Nothing in that, perhaps? Not in itself, no. But he, Denis Cornford, knew what was in the letter. And that, for the simplest of all reasons, since Mackenzie had shown him the same scented purple sheets in the SCR the previous week; and Cornford could recall pretty accurately, though naturally not verbatim, the passage he'd been invited to consider. Clearly the letter had been, thus far, the highlight of Mackenzie's term:
Remember what you scribbled on my menu that night? Your handwriting was a bit wobbly(!) and I couldn't quite make out just that one word: 'I'd love to take you out and make a f- of you'. I think it was
'fuss' and it certainly begins with an 'F. Could be naughty; could be perfectly innocent. Please enlighten me!
Surely it was ridiculous to worry about such a thing. But there was something else. The two of them had been giggling together like a pair of adolescents, and looking at each other, and she had put a hand on his arm. And it was almost as if they had established a curious kind of intimacy from which he, Denis Comford, was temporarily excluded.
Could be naughty.
Could be perfectly innocent...
'Would you still love me if I'd got a spot on my nose?'
'Depends how big it was, my love.'
'But you still want my body, don't you," she whispered, 'in spite of my varicose veins?'
Metaphorically, as he lay beside her, Sir Clixby sidestepped her full-frontal assault as she turned herself towards him.
"You're a very desirable woman, and what's more you know it!' He moved his hands down her naked shoulders and fondled the curves of her bosom.
'I hope I can still do something for you,' she whispered. 'After all, you've promised to do something for me, haven't you?'
Perhaps Sir Clixby should have been a diplomat:
'Do you know something? I thought the Bishop was never going to finish tonight, didn't you? I shall have to
have a word with the Chaplain., God knows where he found him?'
She moved even closer to the Master. 'Come on! We haven't got all night. Julian's train gets in at ten past ten.'
Two of the College dons stood speaking together on the cobblestones outside Lonsdale as the clock on Saint Mary the Virgin struck ten o'clock; and a sole undergraduate passing through the main gate thought he heard a brief snatch of their conversation:
'Having a woman like her in the Lodge? The idea's undiinkable!'
But who the woman was, the passer-by was not to know.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Monday, 26 February
How shall I give thee up, O Ephraim? How shall I cast thee off, O Israel?
(Hoj^ch.II.v.8)
AT 8.45 A.M. THERE were just the two of them, Morse and Lewis, exchanging somewhat random thoughts about the case, when the young blonde girl (whom Strange had already noticed) came in with the morning post. She was a very recent addition to the typing pool, strongly recommended by the prestigious Marlborough College in the High, her secretarial skills corroborated by considerable evidence, including a Pitman Shorthand Certificate for 120 wpm.
"Your mail, sir. I'm ...' (she looked frightened) 'I'm terribly sorry about the one on top. I just didn't notice.'
But Morse had already taken the letter from its white envelope, the latter marked, in the top left-hand corner, 'Strictly Private and Personal'.
Hullo Morse
Tried you on the blower at Christmas but they said you were otherwise engaged probably in the boozer.
I'm getting spliced. No, don't worry! I'm not asking you for anything this time!! He's nice and he's got a decent job and he says he loves me and he's okay in bed so what the hell. I don't really love him and you bloody well know why that is, don't you, you miserable stupid sod. Because I fell in love with you and I'm just as stupid as you are. St Anthony told me to tell you something but I'm not going to. I want to put my arms round you and hug you tight. God help me! Why didn't you look for me a bit harder Morse? Ellie
No address.
Of course, there was no address.
'Did you read this?" Morse spoke in level tones, looking up at his secretary with unblinking eyes.
'Only till... you know, I realized ...'
"You shouldn't have opened it.'
'No, sir,' she whispered.
"You can type all right?'
She nodded.
'And you can take shorthand?'
She nodded, despairingly.
'But you can't read?'
'As I said, sir...' The tears were starting.
'I heard what you said. Now just you listen to what I'm saying. This sort of thing will never happen again!'
'I promise, sir, it'll-'
'Listen!' Morse's eyes suddenly widened with an almost manic gleam, his nostrils flaring with suppressed fury as he repeated hi a slow, soft voice: 'It won't happen
again - not if you want to work for me any longer. Is that clear? Never. Now get out,' he hissed, 'and leave me, before I get angry with you.'
After she had left, Lewis too felt almost afraid to speak.
'What was all that about?' he asked finally.
'Don't you start poking your bloody nose-' But the sentence went no further. Instead, Morse picked up the letter and passed it over, his saddened eyes focused on the wainscoting.
After reading the letter, Lewis said nothing.
'I don't have much luck widi the ladies, do I?'
'She's still obviously wearing the pendant.'
'I hope so,' said Morse; who might have said rather more, but there was a knock on the door, and DC Learoyd was invited into the sanctum.
Morse handed over the newspaper cuttings concerning Lord Hardiman, together with the photograph, and explained Learoyd's assignment:
'Your job's to find out all you can. It doesn't look all that promising, I know. Hardly blackmail stuff these days, is it? But Owens thinks it is. And that's the point. We're not really interested in how many times he's been knocking on the doors of the knocking-shops. It's finding the nature of his connection with Owens.'
Learoyd nodded his understanding, albeit a little unhappily.
'Off you go, then.'
But Learoyd delayed. 'Whereabouts do you think would be a good place to start, sir?'
Morse's eyeballs turned ceilingward.
'What about looking up His Lordship in Debrett's Peerage, mm? It might just tell you where he lives, don't you think?'
'But where can I find a copy?'
'What about that big building in the centre of Oxford - in Bonn Square. You've heard of it? It's called the Central Library.'
Item 2 in the manila file, as Lewis had discovered earlier that morning, was OBE (Overtaken By Events, in Morse's shorthand). The Cheltenham firm of solicitors had been disbanded in 1992, its clientele dispersed, to all intents and purposes now permanendy incommunicado.
Item 3 was to be entrusted into the huge hands of DC Elton, who now made his entrance; and almost immediately his exit, since he passed no observations, and asked no questions, as he looked down at the paunchy paedo-philiac from St Albans.
'Leave it to me, sir.'
'And while you're at it, see how the land lies here.' Morse handed over the documentation on Item 4 - the accounts-sheets from the surgical appliances company in Croydon.
'Good man, that,' commented Lewis, as the door closed behind die massive frame of DC Elton.
'Give me Learoyd every time!' confided Morse. 'At least he's got the intelligence to ask a few half-witted questions.'
'I don't quite follow you.'
'Wouldn't you need a bit of advice if you called in at some place selling surgical appliances? With Elton's great beer-gut they'll probably think he's called in for a temporary truss.'
Lewis didn't argue.
He knew better.
Also OBE, as Lewis had already discovered, was Item 5. The address Owens had written on the letter was - had been - that of a home for the mentally handicapped in Wimbledon. A Social Services inspection had uncovered gross and negligent malpractices; and the establishment had been closed down two years previously, its management and nursing staff redeployed or declared redundant. Yet no prosecutions had ensued.