Torn with a dreadful pity he said: 'Perhaps I will one day, Mum. It's a bit early yet.'
'I don't see how it can be too early to meet your friends. It's as well you were with her if they're looking for alibis. What time did you get home, then?'
'About quarter to eleven.'
'Well, that's not so very late. You look tired. It must have been a shock for everyone at Larksoken, a girl you knew, Administrative Officer, too, so it said on the radio.'
Jonathan said: 'Yes, it has been a shock. I suppose that's why I don't feel very hungry. I'd like to wait a little bit before supper.'
'It's all ready, Jonathan. Lamb chops. They're half cooked already. I've only got to slip them under the grill. And the vegetables are cooked. It's only going to spoil.'
'All right. I won't be more than five minutes.'
He hung his jacket in the hall, then went into his own room and lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The thought of food nauseated him but he had said five minutes and if he lay there much longer she would be knocking at the door. She always knocked, but very gently, two distinct, discreet taps, like an assignation. What, he wondered, did she fear she might find him doing if she came in unannounced? He made himself sit up and swung his legs over the side of the bed but was immediately seized by nausea and a weakness which made him fear for a moment that he was actually going to faint. But he recognized it for what it was; a mixture of tiredness, fear and sheer misery.
And yet so far it hadn't been too bad. There had been three of them, Chief Inspector Rickards, a thickset serious-faced young man who had been introduced as Detective-Sergeant Oliphant and a younger man in the corner apparently taking notes whom no one had bothered to introduce. The small interviewing room attached to the medical physics department had been set aside for them, and they had been sitting side by side at a small table, both in plain clothes. The room, as always, smelt faintly of disinfectant. He had never understood why since no clinical procedures were carried out there. Two white coats still hung behind the door and someone had left a tray of test tubes on top of the filing cabinet, adding to the air of inadvertence and amateurism. It had all been very low-key, very matter-of-fact. He felt that he was being processed, one of the dozens who had known her or claimed to have known her and who had passed through this or a similar door to answer the same questions. Almost he expected them to ask him to roll up his sleeve and to feel the prick of a needle. He knew that the probing, if there were to be probing, would come later. But he had been surprised at his own initial lack of fear. He had somehow assumed that the police were endowed with an almost supernatural power to sniff out lying, that he would walk into that room bearing an all too visible load of guilt, prevarication and conspiracy to defeat the ends of justice.
At their request he gave his name and address. The sergeant wrote it down. Then he said almost wearily: 'If you could tell us, please, where you were yesterday between six and 10.30.'
He remembered thinking, Why six and 10.30? She had been found on the beach. She liked to swim most nights just after the nine o'clock news; everyone knew that, at least, everyone who knew her. And the news on Sunday was at 9.10. And then he remembered that they would know exactly when she had been found. There wouldn't have been time yet for the autopsy report. Perhaps they were still uncertain about the time of death or were playing it safe. Six to 10.30. But nine, or shortly after, was surely the relevant time. He was surprised that he could work it out so clearly.
He said: 'I was at home with my parents until after dinner, after the one o'clock meal I mean. Then I drove over to spend the evening with my girlfriend Miss Caroline Amphlett. I was with her until just after 10.30. She lives in a bungalow outside Holt. She's PA to the Director, Dr Mair.'
'We know where she lives, sir. And we know who she is. Did anyone see you arrive or leave?'
'I don't think so. The bungalow is very isolated and there weren't many cars on the road. I think someone in the flats may have seen me leave.'
'And you spent the evening doing what?'
The officer in the corner wasn't writing now, only looking, but he didn't seem curious, not even interested, just slightly bored.
'Caroline cooked supper and I helped. She had some home-made soup already made and heated that. We had mushroom omelettes, fruit, cheese, wine. After dinner we chatted. Then we went to bed and made love.'
'I don't think we need go into the more intimate parts of the evening, sir. How long have you and Miss Amphlett been friends?'
'About three months.'
'And when was this evening together planned?'
'A few days before. I can't remember exactly when.'
'And when did you get home, sir?'
'Just after 10.45.' He added, 'I've no witnesses to that, I'm afraid. My parents were away for the night visiting my married sister at Ipswich.'
'Did you know they would be away when you and Miss Amphlett planned your evening together?'
'Yes. They always visit my sister on the last Sunday of the month. But it wouldn't have made any difference. I mean, I'm twenty-eight. I live with them but I don't have to give them an account of my movements.'
The sergeant looked at him and said: 'Free, white and twenty-eight,' as if he were noting it down. He had blushed and thought, That was a mistake. Don't try to be clever, don't explain, just answer their questions.
The Chief Inspector said: 'Thank you, sir, that will be all for now.'
As he reached the door he heard Rickards's voice.
'She wasn't very nice to you, was she, Miss Robarts, about that local radio programme you took part in, My religion and my job? Did you hear it, Sergeant?'
The sergeant said stolidly: 'No, sir, I didn't hear it. Can't think how I came to miss it. Very fascinating, I'm sure.'
He turned and faced them. He said: 'She wasn't very kind about it. I'm a Christian. You don't expect it always to be easy.'
Rickards said: '"Blessed are ye when men revile and persecute you for the gospel's sake." A bit of persecution, was there? Oh well, things could be worse. At least you don't get thrown to the lions any more.'
The sergeant seemed to think that it was very funny.
He wondered, for the first time, how they could have known about Hilary's mild persecution of him over the programme. For some reason his brief, rather pathetic notoriety, his affirmation of faith, had outraged her. Someone at the station must have mentioned it to the police. After all, they had interviewed plenty of people before they got round to him.
But surely it was over now. He had given the police his alibi, his and hers, and there was no reason why they should be questioned again. He must put the whole thing out of his mind. But he knew that this wouldn't be possible. And now, remembering Caroline's story, he was struck with its inconsistencies. Why had she chosen to park the car on an isolated part of the road, down a cart track under the trees? Why had she chosen to drive with Remus to the headland when there were plenty of walks nearer home? He could have understood it if she had wanted to let the dog run on the beach and splash into the sea, but according to her they hadn't gone down to the beach. And what proof was there that she hadn't reached the cliffs until ten o'clock, half an hour after Hilary Robarts was thought to have died?
Then there was that story about her mother. He found that he just didn't believe it, hadn't believed it when she had first told him, and he believed it even less now. But that, surely, was something he might be able to check. There were private detectives, firms in London who could carry out this kind of inquiry. The thought both appalled and excited him. The idea that he might actually get in touch with those kind of people, might pay them money to spy on her, astounded him by its audacity. It wasn't something she would expect him to do, that anyone would expect him to do: but why shouldn't he? He had enough money to pay. There was nothing shameful in the inquiry.