‘So the bastard’s dead,’ said Conal, when the young women had gone, taking the laptop with them. ‘I can’t pretend I’m unhappy about that. After everything he did to screw things up for me …’
Francis said nothing. He stayed sitting at the kitchen table while Conal got on with making his breakfast. Then: ‘You really felt as if he’d stolen Priya from you?’ he asked.
‘He knew perfectly well I was her boyfriend. I introduced them, for Christ’s sake! This time last year, here at the feckin’ festival. The next thing I knew she was working for him.’
‘Whose idea was that?’
‘Priya wrote to him, got herself an interview, and then, lo and behold, he took her on as his PA. He probably couldn’t believe his luck.’
‘And then you went away?’
‘For three months. It was hardly a lifetime.’
‘To Africa?’
‘Somalia, yes. To research my current book. I didn’t imagine for one moment that when I got back the old walrus would have enticed her into his bed.’
‘It does take two to tango.’
‘I appreciate that. But he was on her case non-stop, by all accounts. Taking her out to the smartest places, introducing her to his big name chums. She’s an amazing woman, Priya, but she’s as susceptible to flattery as any other bloody female.’
‘So what happened last night?’ asked Francis.
Conal didn’t reply. He forked his rashers out of the pan, one by one, switched off the gas, and took a long swig of his coffee. ‘What’s it to you?’ he said eventually.
‘I had a long chat with Priya this morning and I wanted to hear your side of the story,’ Francis replied. This was stretching it a bit, but he had enough understanding of heartbreak to know that it might do the trick.
‘What did she say?’ Conal asked, after a few moments.
‘I’m not sure it would be fair to repeat it.’
‘She thought I was being ridiculous, I suppose, a jealous twat?’
‘I really don’t think I ought …’
‘Fine, I respect your discretion.’ He sighed. ‘I’d been drinking tequila shots on top of sparkling wine, never a good idea. When Priya arrived at the party with Bryce I ignored her. But then I saw her standing all on her own at the end of the terrace. She looked lovelier even than I’d remembered, all shining-eyed in this long red dress, like some sort of Hindu goddess. I was drunk enough by then to think that if I told her I loved her she would admit it had all been a horrible mistake with Bryce and fall back into my arms. So when she started putting up objections, I lost it. Then I realised I was making so much noise that everyone was watching. So I ran off, across the lawn and into the fields. I kept going until I got to the river, then I climbed a tree and sat high up in the branches. I was crying like a baby. It was a full moon, the river was lit up silvery white and the shadows in the trees were as black as ink. I was just wishing that we could have been there together. Sharing the beauty. Like we did last year.’ Conal smiled ruefully across at Francis. ‘Pathetic, eh? But that’s how I felt.’
‘Nothing pathetic about true feeling,’ said Francis, quietly. ‘Not in my book, anyway.’
‘Once I’d sobered up a little and got over my anger,’ Conal went on, ‘I realised there was no point crying over spilt milk. If Bryce really was what Priya wanted, good luck to her. She was heartless when she binned me, and I’d told myself she needed to be like that, to make things clear to me. But I don’t think that now. I saw a dark side of her last night.’
‘You can hardly blame her for defending herself. By all accounts you did come at her out of the blue.’
‘Maybe I did. But where was the humanity? Where were the womanly tears?’
‘Do you remember shouting at her about how you were going to “kill Bryce”, just before you walked off?’
‘No. What did I say?’
‘Exactly that, apparently. That you were going to kill him – you didn’t specify how.’
‘And now he’s dead. Oh dear.’ Conal laughed. ‘No one’s going to take that seriously though, when I was off my face.’
‘There were plenty of witnesses.’
‘It was an explosion of justifiable feeling, m’lud. I thought I was over her. That was part of the reason why I came up to Mold. I knew she was going to be here. With him. I thought I could handle it. I was all set to have a meaningless fling with one of the other literary lovelies that my friend Ranjit invites to this place. Instead, as soon as I set eyes on her, I was finished. What was she doing with this old turd who’s over twenty years her senior? For whom she’s just a trophy.’
‘You don’t know that. Presumably he loved her too.’
‘Do your research. The man was a serial philanderer. When he met Priya he had a wife and a girlfriend. She was just the latest notch on his bedpost. Something Asian for a change. What was it going to be next year? Jamaican? Oirish?’
Francis laughed. ‘So what were you offering that was any more than that?’
Conal didn’t reply. He took the last corner of his bacon sandwich and wiped it into the remains of the dollop of mustard he’d put on his plate. He slid it into his mouth and chewed it slowly, washing it down with a long gulp of coffee.
‘I was going to marry her,’ he said eventually. ‘If you must know. It was something I thought about a lot while I was away and I’d made my mind up. Seeing all that chaos and horror out in Somalia made me realise I wanted to build something for myself here. She really loved me, you know. Before I went. Before he put his decrepit snout in the trough …’
‘How long were you with her?’
‘Five, six months. We got it together in July last year. I went off to Africa in January.’
Francis let the silence surround them. Outside the bay window, footsteps crunched across the gravel. A car door slammed, an engine started, the noise dwindled away down the drive. Perhaps Grace had got her lift into Mold.
‘Did you ever get to meet any of her family?’ Francis asked.
‘No. Her dad’s dead and her mum’s up in Derby or somewhere and Priya doesn’t see her much. They don’t really get on.’
‘So you never met her?’
‘No. It’s no big deal. She hardly ever goes up there.’
‘And what about you? Did you ever invite her home?’
‘Home home, you mean? No, we hadn’t got to that stage. My folks are back in County Wicklow, heavy duty Catholics. If I’d taken her there they’d have assumed we were heading up the aisle.’
‘Would they have had a problem with that?’
‘Are they typical Irish racists, d’you mean? No, they take great pride in their charitable Christian open-mindedness. If anything they’d have gone over the top the other way. Cooked her a curry to make her feel welcome, that sort of thing.’ Conal chuckled.
‘How long did you stay up in your tree?’ Francis asked, after a few moments.
‘No idea. An hour maybe. I lost track of time.’
‘And then what?’
‘I came down.’
‘And …?’
‘I headed over the fields to the house. I sneaked in the back way and went up to my room. I knew I’d made an arse of myself and I didn’t want to discuss it with anyone. I crashed out for awhile, then I was woken by a high-pitched scream in a room right below me. It was some Aussie girl who thought she was being attacked by one of the other lunatics in this house party. She’d already left by the time I got down there. The rest of them were wasted, sitting around on benches on the terrace watching the dawn.’
‘Who was there?’
‘Four or five of them. My friend Ranjit, who organises this whole thing; his girlfriend Carly; then Eva, who’s this American poet; Fleur, who you just met … I was mainly talking to Fleur.’
It was a pretty feeble alibi, Francis thought, as he drove back into Mold. Yet Conal had been seen heading down towards the river and then again on the terrace in the dawn. It didn’t make a lot of sense that he’d somehow got into Mold, done away with Bryce and got back in time for the end of the party – especially if he’d been drunk. Having said that, it was perfectly possible. There were several hours around the critical time when there was only Conal’s word for it that he’d crashed out; and of course he could have been acting drunk.