Without a word Colville lumbered out of the room.
Beatrice Ardleigh looked at Antonia with wild eyes. ‘Do you think she might have heard? Was I shouting? I was shouting, wasn’t I? Oh my God.’
‘I don’t think you were that loud,’ Antonia tried to reas-sure her.
‘I was shouting, Antonia. She must have heard every word I said. She knows now that I lied to her.’
The next moment Colvillle re-entered the room. He stood by the door and leant against the wall. His ruddy face was visibly paler. His eyes had a dazed look. He appeared to have had a shock of some kind.
‘Darling, what is it?’ Beatrice cried. ‘Was it Ingrid?’
He swallowed. Then he gave an awkward laugh and passed his hand across his face. ‘It must have been, but it looked nothing like her.’ Aware how absurd this sounded, he shook his head.
‘What the hell do you mean, Colville?’ Major Payne asked.
There was a pause. ‘If I didn’t know that at this very moment Bee was here in this very room,’ Colville said hoarsely, ‘I’d have said it was… her.’
‘You thought it was me? What – what are you talking about?’ Suddenly Beatrice looked terrified.
‘It was your doppelganger, Bee. Your double. I saw your double going up the stairs.’ He swallowed. ‘She even smelled like you. She smelled of Ce Soir Je T’Aime.’
9
Partners in Crime
Father Lillie-Lysander had ‘gone off’ at five in the after-noon. It was over two hours later that he came to. He found he was lying across his bed, spread-eagled, still wearing his sumptuous dressing gown. He had no recollection of going into his bedroom, but he must have done. It was dark now. He had missed the twilight – he liked the twilight. An atmosphere of tenebrous deliquescence. That was how Baron Corvo would have put it.
Twilight. He remained lying with his eyes open. He had a special feeling for twilight. He got a thrill out of it. Well, he seemed to be one of those men who – how did it go? – rebelled against the light and knew not the way thereof, nor abided in the paths thereof.
Suddenly he laughed. He had remembered a joke Robin had made concerning the long black cassock favoured by Jesuits, about one of its rather peculiar features – the sleeve-like strip of material attached to each shoulder – the so-called wings. These curious appendages, Robin had said, are a vestigial legacy of the days when the Holy Fathers had four arms and could distribute the Body of Christ in two directions at once.
Lillie-Lysander wondered idly what his bishop’s reaction might be if he went to him and made a full confession – about the way he felt, the thoughts he had, the things he did. Would the old fool call for an exorcism? For public defrocking? The bishop would probably have him flogged if he could! He might even be inspired to write a sermon on the subject.
Be vigilant, my brethren (Lillie-Lysander improvised). These cunning, crafty and artful creatures manage to pass them-selves off as men of God, but they are only wolves in sheep’s clothing. They preach not the Gospel of Truth but their own diabolical philosophies and counsels. They make the black night their morning and ally themselves with the terrors of the pit. Yes, they feel secure only when surrounded by deep shades of darkness -
Father Lillie-Lysander rose gingerly from the bed. He felt only the tiniest bit woozy – a trifle swimmy. He had read somewhere that drugs killed brain cells. Surely that was an exaggeration? He was proud of his brain; he wouldn’t want to harm it. He should be fine in a couple of minutes. After he had had a cup of coffee and some break-fast – he was feeling ravenous – or did he mean dinner? It was morning, wasn’t it?
He knew he needed to do something rather urgently. He needed to speak to somebody – no, not to the bishop. To Robin? Yes. He needed to speak to Robin. Poor Robin. Lillie-Lysander put on his slippers and walked across the room. How funny. He felt light inside, yet it was like wading through treacle.
Lillie-Lysander dialled Robin’s number and as soon as he heard Robin’s voice, said, ‘I am afraid I have some bad news. I don’t think you will like it.’ His tongue felt thick – but he didn’t think he was lisping.
‘I will most certainly not like it if it’s bad news.’
‘Your uncle has sent for his solicitor, Robin.’
‘Don’t tell me he intends to change his will,’ Robin said quietly.
‘Well – yes.’ Lillie-Lysander was a bit annoyed that Robin had guessed the nature of the problem so quickly, but then Robin must be thinking of little else. ‘That is his intention. You are no longer his heir.’ Lillie-Lysander kept shutting his eyes and shading them against the electric light with his hand. He felt extremely thirsty.
‘I expected something of the sort,’ Robin sounded almost casual. ‘Who or what will be getting the Hartz millions?’
‘You will never guess.’
‘Don’t tell me it’s you, Lily. That might mean I’d have to marry you.’
‘No such luck, I fear. I will get my rewards in heaven.’ Lillie-Lysander giggled.
‘Not Wilkes? I’d definitely marry Wilkes.’
‘Not Nurse Wilkes either. I said you’d never guess. Well, he has decided to leave all his money to Beatrice Ardleigh.’ Lillie-Lysander paused, expecting an interruption, but there wasn’t any. ‘Your uncle’s solicitor is coming tomorrow morning.’
‘Who the fuck is Beatrice Ardleigh?’
‘A woman your uncle nearly married thirty years ago. They were in an accident and she lost the power of her legs. She’s been calling on him -’
‘Good lord. That woman. I have heard the story of course. Bee Ardleigh, is how Uncle Ralph refers to her.’ course. Bee Ardleigh, ‘That’s correct.’
‘You don’t mean she’s been perambulating herself to Ospreys in her wheelchair? Are you sure she is not a mere chimera? Perhaps she only exists in my uncle’s imagination. I bet my uncle is delusional. That frequently happens to those about to depart.’ Robin continued to sound extremely composed. Lillie-Lysander would have preferred him to sigh, groan, even utter some unprintable oath.
‘She is real enough, Robin. I did meet her. She seems to have made a complete recovery. She is in fine shape. Her legs are perfectly steady. The only oddity about her, if you’d call it that, was that she wears a wig.’
‘You couldn’t have misunderstood about the will? Uncle Ralph is less than lucid these days; you said so yourself.’
‘He was extremely lucid. He talked about his decision at some length. He still feels guilty about Beatrice Ardleigh and is determined to do something by way of compensating her for the torment and misery he has caused her. His solicitor is coming tomorrow at eleven.’
‘I think we should meet. I am coming over.’
‘Actually, Robin, I am not feeling very well at the moment. I have a bit of a headache. Can’t we meet tomorrow morning?’
‘Make some coffee. One of your superior brews. I’ll be with you in about forty-five minutes.’
Lillie-Lysander lived at Athlone Place in Charterhouse Square while Robin had a tiny flat in Knightsbridge.
Lillie-Lysander started saying something but realized that Robin had rung off. He shook his head and smiled, a slightly twisted smile. I am coming over. Robin hadn’t asked whether it would be convenient. He had shown scant regard for Lillie-Lysander’s headache. Well, Robin always saw things exclusively from his own point of view. It was remarkable how Robin always managed to get his way. Lillie-Lysander’s resentment was mixed with admiration. He had intended to go back to bed and read from Don Tarquinio, a book which he knew by heart and whose author, the enigmatic Baron Corvo, was one of his heroes, but he went to the kitchen instead.
‘Bearing armorials on their tabards, displayed at the prow the double-cross and the high Estense gonfalon,’ Lillie-Lysander quoted aloud, articulating as carefully as he could while at the same time speaking fast and making it sound like a tongue-twister. He wanted to prove to himself that he wasn’t really lisping. Robin had a sharp ear and was bound to tease him about it.