How do you feel?
She touched her empty glass with the tip of her finger.
Better, thank you.
But… about all this?
She glanced around and saw that the barman was beyond the range of her voice.
Unreal. I can't believe it's serious. I feel somehow… as if you, and Austin, and the police, were practising some kind of elaborate confidence trick on me.
He said sympathetically:
I know. I feel the same. I think maybe all real murders are like this — unless you're directly involved. It's only in novels that the detective stumbles on clues and bodies all over the place. In real life the murders take place offstage, and it's all messy and unbelievable.
He finished his beer.
We'd better go. For all we know, the police may be there before us. Do Austin's family know the Leatherhead address?
Yes, of course.
I wonder if they gave it to Macmurdo?
Shall I ring and find out?
That might be an idea.
He watched her go out of the bar, and again felt surprise at the calm with which she accepted the situation. He ordered another half pint of beer, and stood at the bar to drink it, thinking: I shall never understand women. Are they all like that? One day she's a Jehovah's Witness and the next she's my mistress and an accessory after the fact. No sense of incongruity. The ancients were right. Widow of Ephesus, Helen of Troy. Maybe it's just lack of vitality.
She was away for a long time. She came back with the brisk casualness of a woman who has been out to powder her nose, and stood in front of him, waiting.
He said: Another drink?
No, thank you.
He finished his beer and they went outside.
Well?
No. His parents haven't heard from the police.
Are you sure? Did you ask them?
No. Not directly. I just asked where I could find Austin. They said he might be at Oxford with some friends. I said someone had sent a letter for him care of me, and that someone had been telephoning me to enquire after him.
Good! What did they say?
It was his mother… She said she couldn't understand it, and that as far as she knew he wasn't in any sort of trouble. I told her that I thought it might be a bookmaker or someone he owes money to…
He said with admiration:
You're a born intriguer!
She smiled briefly:
It looks as if no one has been making enquiries from her, then.
Strange. Why did Macmurdo tell us he had?
I don't think he did. He only said that Austin wasn't with his parents. Perhaps they've been keeping watch on them.
The car turned left, towards the Embankment. He said:
This sounds pretty odd.
I didn't know whether to give them any kind of warning. It suddenly seemed ridiculous…
The best thing would be to find Austin. How long should it take us to Leatherhead?
About an hour, if the traffic isn't too bad.
Approaching Westminster Bridge, he checked his watch with Big Ben. The river looked like a sheet of rayon in the sunlight; it was difficult to believe in murder in the unexpected warmth.
She said:
Austin is here.
He sat up and stared at her. She had not spoken since they left Merton.
Where?
Here, in Leatherhead. That was his car outside the hotel.
Are you certain? I didn't see a red car.
It wasn't a red one. It was the grey MG.
He turned, peering out of the rear window. It was impossible to make out a parked car among the traffic.
Hadn't we better turn and make sure?
There's no need. I am sure. I recognised the number. It's one of his father's cars that he borrows sometimes.
But supposing he's in the hotel?
I don't think so. He'll probably be at the cottage. But I'll go back to the hotel while you go to the cottage.
But he wouldn't be allowed to park for long in the main street.
It isn't the main street — it was in the side street.
How far is the cottage?
About two miles on the other side.
Have you been there before?
Once. He took me for a trip in the aeroplane.
Sorme said:
I suppose he could be in Paris by this time.
I doubt it. He wouldn't leave his car outside a hotel if he intended to leave the country.
He looked at her with admiration.
You'd make a good detective!
She smiled without replying. The car turned left into a side lane with a signpost that said 'No Through Road'. After another five hundred yards, she turned left again, and braked to a stop.
You'll have to walk from here. I shan't be able to turn if I go any further.
Where is it?
Beyond those trees. When you reach the trees, you'll see the cottage. It stands on its own.
And what will you do?
I'll wait for twenty minutes.
OK. If I haven't returned by then, you'll know I've found Austin. Where will you be?
Back in the hotel. I'm afraid you'll have to walk back. It's called the Crown, and it's in the phone book in case you want to phone me.
That's fine. Bye-bye, sweet.
He leaned across and kissed her. The sensation was strange; since the police arrived he had ceased to feel like her lover. Her lips felt cold and tight.
He climbed over the stile, and heard the car backing into the lane. The clump of trees was a hundred yards away, on the edge of the field. Beyond them, he could see nothing but the sky. In spite of the sunlight, the earth of the ploughed field looked hard and frozen. He took the path that ran beside the hedge, and walked quickly, his hands in his pockets. After the heat of the car, the wind was cold.
There was a pond in the midst of the trees; its brown water looked lifeless; a broken tree jutted from the middle like an arm. Standing on its edge, he could see the cottage in the corner of the next field. He experienced a sense of depression and foreboding. He stood there for several minutes, hoping to see some sign of life. There was no smoke rising from the chimney. Two windows faced towards the pond, but their curtains appeared to be
