Narraway stopped eating for a moment and looked at Pitt closely, trying to read whether he was thinking the same as he was himself. There was no time to waste. The whole matter was escalating.
‘Do you believe Kynaston about the robbery?’ he asked, not taking his eyes from Pitt’s.
‘I have no idea,’ Pitt admitted. ‘It seems extremely fortuitous, and yet he does not seem to me to be lying. Somebody could have stolen it, and left it on the body — like the watch left on the first body. The question is why. Is this personal or professional?’
‘Any reason why it should be personal?’ Narraway asked the question without hope that Pitt would have found any such reason. They were both working towards the answer they did not want, perhaps even for the same cause.
It was Pitt’s job to find this truth, whatever it turned out to be. It was not Narraway’s; the Government had dismissed him. He owed no more loyalty towards them than the average citizen did. No — that was not true, not completely. Old loyalties could not be disregarded.
‘Carlisle.’ Narraway said what they were both thinking.
Pitt nodded. ‘It is he who is drawing attention to Kynaston in Parliament. What is the disappearance of Kynaston’s wife’s maid to Carlisle unless he has some deeper motive for raising the subject? Why would he do that?’
‘Have you spoken to him?’
The manservant came in silently with Pitt’s breakfast: eggs, bacon, fried bread, and fresh toast.
Pitt thanked him and began to eat with relish.
‘No,’ he answered after a few minutes. ‘I’ve been putting it off …’
‘You don’t want to know,’ Narraway said drily. ‘Neither do I, but I think you have to.’ He smiled very slightly. ‘I don’t …’
Pitt looked at him steadily. The amusement died out of Narraway’s eyes and he coloured very faintly, just a flush across the bones of his cheeks.
It told Pitt all he was seeking to know. Narraway loved Vespasia enough to blind himself deliberately so he could protect Carlisle, because he was her friend. Pitt felt a sudden wave of emotion, a happiness that surprised him. But he would say nothing of that now, even though he was aware of a strange aloneness where he had counted on an ally. And yet it also pleased him. It was something he had not thought Narraway to be capable of, and from the awareness of it now, neither had Narraway himself.
‘But I will have to do it soon,’ Pitt continued aloud. ‘I will be happy if he has some believable story to explain it.’
‘Very subtle,’ Narraway said sarcastically. ‘Really, Pitt, you could do better than that!’
Pitt raised his eyebrows. ‘Do I need to?’
‘No — no, you don’t. And I dare say I would have criticised you if you had. I would have seen it a mile off. Have some toast.’
Pitt accepted.
‘I think Kynaston is the key,’ he said after he swallowed the first bite. ‘He seems to be prepared to lie, even if it brings him into suspicion of having dumped this second body in the gravel pit.’
‘You had better be careful about it,’ Narraway warned. ‘Have all your reasons ready to explain why you’re digging into the very private life of a man whose skills at invention are extremely important to the country.’
‘If it’s really just an affair, why won’t he tell me and clear himself from suspicion of murder?’ Pitt argued. ‘I don’t approve of him being in bed with another man’s wife, but it isn’t my concern, unless he’s endangering the security of the country. I’m not going to expose it. Good heavens, I’ve spent all my adult life in the police! Does he imagine I haven’t seen every kind of affair you can think of, and a few you wouldn’t have?’
Narraway smiled. ‘I know. You can’t leave the job half done. I’m just warning you to be careful. Talbot already dislikes you …’
‘I hardly know him!’ Pitt protested.
Narraway shook his head very slightly. ‘You are naïve sometimes, Pitt. Talbot doesn’t need to know you to resent your rise to a position usually occupied by someone of considerable social standing, and frequently military or naval background as well. The fact that you’re the best man for the job is irrelevant to him.’
‘Why on earth-’ Pitt began.
‘Because he’s from the same sort of background, you fool!’ Narraway said with exasperation. ‘And he knows Society’s closed to him. You don’t care, and that gives you a kind of grace, God help me, that allows you to be accepted. Added to which — and believe me I understand it — you know too many people’s secrets for anyone to risk offending you.’
‘And you?’ Pitt asked.
‘Or me either,’ Narraway admitted. ‘And neither do I care.’ He stopped suddenly.
‘And I have never minded that I married above me,’ Pitt added wryly. ‘Or hardly ever …’
Narraway drew in his breath, then let it out again soundlessly.
‘It’s not an insult,’ Pitt said gently. ‘I don’t think there are any royal princes left for Vespasia to marry upwards, nor would she want to.’
‘I hope not,’ Narraway said with emotion. Then he changed the subject abruptly, a slight pinkness colouring his cheeks. ‘Be careful of Talbot. Carlisle will not be there the next time to risk his neck rescuing you. You owe him a debt on that — which I suppose you are acutely aware of?’
‘Yes … but …’ He had been going to say that it would have no effect upon his actions in confronting Carlisle over the bodies in the gravel pits; then he wondered if that were true. He had evaded it partly because disgracing him, possibly prosecuting him, would carry other dangers as well. But he had not forgotten his own debt to Carlisle either.
‘I suppose I shouldn’t have-’ he began.
‘Don’t be a fool, Pitt,’ Narraway snapped. ‘You can’t go through life without owing anybody. The real debts are hardly ever a matter of money: it’s friendship, trust, help when you desperately needed it, a hand out in the darkness to take yours, when you’re alone. You give it when you can, and don’t look for thanks, never mind payment. You grasp on to it when you’re drowning, and you never forget whose hand it was.’
Pitt said nothing.
‘Carlisle won’t call you on it,’ Narraway said with conviction. ‘You’ve turned a blind eye to his misdemeanours a few times.’
‘And he’s helped me more than once,’ Pitt answered. ‘Of course he won’t call me on it! But I’ll be aware of it myself.’
‘It’s more than that.’ Narraway reached for the teapot and refilled both of their cups. ‘It will be impossible to hide the fact that you’re digging into Kynaston’s private life. Are you certain you are prepared to deal with whatever you find? Ignorance is sometimes a kind of safety. And with the reactions of other people whose personal habits wouldn’t bear being made public, you could lose some valuable allies. That sort of knowledge will earn you more enemies than any value it is likely to be to you. You’ll find out enough you don’t want to know in this job, without adding any more gratuitously. It’s a balancing act: know, but pretend that you don’t. You need to be a better actor than you are, Pitt, and less of a moralist, at least on the surface. Your job is to know, not to judge.’
‘You make me sound like a provincial clergyman with more self-righteousness than compassion,’ Pitt said with disgust.
‘No,’ Narraway shook his head. ‘I’m just remembering how I used to be — at your age.’
Pitt laughed outright. ‘When you were my age, you were twenty years older than I am!’
‘In some things,’ Narraway agreed. ‘I’m twenty years behind you in others. It will be far better that I find out, and tell you just what you need, no more.’
Pitt did not argue. ‘Thank you,’ he said quietly.
The following day Pitt received a rather stiff request to meet his brother-in-law, Jack Radley. Since it was apparently about the Kynaston case, Pitt could hardly refuse. He saw Jack alone, if hardly privately, on the Embankment not far from the House of Commons. It was a fresh, windy day with the usual chill of early March. The air was cold off the river, salt-smelling, and too brisk for one to enjoy lingering so they walked along quite quickly together.