SIXTY-TWO
The door of Tynedale Lodge was opened by the pretty maid Sarah, whose eyes widened even more when she saw him standing there. His image reflected in her eyes; he could almost see himself shaping up as a hero, which only made him feel more of an idiot. What had he done, after all, for the Tynedales?
“Hello, Sarah. This isn’t an official visit; I came to see how Gemma’s doing. Is she about?”
Sarah’s hand fell away from her hair. “Oh, why, yessir. I mean, I expect she is. I expect she’s out in the garden.”
“Thanks. I’ll just have a look.”
He made his way through the dining room to the study and the French doors that opened off Ian Tynedale’s study. Outside to the left of the patio was a long colonnade, a walk flanked by white pillars. He saw her, as he had seen her before, on the same walk across the garden in which a marble figure stood in a marble pool, pouring water from a marble jug. The path she was on ran parallel to his. A line of tall cypresses bordered it. As they both walked, he felt as he had the first time, that they were somehow woven together. There was a poignant sense of belonging: everything that was there—man, child, statue, pillars, trees—was rightly there.
When they came to the end of their paths and she still didn’t see him, he called, “Gemma!”
She didn’t so much turn as swerve toward him, as a car might do, hoping to ward off a collision. She stood transfixed, as if she were the marble figure in the fountain.
“Gemma—” He walked toward her and then knelt down and kissed her cheek.
She held her doll in one hand and put her other hand on the spot. “You got shot.”
“I did.”
“You didn’t die.”
“No. Didn’t anyone tell you?”
She shook her head.
“Did you think I had?”
Very slowly, still holding her hand against her face, she nodded.
“Come on, let’s sit down.”
Seated with her (the doll Richard between them), Jury thought it was hard to believe no one had told her he was all right. Was it because she hadn’t asked? For Gemma wouldn’t, one of those children who felt so dangerously deeply they could only survive by pretending indifference.
She was feigning it now, adjusting the doll’s bonnet as if that, not Jury’s life or death, was the issue.
He said, “What happened to Richard’s black clothes? I thought he looked quite smart in that coat and hat.”
“He’s being punished!” Her voice went up a decibel, nervously loud.
“He is? But what did he do?”
“He kicked you and yelled at you. Don’t you remember?”
“Yes.”
It was Gemma herself who had used Richard as a club to give Jury several whacks because he’d left her in danger.
“Well, if he hadn’t done that, you probably wouldn’t’ve got shot.”
Jury looked at her solemn, remorseful face, which now gave tremulous signs of dissolving into tears, as if a pebble had been tossed into a pool. No little girl, he thought, should have to exert so much effort in trying not to cry. But from Gemma’s point of view, strong emotion can kill. She had displayed it once—she had cried and yelled—and look at the result: Jury had nearly died.
Jury thought for a moment, then picked up the doll and sighed deeply. “Poor Richard,” he said. “No one understood, did they?”
Her face free of incipient tears, now completely forestalled by this surprising new development, Gemma put her hand on Jury’s arm. “Understood what?”
“Well, Richard helped save me, didn’t he?”
“What? He wasn’t even there.” Remorse was fast giving way to testiness.
“Not the night I was, no. But he’d been there before, when he and Sparky saved you.”
This wasn’t going down a treat. “I did most of the work!”
“I know, but, see, Sparky went back the second time—”
“Christmas night.”
“—because he had found you and Richard there once, he knew it was a place that needed watching. Richard understood that.”
Her frown was deep: a dog and a doll. Jury could almost hear the words chasing around in her mind. Were a dog and a doll enough to keep a person from getting shot? If it was not so, if she had really saved herself, then why hadn’t she saved Jury?
Nope: go with the dog and the doll. “Well, I guess he could have helped even if he wasn’t there. He could’ve been sending messages to Sparky, too. It’s not like us.”
Isn’t it? Jury smiled.
Gemma said to the doll Richard, “I’m sorry. I should’ve understood.” Then she yanked the bonnet down over the doll’s eyes, not altogether pleased with Jury’s solution, as it put her at least a little in the wrong. But in another instant, her face cleared completely.
Jury asked, “Are you going to put his black clothes back on him?”
“Yes.” She sighed. “He gets so bossy when he’s wearing them, though.” Rearranging the bonnet so the doll could see again, she hesitated. “Your name is Richard, too,” wanting to clear this up about the two Richards. “You’re not bossy at all. I wish he was more like you.” She flicked a glance Jury’s way to see if he liked hearing this.
“Thank you. I try not to be. But if I had a set of new black clothes to wear, I might be pretty bossy.”
“No, you wouldn’t. I’ll bet you don’t even boss around the criminals you catch. Probably, you didn’t even boss them.”
He knew who she meant by “them” and tried to track emotion across her face, but it was free of fear, yet not so much she would name their names. “I don’t remember if I did or not. Probably not. I was too upset by what happened to you and Benny.”
“Benny? Nothing happened to Benny!” Not about to share the limelight with Benny, she got annoyed and stood the doll on his head. “Anyway, I’m sorry you got upset over me.”
She said this in the most self-satisfied tone that Jury had ever heard, her mouth crimped like an old lady’s, as she righted Richard and adjusted his gown.
A voice called her: “Gemma!”
Gemma slid off the seat and grabbed Richard. “It’s time for me to read to Mr. Tynedale. You can come.”
“I’d like to, but I’ve got to be getting back.”
“To the Yard?”
“Yes, the Yard.”
“I’m glad you came,” she said before she scooted off.
And then she turned and ran back. She put her hand on the cheek Jury had kissed, removed it and placed it against Jury’s own cheek. It was, he guessed, about as close as she dared come to a kiss. “Bye!”
He stood up and watched her run and skip, skip and run, her black hair gleaming in the frosty winter light. Then he watched the space now empty of her.
Because she almost made me wish she’d disappear, so I could find her.
She was gone. In a moment, so was he.