He felt a lot better when he’d had a shave and a shower. While he was getting dressed, Carole rapped on the bedroom door.
She said, “I’ve just been thinking …”
It had been too good to be true. He’d known all along she didn’t really mean it. Some women get a kick out of dangling a carrot in front of the donkey’s nose and then whipping it away.
He said, “Thinking about what? That your friends won’t take to someone like me?”
“No, don’t be a fool. I merely wondered why you had to go back to town. Anything special you have to do there?”
“Well, I’ve got to pick up some things — clothes and so on. Haven’t even got a toothbrush.”
“If you look in the bathroom cabinet you’ll find a new one still in its original sealed wrapper … and I’ll let you borrow that razor as well if you want.”
In a voice that was a little too flippant, she added, “The man who owned it won’t object.”
Quinn said, “That’s very obliging of him. But if I’m going away until Tuesday I’ll need more than just a razor and a toothbrush. Among other things, I can’t wear the same shirt for six days on the trot … especially after sleeping in it all last night and the best part of to-day.”
Through the bathroom door, Carole asked, “What size do you take?”
“Fifteen collar. Why?”
“Because there are half a dozen shirts in an unopened parcel on the top shelf of the airing cupboard — just as they were when they came back from the laundry. If I’m not mistaken, they’re your size. You’ll also find two sets of pyjamas, some underwear, and several pairs of socks.”
Quinn said, “I’m willing to bet you’re not mistaken. But how about the man who owns all this gear? If I help myself to his property, what’s he going to say when he comes back?”
For ten seconds there was no sound outside the door. Then Carole said, “Behind those two questions I detect a third one. And the answer is that he won’t be coming back. So you can borrow anything you like … unless you’d rather pick up your own stuff and come on to Castle Lammering later.”
“That would waste part of the weekend,” Quinn said. “I don’t see why I shouldn’t accept your offer — with thanks. Mind if I ask you one more question?”
“Yes, I do mind. So skip it.”
As her voice receded from the other side of the door, she added, “Now get ready and I’ll give you a case to put your things in …”
They didn’t set off until nearly six o’clock. When Quinn was stowing the two cases in the back of the car, Carole said, “You’ve still got time to change your mind.” Her mood had changed in the past half-hour.
Quinn asked, “Why should I?”
“Well, you never know what you might be letting yourself in for.”
“I’ll risk it … unless you’re sorry you invited me.”
“No, I never turn back. When I decide to do something I go through with it. And if things don’t work out right” — she swung her legs into the car, looked up at the mirror, and smoothed a hand over her dark, shining hair — “no regrets. That’s the kind of person I am.”
“Then we’re complete opposites,” Quinn said. “Whatever I do I always think afterwards I should’ve done something different. I suppose you gathered that much from my maudlin confidences.”
“More or less.”
“That’s the worst of not keeping my big mouth shut.”
“You aren’t unique.” As the car moved off, she said, “Once in a while I can say the wrong thing at the right time.”
The look on her face told him what she meant. He said, “Look, Carole, let’s clear the air before we go any farther. If you’re talking about the man whose shirt I’m wearing, forget it. So far as I’m concerned, he’s your brother.”
She glanced at him briefly and then she concentrated on the road. She said, “I haven’t got a brother.”
“O.K. So he’s your uncle or your nephew or your grandfather. It’s no business of mine.”
Without any expression, she said, “That’s why I shouldn’t have involved you.”
“No, it was my fault. I shouldn’t have asked personal questions. There’s an old saying: ‘Never look a borrowed shirt in the laundry mark’.”
Carole went on looking straight ahead but now he could see that she was smiling. After a while, she said, “I’m glad I asked you to come with me to Castle Lammering. I have a feeling that someone like you might be just what I can do with right now.”
Quinn said, “We aim to serve.”
Without looking at him she took one hand off the wheel and gave his arm a little pat. “Don’t let your ideas of gallantry or gratitude run away with you. It might turn out that you’re serving an unworthy cause.”
“Possibly. But as I said before” — Quinn stretched out his legs and sighed — “I’ll risk it. And while we’re on the subject of gallantry shouldn’t I buy something for the lady of the house so that I don’t walk in both uninvited and empty-handed?”
“No, you shouldn’t. You’d only embarrass her. Adele doesn’t need anything you can afford to buy. Remember that.”
“I’ll try,” Quinn said. “Not having had any experience in dealing with a rich man’s wife —”
“She isn’t a rich man’s wife. It’s her money that pays for everything. I don’t think Michael’s contributed a penny to the household since they got married.”
In a tone of indifference, Carole went on, “You may as well know the set-up before we get there. Of course, I’m relying on you to keep it to yourself …”
Quinn said, “Of course.”
“Not that all their friends aren’t aware of the situation. But naturally I wouldn’t like Adele to think I went around gossiping about her and her husband.”
Quinn said, “Naturally.”
“Well, to start with, Michael Parry drinks too much.”
“He’s not the only one.”
Carole shrugged. She said, “If you’re talking about yourself, there’s no comparison. You may take one too many now and again but you do a useful job of work. Michael does nothing.”
“How does he pass the time?”
“He professes to be a writer. You know the type … always slugging away at the book, the opus magnus, the epic novel that’ll put him right at the top.”
“I’ve met them,” Quinn said.
“Haven’t we all? We know that books aren’t created by talk or by wishful thinking.”
“They have to be written,” Quinn said.
“Of course. And that means work — even if you’re a genius. I’m prepared to believe that Michael has talent but he doesn’t use it. To him, work is a dirty word.”
Quinn said, “A man can get like that if he marries someone with too much cash.”
In a harder voice, Carole said, “Or if he hasn’t got enough guts. Michael’s what he is because he was born that way. Adele’s money just made it easier for him to give in. Now when things get him down — which is pretty often — he crawls inside a bottle and pulls in the cork.”
“I’m glad you don’t like him,” Quinn said. “One drunk in your life is enough.”
“Don’t be facetious. In any case you’re wrong. He can be quite pleasant. It’s just that I can’t tolerate a moral coward. Adele deserved someone better.”
“Maybe she’s happy with him the way he is.”
Carole turned her head briefly and gave Quinn an irritable look. She asked, “Can you imagine anyone being happy with a man who depends on her for every penny he spends, every single thing he’s got?”
“Perhaps not. But he can’t be so happy, either. That’s why he drinks.”
“Yes, I know that. Half the time I’m sorry for him. When he acts the jovial host and everybody knows he’s being generous at his wife’s expense, he’s really pathetic. But what upsets me most is the look in her eyes —”
Carole broke off. With another shrug, she said, “If I go on like this you’ll be sorry you came. Let’s change the subject. Tell me about yourself instead.”
“You already know all about me,” Quinn said. “I don’t even know what you do for a living. Whatever it is — judging by your cottage and this almost new car — it must be profitable.”
“Not in the sense of big money … but it keeps me in reasonable comfort. I’m a freelance TV producer.”
“Must be an interesting life.”
“No. What you see on the small screen may look glamorous but the production side is just another job. There’s more romance in what you do.”
Quinn said, “The grass is always greener on the other side of the hill … until you get there.”
“Probably. I don’t suppose we’d be content for long if we all swapped jobs.”
In an absent voice, she added, “Still, I’d like to try it some time … but I doubt if I’ll ever get the chance.”
She went very quiet after that and seemed to withdraw into herself. Quinn wondered why she’d invited him to spend the week-end at Castle Lammering, why she wanted his company. She was bound to know plenty of men, any one of whom would make a more suitable guest at a country house.
… Like that fellow who went off without his laundry. Must admit he wears nice shirts. Smart line in pyjamas, too. Wonder what it feels like to wear silk next to your skin …
That made Quinn think of Carole going to bed with the man who wasn’t coming back — the man who was still able to make her subdued when she thought of him. He must’ve had a wife somewhere or he and Carole would’ve got married.
And yet, maybe not. She could’ve been in love with him but he might only have been after a bit of fun. Cottage in the country — all found — a cute girl to provide entertainment whenever he felt in the mood — until she hankered after a more permanent relationship.
Then he’d gone off one day without taking his laundry so that she wouldn’t suspect he wasn’t coming back. Now she knew it was all over … but she’d still kept a parcel of shirts and socks and underwear … in case … just in case.
Or at least she’d kept them until now. But times might’ve changed. Now they were maybe for the use of anyone who escorted her home and got invited in for a drink … and stayed the night. With women it was difficult to tell.
Quinn hated to think she was the kind who picked up a man and took him home to bed. It seemed all wrong for a woman somehow — a decent woman, as they used to say.
Of course, that was an old-fashioned concept. Chastity had become an ugly word … Then he told himself not to be a damned hypocrite. If she gave him enough encouragement he wouldn’t have any scruples. And she might, at that. Peculiar why she’d picked on him to share her week-end at Castle Lammering.
… Can’t be because you’re dashing and debonair. Maybe she feels sorry for you and this is her good deed for the week. She doesn’t like Michael Parry but she says she feels sorry for him, so that lets you know how you stand …
Vagrant thoughts came and went without any pattern. He felt drowsy and at peace.
… Better leave her alone for a while and not try to make conversation. When she wants to talk, she’ll talk. Meantime it’s a lovely day and you can relax. In weather like this the country must be superb. You’re going to be staying with rich people and living off the fat of the land …
It was a hot sunlit evening without a cloud in the sky and they had all the windows of the car open as they headed south-west from Basingstoke. Quinn sprawled in his seat and let his mind wander in a half-sleep.
They were approaching Sutton Scotney when Carole asked him, “How’s your poorly head?”
He roused himself. “Not bad — taking all things into consideration.”
“Like to stop for a cup of coffee?”
“No, thanks … unless you want to.”
“I’m not fussy. It was you I was thinking of. Maybe you’d prefer a hair of the dog that bit you? We can stop at the next pub.”
Quinn said, “In my time I’ve plucked so many hairs off that dog he must be damn’ near bald. Thanks all the same but I don’t want to be smelling of drink when we arrive at your friends’ house.”
She laughed without any pretence of humour. “If you did, Michael would welcome you as a new member of the lodge.”
A little later when Lopcombe Corner lay behind them she roused Quinn again. She said, “Aren’t you hungry? As far as I know you haven’t eaten all day.”
“I’m giving my stomach a chance to get over last night’s orgy. We’ll have a meal when we get there, I suppose?”
“Oh, yes. Probably something cold … but I can promise you won’t starve while you’re at Elm Lodge. In fact, if you’re not careful you’ll put on weight.”
Quinn said, “That’ll be the day. I’ve weighed the same ten stone ten for the past dozen years. How far have we to go?”
“Well, it’s about six miles to Salisbury. From there Blandford is another twenty-two or -three. Then it’s approximately eight miles to Castle Lammering. If we don’t get held up too often” — she looked at her watch — “we should arrive not much after seven.”
They drove on into the westering sun. Carole put on a pair of dark glasses, Quinn closed his eyes and slid lower in his seat and let the drone of the car lull him to sleep again until they got to Salisbury.
They didn’t do any talking until they were on the A3 5 4 and some miles beyond Coombe Bissett. There they caught up with the tail of a line of cars and trailer trucks and caravans all travelling at the lumbering pace of a twenty-ton wagon half a mile ahead.
As they slowed to the same speed, Carole said, “We’ll probably be stuck in this queue until we get to Blandford. I’ve known it happen before. Be nearer seven-thirty than seven o’clock by the time we reach the village.”
She was right. It was a quarter past seven when they turned off the A354 south of Blandford where a signpost pointed due west: Castle Lammering — 8 mls.
The narrow, winding road was barely wide enough for two cars. It ran between grassy banks, straggling over-grown hedges, and briar bushes lush with pink and red blossom. When they reached higher ground Quinn could see wooded country to the south and west.
Carole said, “Not long now. The village is just beyond those trees. We’ll be at Elm Lodge in three or four minutes.”
The road swung past a stand of old timber, curved sharply left, and then straightened out. Less than a quarter of a mile ahead lay Castle Lammering.
It was set in a hollow between two low hills — just a cluster of houses, some half-timbered, others with thatched roofs and whitewashed stone walls. On rising ground to the north the spire of a church reached up to the sunlit blue of the sky.
Above the village isolated houses nestled among clumps of trees. Where the main village street ran on and lost itself in open country one or- two cottages marked the line of the road leading west. Farther on there was a farm, fields of grain ripening in the sun, pasture land carpeted in summer green.
Carole pointed. She said, “See the house behind those elm trees up there to the left? That’s it.”
Two old men stared after them as they drove through the village. A small boy on a tricycle waved both hands vigorously. A woman in the doorway of the village store turned and shielded her eyes from the sun to look at them.
Quinn said, “I bet they don’t see many strangers in these parts.”
“No, it’s well off the beaten track. Over yonder past those red-roofed cottages you come to an unclassified road that’ll take you to Milborne St. Andrews … but it would be a crazy way to get there when all you have to do is follow the main Blandford-Dorchester road instead of making a fifteen-miles detour …”
She went on talking about places a few miles north of Castle Lammering: places with names like Bishop’s Caundle, Bagber, Sturminster Newton.
“… Beautiful country around here if you’re fond of walking. Lots of little pubs where you can stop for a sandwich and a drink.”
Quinn said, “There are a couple of cosy looking spots in Castle Lammering itself.”
“Well, the Bird-in-Hand is all right but the Treacle Pot’s a bit too much like the old sawdust and spittoon affair for my taste.”
With no inflexion, she added, “The Bird-in-Hand is Michael’s favourite haunt. Slips in for a quick one most mornings and you’ll generally find him there in the afternoons, too, when the Parrys haven’t got guests.”
A road no wider than the car climbed in a long slope up from the village, passed under an avenue of trees that met overhead, and skirted some gnarled and ancient elms whose branches spread across the road in full leaf. Beyond them curved a low wall, a gateway without any gates, and then the lawns and the flower beds of Elm Lodge.
It was a long, two-storied house of grey limestone with a wide entrance and small-paned sash windows. The pebbled drive ran past a built-on garage big enough for three cars.
Carole said, “We’re here. How do you like it?”
With its tyres crunching over the pebbles the car pulled up. As Quinn got out, a colony of rooks took flight on startled wings and spiralled high above the trees.
He watched them settle again, one by one, and then he stretched and looked around. He said, “Home was never like this. Do your friends live here all the time?”
“Mostly. Michael seldom goes away. He says he’s got everything he wants right here. Adele goes up to town for a few days now and again to do some shopping … or she spends a week or so at a place called Wood Lake where people with enough money can pretend to diet.”
“What does she want to diet for?”
“She doesn’t. But she likes the baths and the massage and the skin treatment and all that goes with it. Makes a habit of going there every two or three months.”
“Sounds as if she has a very hard life,” Quinn said.
They went into the entrance and Carole touched the bellpush once. When the soft double chime died away, she said, “I’ll bet you’re starving.”
“Well, yes, I am kind of peckish. My stomach’s forgiven me for the way I treated it last night.”
She pressed the bell again. She said, “Must be somebody at home …”
After her third attempt she gave Quinn a wry smile. He said, “You could be wrong.”
“No, don’t get worried. Wherever they are they’ll be back soon. They know I’m coming. Let’s see if the car’s there.”
They walked to the garage and Carole pulled back one of the sliding doors. Quinn saw a maroon Rover 2000, a littered workbench, and an assortment of tools hanging on the rear wall. The boot of the car was not properly shut.
He said, “I can hear a radio playing somewhere in the house … so they may not have gone out after all. Try the bell again.”
Carole walked back ahead of him. With more than a hint of impatience she pressed the bellpush several times, listened for a moment, and then used her knuckles on the door.
She said, “Come on, for goodness’ sake! You must’ve heard that … Oh, at last.”
The distant music of the radio had stopped. Footsteps trotted downstairs … over a stretch of bare floor … across a rug … on wooden flooring again … another rug … Then the door opened.
He was of average height with a gingery flamboyant moustache, pale blue eyes and fair hair touched with silver at the sides. His nose and his eyes had the look of the habitual drinker. At one time he must have been a good-looking man but now his features were puffy and he had a double roll of loose flesh under his chin.
With a bemused expression he stared at Carole as though unable to recognise her. Then he fumbled at his unbuttoned collar, realised he wasn’t wearing a tie, and smiled weakly.
Like a man pulling himself together he cleared his throat and said, “Hallo, Carole. This is a nice surprise. I wasn’t expecting you — at least, not quite so early.”
Carole said, “Half past seven isn’t early.”
“Is that the time?”
He looked down at his left wrist and discovered he wasn’t wearing a watch, either. In an apologetic voice, he said, “I’ve been having a nap and must’ve overslept. Had a busy morning … between this and that. Thought I’d put my feet up. Nothing to beat it on a hot day like this …”
His voice tailed off as though he had just remembered something. He glanced at Quinn, turned to Carole again, and asked, “Don’t you think you ought to introduce me to your friend?”
She said, “I haven’t had a chance yet. This is Mr. Quinn … Michael Parry. Adele told me I should bring someone next time I came and … by the way, where is Adele?”
Parry shook hands with Quinn and told him he was more than welcome. “… Any friend of Carole is a friend of ours. Better come in, old man, and have a drink. You’ve got a thirsty look in your eye.”
They went inside. The wide entrance doors led directly into a room that filled most of the ground floor — a room with a wrought-iron staircase spiralling up to the floor above and a central hearth over which hung a cone-shaped canopy of beaten brass. There were half a dozen arm-chairs and a couple of long settees and lots of loose rugs.
An open-plan divider with shelves of books and ornaments partly split the room in two. One half formed a dining section with a circular table ringed by chairs which fitted snugly into it like the petals of a tulip. In the nearer wall there was a serving-hatch and door leading into the kitchen.
Across a corner in the other half stood a well-appointed bar of bamboo and glass. Parry walked over and leaned his back against it and said, “What’ll you have, boys and girls? You name it, we got it.”
“It’s food we want, more than drink,” Carole said. “Have you eaten?”
“Eaten? Yes, I had a very good lunch.”
He went behind the bar and brought out several bottles from underneath and stood them on the glass top. He said, “Don’t worry about food. There’s plenty in the fridge — chicken and tongue and ham and coleslaw and salad and lots of other things. But first have a drink. Sharpens the old appetite.”
“If I must, I’ll have a tomato juice.”
“No sooner said than done. What about the boy friend?”
Quinn said, “Whisky and pep for me, please. After last night I’d better keep my stomach placated.”
Parry put out three glasses. Then he looked at Quinn and asked, “What happened last night? Special occasion?”
“Well, yes, you might call it that. First time I’ve ever had a skinful at a party I wasn’t invited to.”
“No kidding?” Parry threw back his head and laughed with all his teeth showing. It was a synthetic laugh. It meant nothing.
When he had switched it off, he said, “You are a bit of a lad, aren’t you?”
With clumsy fingers he used an opener on the bottle of tomato juice. The crinkle top sprang off and rolled along the floor into a corner.
He grumbled “Damn …” as he bent down and groped for it. When he stood up again, Quinn noticed that his hands were shaking.
Carole took her glass from him, murmured, “Thanks …” and then asked, “Are there just the three of us?”
“Yes. Why?”
“What about Adele? Isn’t she joining us for a drink?”
When he had poured out a generous whisky for Quinn and screwed the stopper on again, Parry looked at her. He said, “Didn’t I tell you? She’s at Wood Lake. I’m picking her up in Blandford very shortly. Her bus is due in about twenty past eight. Soon’s I’ve had a spot of brandy and washed the sleep out of my eyes I’ll be off.”
Carole asked, “Anyone else coming for the weekend?”
“Maybe Irene and Neil. I’m not sure.”
He pushed Quinn’s glass across the top of the bar and put a bottle of peppermint cordial down beside it. He said, “Help yourself, old boy … oh, and if you two are hungry take whatever you want from the fridge. You know where things are, Carole, so don’t stand on ceremony. Irene and Neil can join you when they arrive.”
“Aren’t you having anything before you meet the bus?”
“No time, dear girl. Must be in Blandford before the seven twenty-five from Salisbury gets there or little wifie will think I’ve forgotten her … and that would never do.”
He was fussing with the brandy bottle as he asked, “What’s the hour?”
Quinn said, “Just turned twenty-five minutes to eight … Your good health.”
“And yours … cheers.” Very carefully he poured no more than a tablespoonful of brandy into a crystal goblet, swilled it round, and then raised the glass to his lips.
As he tilted back his head he gave Quinn a wink and added, “Welcome … While you’re here make yourself thoroughly at home.”
Quinn said, “Thanks. I’ll do my best.”
The brandy went down in one quick gulp. Parry smacked his lips and asked, “What do you do for a living, old boy? Same racket as Carole here?”
“No, I’m on a newspaper.”
“Are you, by jove? Which one?”
“The Morning Post.”
“Editorial?”
“Yes. Mostly crime stuff.”
“Is that so?”
Parry put down his glass and came round to the front of the bar. With a throaty chuckle, he said, “Well met, my friend. I’m a writer, too. Not in your field, of course. Nothing to do with journalism. Straight novels. I’m working on a new one right now.”
Quinn asked, “Do you write under your own name?”
“Oh, sure. But I don’t suppose you’ve read anything of mine. Haven’t produced a best-seller yet. One of these days … maybe. Who knows?”
He walked towards the staircase, turned to smile at both of them, and went on, “Talking about names, I remember where I’ve come across yours before. Saw it in the Morning Post. You’re the bloke who writes Quinn’s Column on Crime, aren’t you?”
“That’s right.”
“Jolly good stuff, too. We must have a natter about it later. But meantime you’ll have to excuse me. If I’m not there to meet the bus the little woman’ll tear off a proper strip.”
As he went up the stairs he looked back again and told Carole, “Take care of the boy friend, sweetheart, and see he gets plenty to eat. Remember your Shakespeare.”
He trotted up a few steps, glanced round once more, and gave them a wave. Then he went on up out of sight.
A door opened and closed on the floor above. Quinn looked at Carole and asked, “What’s he talking about? Why Shakespeare?”
She revolved her glass of tomato juice between both hands as though she needed time to think. At last, she said, “I wonder how often I’ve heard him say that same damn’ silly thing. I’ll swear it’s the only quotation he knows.”
“Which quotation?”
“From Julius Caesar: Yond’ Cassius has a lean and hungry look.”
Quinn said, “Shakespeare’s the great stand-by of the literary phoneys … especially when they’re in their cups, if I may coin a phrase. To me our host seems half cut.”
“Oh, he’s been drinking, all right. Whenever Adele’s away he spends all his afternoons in the Bird-in-Hand.” Carole shook her head. “I’ve no doubt he came rolling home the worse for wear, threw himself down on a bed, and hoped he’d sleep it off before he had to go and collect her.”
“Lucky we roused him or she’d have been stranded in Blandford.”
“Wouldn’t be the first time. She’s had to take a taxi more than once when she’s come back from Wood Lake.”
“Where is the place?”
“It’s a few miles from Woking, near Chobham. She goes by bus from Blandford to Salisbury, takes the train to Woking, and phones the people at Wood Lake when she gets there. They send a car for her.”
“Sounds like a lot of chopping and changing. With all the money you say she’s got why doesn’t she go in her own car?”
Carole put down the untouched tomato juice. She said, “I’m glad you asked that when Adele wasn’t around. It might’ve been embarrassing.”
“Why?”
“Well, you see, she used to drive … but one day there was an accident near Chobham and a man was killed. Although the coroner stated no blame could be attached to her she hasn’t driven since.”
“Once you lose your nerve there’s not much you can do about it,” Quinn said. He finished his whisky. “Do you think we might eat now before those other people arrive?”
“Of course. I’m sorry you’ve had to wait so long. Mind eating in the kitchen?”
Quinn said, “I don’t mind if you feed me in the garage … so long as I get fed.”
On the floor above, footsteps clumped here and there hurriedly. As Carole opened the kitchen door, Michael Parry came downstairs.
He gave them a hasty wave and called out, “Enjoy yourselves. The house is all yours. Back soon.” Then he rushed outside.
While Carole was setting the table, Quinn listened to the noise of a car reversing out of the garage. He heard its brakes squeal … the grunt of a mishandled gearbox … the roar of the engine as the car shot off in a flying start, its wheels skittering on the gravel.
When he could no longer hear the car, Quinn said, “I hope your friend Michael doesn’t meet someone in the same condition on the same stretch of road at the same time. Has he ever been had up for drunk driving?”
“No, but that’s more by good luck than anything else. One of these days it’s bound to happen — if he doesn’t kill himself first. Would you like chicken or tongue or cold ham with your salad?”
Quinn said, “Yes, please.”
She laughed. She said, “I don’t suppose you’d say no to a bottle of iced lager? There’s some in the fridge.”
“I wouldn’t say no to two bottles.”
“Evidently you’ve recovered from last night.”
“Oh, yes. It always affects me like this. Drinking gives me an appetite and eating makes me thirsty and when I’m thirsty I like to drink and when I’ve had a few drinks I get hungry and so on … ad infinitum, ad alcoholicus anonymous. It’s called the cycle of nature.”
Carole said, “You talk more nonsense than anyone I’ve ever met.”
“Sure. But the difference between me and all the others is that I know it’s nonsense.”
She shut the fridge door and pulled a chair up to the table. She said, “That’s one of the few intelligent things I’ve heard you say … but don’t let it go to your head. Sit down and eat before you overstrain yourself …”
When he had taken the edge off his appetite, Quinn asked, “Who are the people he mentioned were coming — this Irene and Neil?”
“Oh, they’re family — Irene and Neil Ford. She’s Adele’s sister-in-law. Her husband’s got a shop in Ringwood — about thirty miles from here. They come for the week-end every month or so.”
“What kind of people are they?”
“Not what I’d call the ebullient type. She’s one of those negative women who sap your vitality. I always say that when she goes into an empty room there’s less in it than there was before.”
“Sounds as if we’re going to have a rip-roaring time,” Quinn said. “Is he the same?”
“No, compared with her he’s quite lively. The only fault I find with him is that he’s got a roving eye.”
“In general?”
“I can’t say how he behaves at home but I don’t like the sly look he keeps giving me. Makes me afraid he’ll do something one day that’ll cause unpleasantness all round.”
As she began clearing away the dishes, Carole added, “No risk of him making a fool of himself this weekend, of course — not with you around.”
“What have I got to do with it?”
“Well, he’ll think you’re a special friend of mine.”
“And two of us know I’m not,” Quinn said.
She looked at him steadily, her lower lip held between her teeth. Then she said, “How could you be? Friendship is like good wine. It takes years to mature.”
Quinn said, “That should be a Thought for To-day on my calendar.”
He had an urge to get up and leave. No one had ever treated him like this before. One moment he would have sworn she liked him; the next, she had shut him out in the cold. All the time there was a barrier between them.
This playing hot and cold was the kind of thing he could never tolerate. If there had been any form of transport to get him to the nearest bus stop he would have told her what she could do with her week-end in the country.
But the thought of lugging his bag from Elm Lodge down to the village … and taking the chance that buses ran from there to Blandford … and looking pretty stupid if they didn’t …
He knew in spite of everything that Carole wouldn’t refuse to run him wherever he wanted to go. The galling thing was that she wouldn’t persuade him to stay. If he wished to leave it would be up to him.
Either way he’d be left a fool. He should never have accepted her invitation. If he had known she meant to use him as a shield between herself and someone else she couldn’t forget …
Carole said, “I’ve never liked to pretend. Anything that’s worth having you’ve got to work for. Friendship’s one of them. No reason why you and I can’t be friendly — but that’s as far as we can go after knowing each other for only a few hours.”
“Let us then be grateful for small blessings,” Quinn said. “Including Mister Neil Ford with the roving eye. But for him I wouldn’t have been asked to spend the week-end at a charming country house.”
She carried the dishes over to the sink and stacked them neatly on the draining board. Then she turned round and gave Quinn a frosty look.
She said, “You’re behaving like a spoiled brat. I didn’t invite you because I needed someone to protect my virtue. Adele’s all right — if she weren’t I wouldn’t come to Castle Lammering at all — but the others can be pretty deadly. I just thought you might be more entertaining.”
Quinn said, “Thanks for using ‘might be.’ That’s what I call damning with faint praise.”
“Oh, now you’re being tiresome. You know perfectly well what I mean. And if you think I’m going to lean over backwards to placate your feeling of inferiority then you’re very much mistaken. I like you as much as I could like anybody after knowing him for only five or six hours — including a semi-conscious hour or so last night — but that’s all.”
“Take it or leave it,” Quinn said.
“Yes.” She shrugged. “That’s exactly the position. So what are you going to do?”
He knew it might be a mistake but he still thought she was cute. He said, “I’ll take it. Can’t see I’ve got anything to lose by staying on until —”
The door-bell chimed. Carole said, “That’ll be the Fords. Don’t let them suspect you were enticed here by a confidence trick.”
Quinn said, “Now who’s behaving like a spoiled brat? If you really want to know, I’m glad I’m here.”
She gave him a wicked smile. She said, “Then you’d better tell your face.”
The bell chimed again while she was on her way to the front door. A man’s voice asked, “Anyone at home?”
Quinn followed her as far as the kitchen doorway. He remained there while she let the Fords in.
They were not quite what he had expected. Neil Ford was a round-faced man with grey hair, grey eyes and a pinkish complexion. He had plump hands and a mouth like a woman and he looked as though he spent too much of his time indoors.
Irene Ford was fair, thin, negative. She had a transparent skin, an air of self-effacement. While Quinn was being introduced to her she smiled nervously and gave a little giggle before she said how d’you do.
He didn’t like the cold touch of her fingers. Neil Ford’s clammy hand felt equally unpleasant. But his manner was sociable enough until he learned that Quinn was Carole’s guest. After that he more or less ignored him.
Irene sat down primly on the edge of an arm-chair with her knees close together. When she was satisfied that her skirt hadn’t climbed up, she said, “Oh, dear. Traffic gets worse all the time. It’s exasperating” — she giggled again — “isn’t it? Almost makes it not worth while coming all this way … if you know what I mean.”
Ford said, “You like coming here. You always have. Wouldn’t matter to you if it took twice as long.”
“Oh, yes, of course I do. I didn’t mean …” Her colourless voice faded away and she nicked a nervous look at Quinn while she tried to decide what she had meant.
Then she giggled once more. She said, “Well, it makes a change … doesn’t it?”
Quinn didn’t think she cared whether he agreed or disagreed or just remained quiet. But he disliked being pushed into the background by a man like Neil Ford.
So he said, “Certainly makes a very pleasant change for me.”
She brightened as though he had paid her a compliment. With a self-conscious wriggle of her thin shoulders, she said, “Nice here … isn’t it?”
He told himself that everything she said had an unnecessary question tacked on to it because she had a pathological need to be reassured … like so many of those people interviewed on TV who couldn’t talk without inserting kind of and sort of and you know into every second phrase. Only the indefinite type of person used the word definitely so often.
Another part of his mind kept asking him if she had noticed how her husband was looking at Carole, his eyes straying down to her legs time and time again. Maybe Irene didn’t know or didn’t care. Maybe she’d learned long ago that there was nothing she could do about it.
Through his thoughts he heard Carole saying “… Are you people hungry? If you are, don’t wait until Adele gets home. Mr. Quinn and I have already had something to eat.”
Irene wriggled and said, “You know what? I’ve just realised that she and Michael aren’t here. Isn’t that funny?”
Neil Ford said, “No. Your mind’s always a million miles away.”
He looked at Carole and asked, “Has Michael gone to meet the bus?”
“Yes. He should be back any time now … well, in about fifteen minutes unless the bus happens to be late.”
As though continuing the same trend of conversation, Irene got up and said, “I think I’ll go and spend a penny —”
She broke off short and gave Quinn an embarrassed look. She said, “Oh, how awful. I completely forgot there was a strange man in the room. Please excuse me.”
With that same wriggle of her thin shoulders, she walked primly to the foot of the staircase. Then she looked round at her husband and said, “Don’t forget to bring in our things from the car … will you, dear?”
Neil said, “No, I won’t forget … dear.”
He watched her go upstairs, her head bent as though she were counting each step she took. Then he went outside.
Quinn looked at Carole and said, “Happy families …”
She made a face. She said, “They’ve had a row. I can always tell. He behaves as if he’s got a hair down his back and she keeps calling him dear.”
“You’re quite the little student of character, aren’t you?”
“There isn’t much to study in those two.”
With a trace of apology in her voice, she added, “I shouldn’t have got you into this. If I’d known …”
“Known what?”
“Well, the situation might be kind of prickly. Maybe it wasn’t such a good thing to invite you. Between this and that it’s not going to be much of a weekend.”
“Not to worry. I won’t ask for my money back.”
“No … but you must be thinking this is a crazy household. Adele isn’t here when we arrive; soon’s we walk in, Michael goes off and leaves us to fend for ourselves; then you get a sample of Neil and Irene. Not a good start, is it?”
“Sunshine, good food, plenty to drink,” Quinn said. “With you thrown in as a bonus what have I got to complain about?”
Carole came over and stood looking down into his eyes. After a little silence, she said, “I’m beginning to think you are nice.” With a look on her face that he hadn’t seen before she stooped and kissed him swiftly on the cheek.
Neil Ford came back. He was carrying a small suitcase and he had a folded raincoat slung over his arm.
He said, “I think I’ll have a drink before I take this stuff upstairs.”
“I’ll get it for you,” Carole said. “What would you like?”
“Oh, anything that’ll buck up my appetite. A dry sherry will do. I never seem able to eat when the weather gets hot.”
“Most people eat less when it’s like this,” Carole said.
She brought out several bottles before she found the right one. While she was pouring out his sherry he walked across to the bar and stood there with his back towards Quinn.
It could have been an unintentional slight but Quinn didn’t think so. Ford had already made his attitude quite obvious.
He drank his sherry, murmured something to Carole, and laughed as though they shared some private joke. Then he picked up his case. Without looking at Quinn he went upstairs.
Carole put the bottle of sherry away and looked at Quinn with a smile that he knew was meant to pacify him. She said, “I can understand how you feel but don’t pay any attention.”
“How did you guess what I was thinking?”
“It’s written all over you. If you want my advice don’t let him see he’s succeeded in getting your back up. He likes nothing better. Imagines it makes him look big in other people’s eyes.”
“Yours, for instance?”
“Don’t ask silly questions. I’m not interested in Neil Ford.”
“Just as well, isn’t it? After all, he’s married.”
“If you go on like this you’ll become a bore,” Carole said. “And I can stand anything except being bored. For your information, Neil’s the kind of man I don’t like, married or single.”
Quinn said, “Before this week-end’s over maybe I’ll find out the kind of man you do like. What was the big joke?”
She looked momentarily puzzled. Then her face cleared and she said, “Oh, that … Believe it or not, I don’t know. I didn’t quite catch what he said … but it wasn’t anything about you. So you don’t need to start —”
The phone bell cut her off. As it rang again footsteps sounded on the floor above.
Before she had time to come out from behind the bar Ford came trotting downstairs. He said, “O.K. I’ll take it. Might be for me.”
The phone was on the other side of the open-plan divider. Through a gap in the upper shelves, Quinn saw Ford pick up the receiver.
He said, “Yes … yes … oh, hallo, where are you? … This is Neil.”
As he listened to the voice at the other end a bank of cloud drifted over the face of the sun and the windows darkened in sudden twilight. South of Castle Lammering the sky had become black across the whole expanse of the horizon.
Carole glanced at Quinn and said, “Looks as if we’re in for a storm.”
“They forecast outbreaks of thundery rain by evening,” Quinn said. “We can do with some wet after such a long spell of dry weather.”
The elm trees threshed in a gust of wind that whipped past the house and went rushing on over the uplands. Then everything was still again — an oppressive stillness in which nothing moved.
Quinn wondered if the rooks thought night had come or if they knew there was going to be a downpour and had taken refuge. Their lifespan was only a few years but they lived long enough to know the difference between normal dusk and an approaching storm. The feeling in the air would tell them — a clammy pressure as though sky and earth were about to meet, increasing static that made his skin creep.
Far off to the south a pale light winked twice … and then again. He remembered reading long, long ago that if you counted the number of seconds between the flash and the following thunder you could tell how far away you were from the source of the lightning.
… Something to do with the speed of sound through the air. I’ve forgotten whether it’s eleven hundred or twelve hundred feet per second. Anyway, I can’t hear any thunder. Maybe the storm’s got to be within a certain range …
Neil Ford was saying “… No, not to my knowledge. If there had been I’m sure Carole would’ve mentioned it. Perhaps you got the time wrong … well, don’t get irritable. It was only a suggestion.”
He listened again. Then he said, “If you ask me there isn’t much point in hanging about … O.K. O.K. You do just what you like. I’m not trying to stop you … right … yes, I’ll tell the others … but if she does how are we going to get in touch with you? I can’t see … all right, as you wish … so long. Keep sober.”
He hung up and stood cracking his knuckles thoughtfully. Then he looked out through the window and said, “Gone very dark all of a sudden, hasn’t it? Start chucking it down any minute, I’d say.”
Carole asked, “Was that Michael?”
With a slight raising of his eyebrows, Ford said, “Yes.”
“What did he want?”
“Just to say he’ll be delayed. Adele wasn’t on the eight-ten. Probably missed it because her train got in late. Michael thinks she’ll be on the next one and so he’s going to stay in Blandford to save trailing here and back again. It’s due about a quarter to nine.”
Carole looked at her watch and said, “He’s got fully an hour to wait. If she missed the bus I’d have thought she’d phone. After all, she knew Michael would be meeting her at eight-ten.”
“Don’t suppose she cares a damn if he has to hang around all night,” Ford said.
As though not expecting to be taken seriously, he added, “Could be she doesn’t intend to come back at all.”
Then he turned his head and looked straight at Quinn. For the first time since they had met he spoke to him directly.
In a biting voice, he asked, “As an outsider what do you think?”
The sneer on his pink-and-white face left no room for doubt. He meant to be offensive.
Quinn said, “As an outsider it’s none of my business.”
“Really? I’d have thought you were in the right kind of job to make it your business.”
“Then you’d have thought wrong. What do you know about my kind of job, anyway?”
“Merely that you’re a reporter. Or am I mistaken?”
Carole said, “Stop it before you go too far … both of you. It isn’t funny.”
“I’m not amused either,” Quinn said. “And don’t blame me. This isn’t any of my seeking. He’s made his attitude obvious from the moment he set eyes on me. I wish I knew what’s eating him.”
In an overbearing tone, Ford said, “Oh, nothing personal. But I hope you won’t be offended if I say that Miss Stewart seems to choose most peculiar friends.”
Quinn said, “And I hope you will be offended if I say that Mrs. Parry seems to go in for even more peculiar relations that she couldn’t possibly have chosen unless all her taste was in her mouth.”
Carole stepped between them and waved her arms in the style of a referee. “I’m stopping this contest right now. Both of you are disqualified for hitting low.”
She was trying to sound flippant but her eyes were angry. Quinn knew she was holding herself in with an effort.
He said, “I didn’t come here to quarrel with anybody. This situation was forced on me … but I’m evidently odd man out so if you wouldn’t mind running me to the nearest bus stop I’ll leave you all —”
“You’ll do nothing of the kind! This is Adele’s house and anyone I bring is treated as Adele’s guest. There’s no question of leaving.”
She swung round on Ford and asked him sharply, “What’s wrong with you? Why are you behaving like this?”
He spread out his plump hands and looked at her with bland, innocent eyes. He said, “I detest reporters — that’s all.”
“Pretty sweeping,” Quinn said. “As people are fond of saying about those of a different religion or a different colour, there’s good and bad alike wherever you go. Have you some special reason for lumping all newspaper men together and hating the lot?”
“Well, if you must know I had an unfortunate experience with the local Press some time ago — and once was enough.”
“I’ve got no connection with the local Press. I’m crime correspondent for a national paper. Unless you’re engaged in some kind of criminal activity you’ve nothing to fear from me.
Ford started to say, “If you’re alleging —”
Then the sneer left his face and he went on, “You’re being facetious, of course.”
“Of course,” Quinn said.
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“You may be even more glad to hear that I’m on holiday — or supposed to be — for the next couple of weeks. Apart from which, I don’t write a gossip column … and so I’m not interested in tittle-tattle about your family or your friends.”
Carole said, “Now that we’ve reached an understanding, that will be all.” She glanced from one to the other and shook her head sadly. “If it wouldn’t make you look even more like silly little schoolboys I’d insist on your snaking hands.”
Quinn said he was sorry if he had behaved badly. Neil Ford mumbled something in the nature of an apology.
For the time being their instinctive antagonism was pushed into the background. But, as Quinn told himself, it was only for the time being.
Why Ford resented him was something that only Ford could explain. Perhaps it was true that he’d been badly treated by the local Press. Perhaps it was merely an excuse.
It made hardly any difference. The friction between them was there. Best thing they could do was keep out of each other’s way.
For one brief moment he wished he’d never met Carole Stewart. If he had not gone to that party by mistake … What was the fellow’s name? Ah, yes, Hinchcliffe.
… Damn’ silly thing to do. He was old enough to have more sense. And getting himself plastered was absolutely stupid …
The door-bell chimed. Carole looked at Ford and said, “I wonder who that can be. Did you hear a car?”
“No. Certainly can’t be Michael and Adele. It’s too soon.”
“They wouldn’t ring the bell, anyway. Both of them have a key.”
She went to the door and opened it and said, “Oh, hallo! Come in. I haven’t seen you for ages. How are you?” Her voice was polite but it was the stilted politeness that women use to conceal dislike.
Quinn saw a stockily built woman with fluffy hair cut short and hazel eyes that flitted here and there like those of a bird. Her smile exposed a lot of teeth.
She wrapped it round Quinn when she was introduced to him. In a deep, masculine voice, she said, “How d’you do …”
Then she asked, “Have we met before?”
It was an unnecessary question. She expected him to say no, but the query established some kind of tenuous relationship.
He said, “I don’t think so. This is my first visit here.”
“Yes, I guessed as much. Never forget a face. Names go in one ear and out the other, but I’ve got a photographic memory for faces. One of those things, you know. Runs in the family … like noses.”
At that she laughed as though she’d said something vastly amusing although a trifle vulgar. It was a high-pitched laugh in complete contrast to her normal voice.
She didn’t need much encouragement to go on talking about herself. With her eyes flitting over Quinn’s face as if looking for a place to settle, she said, “Mine was a crazy family. I’ve never forgiven my parents for calling me Ariadne. You can just imagine what I went through at school.”
With her head tilted back and her eyes almost closed, she asked, “You know who Ariadne was … don’t you?”
Again she wanted him to say no. Quinn said, “I learned very little Greek mythology, but if I remember correctly she was a goddess, daughter of Minos, the King of Crete.”
“My, my!” Her eyes flicked open and fixed themselves on his with the hypnotic stare of a cat. “How about that? You are clever, aren’t you?”
She looked at Carole and Ford as though displaying some new acquisition. Then she went on rapidly, “Don’t confuse me with the lady of the same name. There’s no royal blood in my family. Father was one George Wilkinson, tea importer of Mincing Lane. Quite a small way of business …”
With no change of tone, she went running on, “Hope I’m not being a nuisance. Merely walked across to borrow something that Adele promised me. Judging by all the signs and portents I’m going to get a soaking on my way home.”
“If it rains I’ll run you back,” Carole said.
“Well, how about that? Aren’t you sweet?” She glanced from Quinn to Ford and back to Quinn. “I do know the nicest people. Where are they, anyway? Michael and Adele, I mean.”
Neil Ford had remained aloof from the one-sided conversation. Now he interposed, “She missed the bus from Salisbury. Michael’s waiting for the one that gets in at ten to nine.”
“Oh, really? I’ve never known that happen before. Where has she been?”
“Wood Lake.”
“How strange … If she caught her usual train she’d be in plenty of time for the bus.”
Carole said, “It’s quite possible she missed the train. All we know is that she didn’t arrive at the eight-ten.”
“Then you’d think she’d have phoned, wouldn’t you? Unless …” Miss Wilkinson’s deep voice dwindled away to nothing.
Ford asked, “Unless what?”
With another high-pitched laugh, Ariadne said, “Don’t be short with me, my dear man.”
“I wasn’t being short with you. But, if you know of any reason why Adele wasn’t on her usual bus, for heaven’s sake don’t make a mystery out of it.”
“Reason?” Miss Wilkinson tilted back her head and looked at him through half-shut eyes. “How would I know? I wasn’t even aware that she’d gone to Wood Lake.”
“Now you’re being evasive.”
“Don’t be absurd! It could be any one of a dozen reasons. Perhaps she and Michael squabbled. Perhaps she thinks it might be a good idea to let him do without her for a change.”
Neil Ford said testily, “That’s ridiculous.”
“Very probably. I wouldn’t profess to know what a woman does when she quarrels with her husband. I’ve never been married.”
“How do you know they quarrelled?”
“Who’s being ridiculous now? Don’t all married people quarrel? It’s called the War of the Sexes. Making a man and a woman live together in the same house day after day is like putting a lion and a tiger in the same cage.”
Quinn was watching Carole and he saw a shadow settle on her face. At the back of his mind he remembered a parcel of freshly-laundered shirts and underwear and pyjamas in the cottage near Basingstoke.
Carole said, “It’s a good job we know you too well to take you seriously. Think I’d better switch the light on. It’s getting quite dark. Wish the rain would come.” She sounded restless and on edge.
Through the windows facing south, lightning glowed on the horizon. It lit up Ariadne’s plump face and Quinn saw that she was smiling. There was a cruel look in her eyes as she watched Carole walk to the switch by the door.
Upstairs he could hear Irene Ford moving around, her heels tapping across a stretch of bare parquet floor. Then there came a muffled thump — thump — thump — thump as she walked over a carpet. She turned on a tap, turned it off again almost immediately. Water made a gurgling noise in a waste pipe.
Something clattered in the wash basin. The tap ran again briefly. All the little sounds were very distinct and he knew she must have left the bathroom door open.
Then Carole switched on the light. She said, “That’s better. I always get a tingling feeling when there’s electricity in the air. I can remember as a child having to get out of the bed during a thunderstorm because the mattress seemed to prickle.”
In a deep mocking voice, Ariadne said, “Shows how different two people can be. I like it when there’s lightning about. Makes me feel vital and alive all over. I get a thrill out of the noise of a storm, especially when it crashes right overhead. Do you think it’s because” — she gave Quinn another sleepy look — “because I’m the seventh child of a seventh child?”
Quinn said, “Could be. Perhaps your parents knew what they were doing when they called you Ariadne.”
She laughed her high-pitched laugh with both hands thrown up. Then she said, “How about that? I’ve often thought I was born three hundred years too late. I should’ve been a witch …”
She went on talking with a brittle air, glancing at each of them in turn to see their response to her forced wit. Quinn told himself she was determined to be funny if it killed them. After a while he shut his mind to her chatter and listened only just enough to know when to make the right noises.
Neil Ford said hardly anything. Carole spoke no more often than was absolutely necessary. Several times she looked at her watch and then glanced through the window at the elm trees towering against the overcast sky.
As time passed, Neil Ford became increasingly restless. He moved about, picked up an ornament and put it down again, and seemed unable to remain still.
Ariadne Wilkinson must have noticed it but she made no comment. She was too busy giving Quinn facetious pen-pictures of the people of Castle Lammering.
Eventually Ford went over to the bar and poured himself a drink. When he put it down again after barely tasting it, Carole asked, “Aren’t you hungry?”
“No. We had afternoon tea rather late and I’m not in the mood for eating right now. I’ll have a bite when Irene comes down.”
In a disgruntled tone, he added, “That’ll probably be in time for breakfast. She takes longer to wash her face and comb her hair and put on a spot of make-up than any woman I know.”
Miss Wilkinson said, “Oh, I’d forgotten about your wife. Of course, she’s here, isn’t she? I can’t imagine what made me think you’d come on your own. Anyhow —”
She stopped and held up one finger, her mouth pursed, her eyes flitting birdlike from face to face. In a peculiarly hushed voice, she said, “Isn’t that a car? Seems I was wrong, doesn’t it? Adele must’ve been on the later bus, after all. That’ll be Michael bringing his little wifie home to the bosom of her family.”
Quinn saw the elms silhouetted by the lights of a car as it climbed the road from the village. He told himself it could hardly be Michael Parry returning from Blandford.
… Unless the bus got in early … and he drove like hell all the way back. His wife must be mad to travel with him at all. If he’s ever stopped by the police and given a test for alcohol the breathalyser will change through all the colours in the rainbow and go off with a bang …
Ariadne Wilkinson said, “If that’s Adele I hope she knows what I came for because I’ve completely forgotten … although I don’t see how it can be her. The bus doesn’t get to Blandford before eight-fifty and it’s just turned five minutes to nine now. I know Michael drives like a maniac but this is ridiculous.”
The car swung round in front of the house and pulled up smoothly outside the door. It wasn’t Michael Parry’s Rover 2000.
Through the tall window Quinn saw a man get out, look up at the sky, and then hurry into the porch. As the bell chimed, the first heavy drops of rain streaked the window. Before it rang again trees and car and pebbled drive were almost blotted out by a cloudburst that came down in solid sheets.
Ariadne Wilkinson said, “How about that? I knew Michael couldn’t have got back so soon. That’s Dr. Bossard’s car. Is somebody ill … or is this a social call?”
Carole said crisply, “I’m glad there’s something you don’t know. I was beginning to think —”
“Better keep it till later. Poor Dr. Bossard will be half-drowned if you don’t let him in.”
She flicked a glance at Quinn and he caught the same look in her eyes that he’d seen once before when she was watching Carole. She said, “Isn’t this rain delicious? Listen to it … just listen to it. If I were at home right now I’d be tempted to take off all my clothes and walk through the garden, quite naked, and let myself be washed clean and wholesome and innocent like a child — like we all were in the beginning. Don’t you ever feel that way?”
He wanted to tell her if he did he’d have himself certified. While he was thinking of something more politic to say, Carole opened the door and let Dr. Bossard in.
“… Good evening, Doctor. You got here just in time. Shocking, isn’t it?”
Bossard said, “Yes. But the farmers will be pleased … if they’re ever pleased at anything. A good soaking will do their root crops all the good in the world …”
He was a slim-built man with good features and a well-shaped head. Quinn got the impression he was the ex-army type — clipped moustache, keen eyes, hair greying slightly at the temples.
He looked superior and yet approachable — the kind of man who would be part of the atmosphere of the bar in any four-star hotel. His eyes crinkled in a smile when he shook hands with Quinn and he gave Neil Ford a pleasant nod.
“… Nice to see you again. How’s Mrs. Ford?”
Ariadne Wilkinson said, “Don’t answer that or you’ll get a bill at the end of the month.”
Bossard gave Quinn a wry look and said, “One of the drawbacks of my job, Mr. Quinn, is that people make me the target of the same old jokes, year in and year out. What do you do for a living?”
“I’m with the Morning Post”
“Oh, that’s quite a novelty. We’ve had all sorts and conditions of men visiting Castle Lammering from time to time but I think you’re the first newspaper man I’ve met here. Wouldn’t you” — he smiled at Carole — “wouldn’t you agree?”
Before she could answer, Miss Wilkinson said, “Well, how about that? A real live journalist. You and Michael Parry should have quite a lot to talk about.”
There was no mistaking the sting in her voice as she added, “He’s a writer, too, you know. Can’t tell you what sort of stuff he writes because I’ve never read any of it, but it certainly keeps him busy. I’m sure one of these days he’ll startle all of us.”
The downpour had slackened. Quinn could still hear the intermittent rumble of thunder but now it came from a long way off. The storm was moving north.
He said, “Mr. Parry’s vocation and mine are poles apart. I’ve never deluded myself that I could write a book. Of course, I don’t suppose he could do my job, either.”
Ariadne Wilkinson gave another high-pitched laugh. She said, “The former may be put down to modesty, but I’m sure there’s no doubt about the latter.”
The she turned to Bossard and asked, “Is this a personal or professional visit, Doctor?”
“Oh, personal … at least, I hope so. Mrs. Parry invited me to come round this evening.”
“But she’s not here. I popped in, too, because I wanted to see her but she’s not back yet.”
“I didn’t know she’d been away,” Bossard said.
“Oh, yes. She should’ve been on the eight-ten bus at Blandford but it seems —”
The phone bell rang. Like a man standing apart from the others in his own web of reality, Quinn looked from Carole to Ford to Miss Wilkinson to Dr. Bossard and asked himself how he came to be there.
It had been a mistake — a very big mistake. These were not his people, this was not the kind of place where he could be himself. He still thought Carole was cute but even Carole had a fence round her now …
The bell went on ringing. Neil Ford said, “I’ll take it. Might be from Adele to say she’s —”
He picked up the receiver. Dr. Bossard walked quietly across to Carole Stewart and began talking to her in an undertone. Miss Wilkinson watched them, her hazel eyes bright and predatory. More than ever, Quinn felt he didn’t belong. He was on the outside looking in.
Neil Ford said, “Hallo … no, not yet. We haven’t heard anything since you rang before … yes, it is. Most peculiar. Have you spoken to the bus people? They might —”
He stood pulling at his ear while he listened, his womanish mouth drawn down in fretful lines. Then he said, “I don’t know what to suggest … yes, naturally you’re getting worried. Best thing you can do is to come back here. Won’t serve any purpose to stick around in Blandford in the rain … m-m-m … m-m-m … quite possibly, but damned inconsiderate of her, all the same. If you like I’ll phone Wood Lake and ask them —”
The look on his face changed. He said stiffly, “Oh, all right, if you prefer to do it yourself. I just thought it would save time … no, why should anything be wrong? We’ll find there’s a perfectly innocent explanation for the whole thing. Maybe she asked somebody to ring you and the person forgot … O.K. See you soon.”
He hung up and looked at Carole and spread out his hands aimlessly. He said, “Adele wasn’t on the eight-fifty bus, either. Michael’s getting himself into quite a lather. He’s imagining all sorts of things.”
Ford turned to Bossard and asked, “Did you get the impression, Doctor, when Mrs. Parry invited you here this evening, that she expected to be home late?”
Dr. Bossard said, “No. As I was saying a minute ago I didn’t know she intended to go away.”
Carole said nothing. Her eyes followed Bossard as he walked over to a settee and sat down and clasped his hands behind his head.
Ariadne Wilkinson moved closer to Quinn and murmured, “Perhaps there’s a story here for you: Rich and Beautiful Woman Disappears. How about that?”
“You’ve got the wrong idea of the way newspapers work,” Quinn said. “People aren’t presumed to have disappeared just because they return home a little later than expected. Could even be that her husband got the time or the date wrong. Such things have been known.”
“Especially with Michael Parry,” Miss Wilkinson said.
In the same deep whisper, she added, “Was he the worse for wear when you got here?”
She made Quinn feel like a fellow-conspirator and he resented the feeling. He had no wish to become involved in the scandal-mongering of a woman with a poisonous tongue.
He said, “I saw nothing wrong with Mr. Parry. He was very pleasant, very hospitable. We spent only a few minutes together but in that time he made me thoroughly at home. I like him.”
The look in her eyes reminded him of that moment when she’d stooped to kiss him. Now it didn’t mean very much … if anything at all. He had no hope of competing with, for instance, someone like Dr. Bossard.
… Good-looking fellow. Grooming, education, the grand manner: he had everything …
Men like Bossard never failed to give Quinn a sense of inferiority. It had been like that all his life. Journalism gave him professional status but it was one of the fringe professions — not like Bossard.
… He was trying to make conversation with Carole while Ford was on the telephone but she didn’t seem very responsive. Wonder how long they’ve known each other? Seems a nice fellow … the balanced type that doesn’t suffer from inhibitions. Not like Parry or Neil Ford or this waspish wench Ariadne. When she told me she should’ve been a witch I nearly asked her if she spelled it with a B …
Part of his mind heard Bossard say that maybe in the circumstances he should leave. When Mrs. Parry got back she wouldn’t want to be bothered with stray visitors when she had weekend guests.
“… Perhaps somebody would give me a ring to-morrow and let me know if everything ended up O.K.”
Although he didn’t look at anyone in particular he was talking to Carole. Quinn knew that with certainty. She was Bossard’s real reason for calling at Elm Lodge.
… Yet she doesn’t seem to fancy him. Wonder why? I’d have thought he was more than eligible … unless he’s married, of course. Not, when I come to think of it, that she’d let that stand in her way. She as good as admitted she’d been living with a man at her cottage …
It was a pity she’d told him. He never liked to know that sort of thing about a woman. Somehow it spoiled the image he always created in his own mind.
… What image? She’s a slim dark little girl with a cute smile and grave dark eyes that look at you innocently. Says she’s a TV producer. Says the cottage near Basingstoke belongs to her. How d’you know what she is or what she owns? She might be a high-class tart or a low-class liar …
Carole could be playing the eligible Dr. Bossard on a long line. The hard-to-get technique often did the trick.
… He’s sweet on her all right. Get a helluva shock if I told him everything I’m wearing except my shoes and the suit I’ve got on belongs to the man she was sleeping with until he walked out without bothering to take his laundry …
Bossard had hesitated as though waiting for someone to ask him to stay. But Neil Ford merely nodded and Carole stared down at her hands.
So the doctor stood up and smiled at Miss Wilkinson and asked, “Can I give you a lift?”
With a look of surprise, she said, “Oh, that’s very kind of you … but Miss Stewart has already offered to run me home and I wouldn’t want —”
“Don’t worry about that,” Carole said. “So long as it won’t be taking Dr. Bossard out of his way …”
Bossard said, “Not at all. Besides it wouldn’t matter if it did on a night like this.”
There was no concealing the disappointment in Miss Wilkinson’s eyes. She said, “How about that?”
From under her stubby eyelashes she gave Quinn a sardonic look. “See what happens when you’re past your youth and unwanted? Not that I don’t appreciate dear Dr. Bossard’s offer. I think it’s uncommonly handsome of him to —”
Somewhere on the floor above a woman screamed — a wild and frantic scream that shocked Miss Wilkinson into silence. With her mouth pointed like a narrow funnel she stood motionless, her hands clasped tightly together.
For a long moment the others didn’t move. Then Neil Ford said huskily, “What the devil’s happened?”
Upstairs there were running footsteps that skittered on a bare stretch of floor. Quinn saw Irene Ford at the top of the staircase. Her eyes were wild and she was gasping for breath.
In a broken voice, she said, “My God … oh my God! It’s Adele. She’s in the nursery. Please do something … please …”
Dr. Bossard rushed towards the stairs. As he ran, he called out, “It’s all right, Mrs. Ford, it’s all right. Stay there.”
She didn’t seem to hear him. Before he reached the foot of the staircase she began to sway, her eyes as lifeless as the eyes of a wax dummy. Then her knees gave way and she collapsed on the floor close to the edge of the top step.