He smiles at Davy, proffering his hand warmly. About my age, Davy thinks, bit younger maybe, so why do I feel inferior in front of Rollo Hind, whose face is friendly and open – unlike his father’s.
Inferior’s too strong, Davy thinks, sitting behind the table while Manon fiddles with the recording machine. There’s been quite a bit of preamble, along the lines of: ‘Good flight?’ and ‘Thanks for coming all this way, sir, we really appreciate it’, and ‘How was Buenos Aires?’
Suburban, he thinks, putting his finger on it. He feels suburban next to this tall, tanned chap. Perhaps it’s the hair. Davy’s just sort of sits there, on his head – it’d be pushing it to call it a ‘style’ – whereas Rollo Hind has a natty quiff, up from the parting, a bit rockabilly, a bit mod; dead sharp. Or the bright blue eyes, sparkling out from his face, a golden shimmer at the temples. Rollo Hind seems all Hollywood, while he and Manon, their complexions the colour of canteen mash, are rocking the fifteen-hour-shift look.
‘You had a text conversation with Edith on Tuesday, thirteenth of December, which was quite self-questioning, wasn’t it?’ Manon says.
Davy has read the texts, extracted by Colin from Edith’s phone, which had been conducted over WhatsApp, the free texting application.
‘I feel terrible about that now,’ Rollo says, ‘that I didn’t take it more seriously, but it wasn’t that out-of-character, not for Edith. I mean, she’s prone to this sort of thing. She’s a serious person, y’know? Gets fed up with me, says I’m glib about everything. When we travelled around Italy together interrailing, she was always wanting to talk about E. M. Forster and personal freedom versus duty. She likes to … intellectualise things.’
‘So she would text you existential questions like this, without preamble?’
‘Well, OK, this was slightly out of the blue. I mean, it came from nowhere, but it wasn’t enough to make me think … It didn’t make me worry, is what I’m saying. And maybe it should’ve done, with hindsight. She’s a student at Cambridge – they’re all at it, sitting around till 2 a.m. pondering Kierkegaard and the essence of being. I thought it was just part of that.’
‘And now?’
He shrugs. ‘After what Mum and Dad told me, about Helena and all that, I wonder if she’s talking about being unfaithful – about goodness in terms of what she was doing to Will. She would’ve felt really guilty about that.’