?'

She bent over the garment. It was oddly folded to accommodate the three holes. 'He was a contortionist in his sleep?'

St James chuckled. 'Better yet a liar awake. He stabbed himself and made the holes later.' He caught her yawning. 'Am I boring you, Helen?'

'Not at all.'

'Late night in the company of a charming man?'

'If only that were true. I'm afraid it was the company of my grandparents, darling. Grandfather blissfully snoring away during the triumphal march in Aida. I should have joined him. No doubt he's quite spry this morning.'

'An occasional bow to culture is good for the soul.'

'I loathe opera. If they'd only sing in English. Is it too much to ask? But it's always Italian or French. Or German. German's the worst. And when they run about the stage in those funny helmets with the horns…'

'You're a Philistine, Helen.'

'Card carrying.'

'Well, if you'll behave yourself for another half hour, I'll take you to lunch. There's a new brasserie I've found in the Brompton Road.'

Her face came to life. 'Darling Simon, the very thing! What shall I do next?' She looked round the lab as if seeking new employment, an intention that St James ignored when the front door slammed and a voice called his name.

He shoved away from the work table. 'Sidney,' he said and walked to the door as his sister came dashing up the stairs. 'Where the hell have you been?'

She came into the lab. 'Surrey first. Then Southampton,' she replied as if they were the most logical destinations in the world. She dropped a mink jacket onto a stool. 'They've got me doing another line of furs. If I don't get a different assignment soon, I don't know what I'll do. Modelling the skins of dead animals lies somewhere between absolutely unsavoury and thoroughly disgusting. And they continue to insist I wear nothing underneath.' Leaning over the table, she examined the pyjama top. 'Blood again? How can you endure it so near to lunch-time? I haven't missed lunch, have I? It's hardly noon.'

She opened her shoulder bag and began to dig through it. 'Now, where is it? Of course, I understand why they insist on some naked skin, but I've hardly the bosom for it. It's the suggestion of sensuality, they tell me. The promise, the fantasy. What rubbish. Ah, here it is.' She produced a tattered envelope which she handed to her brother.

'What is it?'

'What I've spent nearly ten days getting out of Mummy. I even had to trail along to David's for a week just so that she'd know I was determined to have it.'

'You've been with Mother?' St James asked incredulously. 'Visiting David in Southampton? Helen, did you-?'

'I phoned Surrey that once, but there was no reply. Then you said not to worry her. Remember?'

'Worry Mummy?' Sidney asked. 'Worry Mummy about what?'

'About you.'

'Why would Mummy worry about me?' She didn't wait for an answer. 'Actually, she thought the idea was absurd, at first.'

'What idea?'

'Now I know where you get your general poopiness, Simon. But I wore her down over time. I knew I should. Go on, open it. Read it aloud. Helen shall hear it as well.'

'Damn it, Sidney. I want to know-'

She grabbed his wrist and shook his arm. 'Read.'

He opened the envelope with ill-concealed irritation and began to read aloud.

My dear Simon,

It appears I shall have no rest from Sidney until I apologize, so let me do so at once. Not that a simple line of apology would ever satisfy your sister.

'What is this Sid?'

She laughed. 'Keep reading!'

He went back to his mother's heavily embossed stationery.

I always did think it was Sidney's idea to open the nursery windows, Simon. But, when you said nothing upon being accused of having done so, I felt obliged to direct all the punishment towards you. Punishing one's children is the hardest part of being a parent. It's even worse if one has the nagging little fear that one is punishing the wrong child. Sidney has cleared all this up, as only Sidney could do, and although she had begun to insist that I beat her soundly for having let you take her punishment all those years ago I do draw the line at paddling a twenty-five- year-old woman. So let me apologize to you for placing the blame on your little shoulders – were you ten years old? I've forgotten -and I shall henceforth direct it towards her in an appropriate fashion. We have had a rather nice visit, Sidney and I. We spent some time with David and the children as well. It's made me quite hopeful that I shall soon see you in Surrey. Bring Deborah with you if you come. Cotter telephoned Cook with the word about her. Poor child. It would be good of you to take her under your wing until she's back on her feet.

Love to you, Mother

Hands on her hips, Sidney threw back her head and laughed, clearly delighted with having brought off a coup. 'Isn't she grand? What a time I had getting her to write it, though. Had she not already wanted to speak to you about seeing to Deborah – you know how she is, always concerned that we'll become social heathens and not do the proper thing in these situations – I doubt if anything could have made her write it.'

St James felt Lady Helen watching him. He knew what she expected him to ask. He didn't ask it. For the past ten days he had known something had happened between them. Cotter's behaviour alone would have told him as much, even if Deborah had not been gone from Howenstow when he'd returned from Penzance on the evening after