‘Sit down. Sit down.’ It sounded more like a command than a request. Banks sat. Sir Jeremy flopped into his leather swivel chair. ‘You saw it?’
‘I take it you mean the damage to Lady Chalmers’ car?’ he said.
‘Well, of course. What do you think? What do you make of it?’
‘She was lucky it was a barbed-wire fence she drove through,’ said Banks. ‘A drystone wall would have been a lot more serious, even if she hadn’t gone into the river.’
‘Yes, yes,’ said Sir Jeremy, ‘but I mean the other side. The driver’s side.’
‘What did Lady Chalmers say?’
‘She was still very groggy from the sedative when I spoke to her, but she said she doesn’t know how it happened. Perhaps someone ran into the car while it was parked somewhere.’
‘Have you seen the marks before?’
‘No, but I’ve been away, and I must admit I’ve been so busy it’s been a long time since I actually paid any attention to Ronnie’s car.’
‘Wouldn’t she have had the damage fixed rather than leave it for so long?’
‘Hmm,’ said Sir Jeremy. ‘I’m not so sure. Ronnie can be remarkably blasé about material things. She’s been known to procrastinate. If it were left to Ronnie, it would probably sit in the drive for a week or two first. Usually I organise things like that, or Oriana might if I’m away.’
‘The damage seems fresh to me.’
‘Me, too. That’s just it. Now she’s drawn in on herself. Put the shutters up. She says she just wants to be left alone for a while, that she’s fine and needs a bit of peace and a little space to regroup. Fair enough. But I’m worried, Banks.’
‘What do you think happened?’
‘I think it’s more than likely that someone deliberately ran her into that fence, no doubt with the thought that she would land in the river and drown.’
‘You think it was attempted murder?’
‘Well, what does it look like to you, man?’
‘Who could have done that?’
‘No idea. Someone must have followed her, seized the opportunity.’
‘Why?’
‘How should I know? That’s your job. But if you ask me, it was probably something to do with whoever killed this Gavin Miller.’
‘What did the Derbyshire police say?’
‘Nothing.’
‘Have they started an investigation?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t think so. According to Oriana, the officers who brought Ronnie home just wanted to make sure she was all right. They were very polite. They didn’t ask any questions. I think she had already told them what happened.’
‘And she hadn’t mentioned any other car being involved?’
‘Apparently not. Is that what it is, though? What I thought when I saw the damage? What I just told you?’
‘There could be other explanations,’ said Banks. ‘We shouldn’t jump to conclusions.’
‘What other explanation?’
‘You said yourself that it might be older damage she hadn’t got around to getting repaired.’ But even as he spoke, Banks doubted this explanation. He had visited Brierley House a few times, and had on at least one occasion admired the old red MG parked there. He didn’t remember seeing any damage at all; the car had always seemed superbly well cared for, in the way you often find with antique motors. ‘Or it could have been an accident,’ he went on.
‘But Ronnie didn’t mention another car. That’s just it. She said she went off the road, and the damage on the driver’s side is old. Is she lying to me?’
Banks wasn’t going to tell him that he suspected Lady Chalmers had been doing a lot of lying lately. ‘The weather conditions were dreadful,’ he said. ‘Perhaps Lady Chalmers didn’t even notice that another car glanced into her side?’
‘Oh, come on. You’re grasping at straws.’
‘So you’re convinced that someone gave her a nudge towards that river?’
‘What else could it be? The scratches, the way she seemed so frightened, so shocked.’
‘That could all have been due to the accident,’ Banks said. ‘But I take your point seriously. Any idea who might have done such a thing?’
‘None at all.’
‘Do you mind if we take the car in for a forensic examination? That should tell us a great deal about how the damage occurred, and it might even give us a way of identifying the other car involved if there was one.’
‘Be my guest.’
‘And there’s one more thing.’
‘Yes?’
‘Do I have your permission to talk to Lady Chalmers again? Alone.’
It was a fine late afternoon, the rain staying at bay for the second day in a row, with even a little weak sunshine breaking through the cloud cover, and temperatures in the mid-teens. Warm enough, at any rate, to go without an overcoat. It had taken Gerry a good part of the day to fill in the gaps Banks needed filling in before paying his next visit to Lady Chalmers, but thanks to her determination and resourcefulness, he thought he had what he needed now.
Lady Chalmers was sitting in the garden, a dark blue knitted shawl wrapped around her shoulders, her flaxen hair resting on it straight and damp, as if fresh from the shower. From that angle, Banks could even see a little grey in it. When he came up beside her to take the other wicker chair, she turned and looked up at him. He saw some of the beauty that Joe Jarvis must have seen in her forty years ago: the eyes, the porcelain complexion. Then she smiled sadly at him, and he saw the beauty of that, too. He also saw the bruise on her left temple and the cut and swollen lower lip, but those were the only visible results of her accident.
‘I thought you’d come,’ she said. It wasn’t an accusation or a complaint, just a weary statement of fact.
Banks sat down. ‘Will you tell me what happened?’
Lady Chalmers gazed at the view below, the cobbled market square, the castle on its hill, the formal gardens leading down to the river, the old church in the foreground, the constant background noise of the terraced falls. The shadows, where there were any, were lengthening as the winter sun was setting fast. ‘I’d like to tell you,’ she said. ‘It’s tearing me apart. I feel if I don’t tell someone soon, I’ll... I don’t know what. But it’s so hard. You see, I’ve never told anyone. Not Jem, not Francesca, not Sam or Angelina, not Oriana. Not anyone.’
‘Not even Joe Jarvis?’
She looked at Banks, just a hint of surprise in her expression. ‘Not even Joe. You’ve talked to him?’
‘Yes.’
‘I should have known you’d find out about him. How is he?’
‘Not so good.’ Banks stopped short of going into detail. ‘He’s very ill, in fact.’
It was as if a cloud passed over her face. ‘I’m sorry to hear that. I haven’t seen or heard from him in over forty years, but I’m still sorry to hear that.’ She put her hand over her heart. ‘Do you understand that?’
‘I think so.’
‘I love my family, Mr Banks. I’d do anything to protect them. I think you know that, too.’
‘That’s not always possible, but if it’s me you’re worried about, you needn’t be. All I want is the person who killed Gavin Miller. I’m not in the business of spilling family secrets.’