'Whatever are you doing?' Lady Helen asked, dipping happily into Deborah's grapefruit.
Dread was hitting her as she saw that nothing had been stored beneath the bed or hurriedly shoved there to get it out of the way. Deborah got to her feet. Her face felt cold.
Lady Helen's smile faded. 'What is it? What's wrong?'
In a last and utterly useless search, Deborah returned to the wardrobe and tossed the extra pillows and blankets to the floor. 'My cameras,' she said. 'Helen, my cameras. They're gone.'
'Cameras?' Lady Helen asked blankly. 'Gone? What do you mean?'
'Gone. Just what I said. Gone. They were in their case.
You've seen it. I brought it with me this weekend. It's gone.'
'But they can't be gone. They've just been misplaced. No doubt someone thought-'
'They're gone,' Deborah said. 'They were in a metal case. Cameras, lenses, filters. Everything.'
Lady Helen replaced the bowl of grapefruit on Deborah's tray. She looked round the room. 'Are you certain?'
'Of course I'm certain! Don't be so-' Deborah stopped herself and with an effort at calm said, 'They were in a case by the dressing table. Look. It's not there.'
'Let me ask Caroline,' Lady Helen said. 'Or Hodge. They may have already taken them down to the car. Or perhaps Tommy came in earlier and got them. Surely that's it. Because I can't think that anyone would actually…' Her voice refused to say the word steal. Nonetheless, the fact that it was foremost on Lady Helen's mind was obvious in the very omission.
'I haven't left the room since last night. I've only been in the bath. If Tommy came for the cameras, why wouldn't he have told me?'
'Let me ask,' Lady Helen said again. She left the room to do so.
Deborah sank on to the stool in front of the dressing table, staring at the floor. The pattern of flowers and leaves in the carpet blurred before her as she considered the loss. Three cameras, six lenses, dozens of filters, all purchased from the proceeds of her first successful show in America, state-of-the-art equipment that served as the hallmark of who she had managed to become at the end of three years on her own. A professional without ties, duties or obligations. A woman committed to the future.
Every decision she had made during those years in America had taken its legitimacy from the ultimate possession of that equipment. She could look back on every conclusion she had reached, the convictions she had developed, the deeds she had done, and feel neither guilt nor regret because she had emerged with a profession at which she was a bona fide success. That part of life -which might have been his to hold and love and nurture -had been mourned in secret made no difference. That she had filled her time with distractions to avoid acknowledging the worst of her loss – indeed, that she had revaluated all losses and defined each one as inconsequential – had no impact upon her. Everything was made acceptable and right and completely justifiable because she'd attained her goal. She was a success, possessing all the requisite signs and symbols of that achievement.
Lady Helen came back into the room. 'I spoke to both Caroline and Hodge,' she said. Regret made the statement hesitant. She had no need to say more. 'Deborah, listen. Tommy will-'
'I don't want Tommy to replace the cameras!' Deborah cried fiercely.
A quick flash of surprise passed across Lady Helen's face. It vanished in an instant, leaving in its place an expression of perfectly impartial repose.
'I was going to say that Tommy will want to know at once. I'll fetch him.'
She was gone only a few moments, returning with both Lynley and St James. The former went to Deborah. The latter remained by the door.
'Damn and blast,' Lynley muttered. 'What next?' He put his arm round Deborah's shoulders and hugged her to him briefly before he kneeled next to the stool and gazed into her face.
His own, she could see, was lined by fatigue. He looked as if he hadn't slept at all the previous night. She knew how worried he must be about John Penellin, and she felt a twinge of shame that she should be causing him additional distress.
'Deb, darling,' he said, 'I'm sorry.'
So he knew that the cameras had been stolen. Unlike Lady Helen, he didn't even offer the excuse that the equipment had somehow been misplaced.
'When did you last see them, Deborah?' St James asked.
Lynley touched her hair, smoothed it back from her face. Deborah could smell the clean, fresh scent of his skin. He hadn't smoked yet, and she liked the smell of him when he hadn't had his first cigarette. If she could concentrate on Tommy, everything else would go away.
'Did you see them last night when you went to bed?' St James persisted.
'They were here yesterday morning. I remember that because I replaced the camera I'd used at the play. Everything was here, right by the dressing table.'
'And you don't remember seeing them after that? You didn't use them during the day?'
'I didn't use them. I wasn't even in the room until it was time to dress for the party. I might have noticed them then. I ought to have. I was in here, after all. I was right by the dressing table. But I didn't notice them last night at all. Did you, Simon?'
Lynley got to his feet. His glance went from Deborah to St James in a curious look, perplexed but nothing more.
Tm sure they were here,' St James said. 'It was your old metal case, wasn't it?' When she nodded, he said, 'I saw it by the dressing table.'
'Saw it by the dressing table,' Lynley repeated the comment more to himself than to the others. He looked at the spot on the floor. He looked at St James. He looked at the bed.
'When, St James?' He asked the question easily, three simple words. But the fact of his saying them and the deliberation of their tone added a new dimension to the conversation.
Lady Helen said, 'Tommy, shouldn't we be off to the train?'
'When did you see the camera case, St James? Yesterday? The evening? Some time during the night? When? Were you alone? Or was Deborah-?'
'Tommy,' Lady Helen said.
'No. Let him answer.'
St James didn't reply. Deborah reached for Lynley's arm. She looked to Lady Helen in eloquent entreaty. 'Tommy,' Lady Helen said. 'This isn't-' 'I said let him answer.'
A moment passed, a small eternity before St James gave an emotionless recitation of the facts. 'Helen and I managed to get a picture of Mick Cambrey yesterday from his father, Tommy. I brought it to Deborah before dinner last night. I saw her camera case then.'
Lynley stared at him. A long breath left his body. 'Christ,' he said. Tm sorry. That was so bloody stupid. I can't think what made me say it.'
St James could have smiled. He could have brushed off the apology or laughed off the implied insult as an understandable error. He did nothing, said nothing. He looked only at Deborah, and even then it was a glance of a moment before he looked away.
As if seeking to relieve the situation, Lady Helen said, 'Were they terribly valuable, Deborah?'
'They're worth hundreds of pounds.' Deborah went to the window where the light would be behind her, leaving her face in shadow. She could feel the blood pounding in her chest, on her neck, on her cheeks. She wanted, absurdly, to do nothing more than cry.
'Then, someone must hope to sell them. But not in Cornwall, I dare say – at least, not locally where they could be tracked down. Perhaps in Bodmin or Exeter or even in London. And, if that's the case, they'd have been taken last night, during the party, I should guess. After
John Penellin was arrested, things did tend to fall apart, didn't they? People were coming and going from the drawing room all the rest of the evening.'