There was no being certain how serious she was, or how flippant. Her lips were curved slightly in a mild, private smile. But she did not elaborate anything or withdraw anything, then. She took Charlotte companionably by the arm, and they turned back together towards the car park, and the Morris, and home. Not until they were drawing near to Moulden did she suddenly reopen, more gently and more directly, the subject of herself.
‘You’re wondering about Stephen and me,’ she said; a statement, not a question, and with nothing defiant or defensive about it. ‘Impossible not to wonder, isn’t it?’ And that was a question, and required an answer.
‘Quite impossible,’ said Charlotte, ‘since you ask me.’ It was difficult to feel any tension or embarrassment while Lesley felt none. ‘I do it regularly, about all the interesting people I meet.’
‘Good! So do I. But I know we’re a rather special case. For one thing, you have to realise that even three years ago Stephen was rather a different person—to look at, I mean, and to be with, and all that. Growing and ageing don’t work in a smooth, regular sort of way. A stunted little boy suddenly starts to shoot up like a weed, a plain adolescent turns into a beauty overnight, and well-preserved middle-aged men who reach sixty still looking forty-five suddenly make up the deficit and more than overtake their age, all in a few months. For no good reason that I can see. And for another thing, he began to take an interest in me just when I was on the rebound from a very unhappy love affair—the kind of let-down that alters not just your life but even your nature. He was kind, and attentive, and soothing. And I’d gone off passion. I married for safety, and comfort, and consideration. Not to be alone, and not to be vulnerable any more. Maybe a little for reputation, too,’ she said, with a serene air of examining her own motives in the light of a new discovery, and finding them credible, reasonably creditable, and slightly amusing. ‘My own family was pretty undistinguished, and Stephen had at any rate a respectable reputation in his own field—though I probably over-valued it at the time. So I married him. I think it was just as big a gamble for him, perhaps bigger.’
They had reached the rising curve in the road, where the plantation of young trees came into view, fringing Aurae Phiala with delicate pales of green.
‘Insecure young girls,’ said Lesley seriously, ‘are often happiest with much older men. They feel safe.’ And suddenly she laughed, a gay peal, refreshed by a whole day of escape from her selected cage. ‘Doesn’t always work out that way, though. Yes, you really must make the acquaintance of your great-uncle. Now there’s a handsome old dog! He knows it, too! He must have put in some agile footwork at times, to get this far through his life still single, and yet have all the fun he’s had.’
‘I’ve been hearing about his reputation as a lady-killer,’ Charlotte admitted. ‘Everyone tells the same tale about him, so it must be true.’
‘I speak,’ said Lesley feelingly, ‘as one of the many at whom he made charming and—relatively—harmless passes.’
‘I thought you might!’
‘But unfortunately—I suppose it isn’t surprising in the circumstances—Stephen is almost pathologically jealous of me, so it wasn’t much fun. It was pretty innocuous play, but I had to discourage it. Absurd, but even so it could have been dangerous.’
‘I suppose,’ said Charlotte casually, ‘you haven’t heard from him since he left for Turkey? He went straight from here to the airport, I was told.’
‘That’s right, he did. No, I haven’t had any word. He knew it wouldn’t be a good idea, you know. Neither has Stephen, I’m sure. But in the ordinary way we shouldn’t expect to, of course, he isn’t a writing man. Only books! And they’ve been friends long enough to take each other for granted, turn up when they feel like it, and shut up when they’re busy. They always get on well, except that they never can agree about Aurae Phiala. After all,’ she said simply, ‘it’s all Stephen has, and he’s never going to excavate it, not really, nobody’s ever going to put up the money. But he lives on the hope, and that’s enough.’
The Morris rolled briskly through the carriage gates, and down the gravelled drive towards the house.
‘And you’ve never had any regrets?’ Charlotte asked.
‘Me?’ said Lesley, opening her wide eyes even wider in amused surprise. ‘I never regret anything.’
CHAPTER SEVEN
« ^ »
George slept until six o’clock, and was then awakened by the telephone. Sergeant Noble had a comprehensive report to make, the day’s summary of his own activities and those of several others.
‘Got a preliminary estimate for you from Goodwin, but he’s not through yet, he’ll be on the line again later this evening.’ The pathologist attached to Comerbourne General Hospital enjoyed Home Office recognition in this region, and he was an old friend, and amenable. ‘It confirms what Braby suggested, but we’ll have to wait until he’s finished the post-mortem. Yes, the father showed up to identify. Very composed, considering. Shall I read it out?’
He did so. Doctor Braby, hard-worked GP and police surgeon to the district, had done more than confirm the fact of death on this occasion, he had called immediate attention to certain peculiarities about the body, and boldly essayed a guess at the length of time it had actually been in the water. A very suggestive guess, too, but there was no acting on it until Dr Reece Goodwin had made a more detailed examination and confirmed or corrected Braby’s estimate. Noble’s matter-of-fact voice made short work of the interim report.
‘And this shed of Benyon’s. We’ve about mapped it, took us most of the day. He was there, all right. We got a set of his prints from the body. The letters on the glass are drawn, of course, but you were right about the dot. Right forefinger tip—a beauty. But besides that, we’ve collected half a dozen more, various but his, from all round the place. And as good as a complete set off the vice—the metal had the thinnest possible film of oil. He was there, and there for some time, poking into everything. No damage, no mischief, just having a look. Like you and Benyon put it—passing the time.’
‘So, alone,’ said George.
‘That’s how it looks. Nearly all the other prints we lifted are Benyon’s, naturally. One or two of someone else, probably Paviour himself, but of course we haven’t got him on file, and these are where you’d expect ’em, on the door, where you might well finger it if you just looked in to have a word with the incumbent, so to speak.’
‘So young Boden spent some time alone in there, alive and active. What about getting in there, considering where he was last noticed?’
‘Easy! The box hedge is solid as a wall as far as the corner, but just round there it ends, and that short side is privet, and there’s a place in it where an old wicket’s been taken out, and the gap hasn’t grown in completely yet. Not much doubt he slipped in there and went to earth in the shed, for some purpose of his own. Otherwise someone would have seen him again.’
‘And waited. For what, I wonder? I can’t think he had any date to meet somebody there. He came with the party, and halfway through the visit he was still showing off for his fans and being mildly provocative towards all authority. He wasn’t doing any showing off when he slipped quietly away into Orrie’s shed. Something happened, something came into his mind, while he was there at Aurae Phiala, that prompted him to disappear and let the party leave without him.’
‘He may not have expected them to do that,’ objected Noble reasonably. ‘They never had before. Maybe he just wanted to make ’em hunt and fret a bit.’
‘Look, Orrie’s shed isn’t any special joy, and this was a boy who liked his comfort, and company, and adulation. He might sit it out ten minutes just to annoy, but not the time it took him to fidget all round the place as he seems to have done. He’d have to have a much more compelling reason than that. It looks to me more as if he wanted them to push off and abandon him. For his own reasons. And that means a reason right there on the spot, otherwise, once out of sight, he’d simply have made off for wherever it was he wanted to be. But he didn’t. Where he wanted to be was right there, but unobserved. He camped out and waited. For what?’