Ona had told him, “It was obvious to me that Jane and Mr. Harris were concerned about keeping their activities secret from Marjorie. There was always consternation about having me in the house, and I had a constant feeling of being spied upon.”
“By them?” Sutherland asked her.
“Yes, and by the new butler, Marshall. Be that as it may, it was the relationship between Jane and Jason Harris that was of most interest to me. They were lovers.”
“How did you know they were lovers?” Sutherland asked her.
“Because I observed them. Once, when Marjorie was out of the house, I saw them embracing in the garden. It was dusk, and they probably thought their actions were covered by darkness, but there was quite a bit more light than they realized.”
“A serious embrace?” Sutherland asked.
She replied curtly, “I know the difference, Inspector Sutherland, between a friendly hug and kiss on the cheek, and a passionate embrace.”
“I must assume you do,” Sutherland said. “Was that the only time you observed them displaying affection?”
“No. I saw them holding hands once. Jane was transcribing my sister’s dictation, and Jason sat next to her. They touched hands a number of times, and they had an expression on their faces that was unmistakably carnal.”
Sutherland waited for her to say more. When she didn’t, he said, “Let’s assume your observations are correct and that there was some level of romantic interest between them. What significance does that have?”
“I am convinced that Jason Harris murdered my sister in order to benefit, in some tangible way, from his involvement with Gin and Daggers.”
One of Bubbs’s waiters interrupted us and asked if we wished to order. Sutherland removed his glasses and said, “Time for a break, I think.” We perused the short menu, and I decided on poached turbot in a sauce into which strips of vegetables were woven. Sutherland opted for partridge. We agreed to share a salad garnished with venison as a first course.
“Can’t shake my Scottish love of game,” he said.
“One of my friends from Maine had hare with a chocolate and raspberry sauce the other night at La Tante Claire,” I said.
“That might be a bit much for this Scotsman,” Sutherland said with a gentle laugh. “It’s the chocolate that would do me in.”
We talked of things other than his meeting with Ona Ainsworth-Zara until after we’d consumed our salad. I asked what else had been discussed.
“I told her that since Harris is dead, I would hardly consider him to have benefited from anything. Her response was that his death might have been nothing more than an unfortunate coincidence that robbed him of the opportunity to gain whatever benefit he was seeking.”
I frowned; I didn’t buy that, and judging from the expression on Sutherland’s face, he didn’t, either. “She told you she’d seen them in the garden when Marjorie was out of the house. I wasn’t aware she ever left, at least not in recent months. She needed a wheelchair. Where did she go? Was this an isolated instance of her leaving the manor, perhaps to see a doctor?”
Sutherland said, “I asked the same question. Mrs. Ainsworth-Zara told me that her sister left Ainsworth Manor more than people realized. Evidently her chauffeur, Wilfred, took her out on a regular basis.”
“How regular?” I asked.
“Once every two weeks, she told me.”
“Had she ever asked Wilfred where he took Marjorie on these regular outings?”
“As a matter of fact, I did ask that, Jessica. We think very much alike, it seems. She said she’d tried to talk to him once, but failed to learn anything. As she told me, this Wilfred is much the archetypal chauffeur, deathly loyal to his employer. She told me, ‘It would take a severe form of Oriental torture to make him even admit he’d taken her anywhere.’ ”
Our main courses were served. As we enjoyed them, Sutherland leaned across the table and said in a whisper, “Those people at the table in the corner obviously know who you are, Jessica. They’ve been looking in your direction and commenting all evening.”
“How unfortunate,” I said, bringing a smile to his face.
When those dishes had been cleared, Sutherland said to me, “Well, Jessica, what do you make of all this?”
I’d forgotten for the moment about his meeting with Ona Ainsworth-Zara. Instead, I’d been grappling with how much to tell this handsome Scotland Yard inspector whom I found so attractive, yet was compelled to be on my guard with. Did he know about Jimmy Biggers, about the manuscript Biggers had delivered to me that afternoon, about Maria Giacona, David Simpson, the whole Jason Harris connection? I decided that if he did, he would have to be the one to bring them up.
I forced myself to return my attention to his question. “What do I make of it?” I repeated. “I don’t know. I was thinking of how angry Tony Zara was when he left the reading of Marjorie’s will.”
“Are you suggesting he might have murdered his wife’s sister?”
“No, but his suddenly leaving the country must raise some question with you.”
“That occurred to me, of course. Here we go again, Jessica, thinking alike. I raised that with Mrs. Ainsworth-Zara, and she did not offer the expected defense of her husband. Quite the opposite, I would say. She actually seemed pleased that I was thinking along those lines. She told me that her husband was awfu’ upset because Marjorie often made a fuss over him, enjoyed calling him her… what did she say?- her ‘little Mediterranean darling’… her ‘Italian duckie’… something like that. He assumed he would be included in her estate, according to his wife, and was furious when he wasn’t.”
“Awfu’?” I said.
“Did I say that? You can take the Scot out of Scotland, but you can’t take the language out of him. Awfu’. It loosely means very… very upset… awfu’ upset.”
“This meal is awfu’ good,” I said.
“Not quite the proper usage, I’m afraid,” he said pleasantly. “Getting back to my meeting this morning, I asked whether she was angry at being left out of her sister’s estate. She said that she wasn’t even surprised because, according to her, her sister had never forgiven her for marrying an Italian. He’s a count?”
“He bills himself as such,” I said.
“Dessert?” he asked, eyeing a dessert menu that had been placed in front of us.
“No, not for me, thank you,” I said. “This has been lovely, and I’m very pleased to see you again, but I can’t help but question the purpose of it. Clearly, you’ve gained nothing of substance from me.”
“Well, Jessica, perhaps now is the time for you to provide such substance.”
He stared at me. I shrugged. “Please explain.”
“You’ve been doing as much investigation as I have, according to my sources. You’ve engaged the services of the inquiry agent Mr. Biggers, have made contact with Jason Harris’s stepbrother, are the only person who had a look at Harris’s body other than his stepbrother, and, in general, seem to have been devoting considerable time to this effort, at least according to Mr. Darling.”
“According to Lucas?”
“I was chatting with him about his panel discussion tomorrow, and happened to ask how much participation you’ve given the convention. He said you’ve barely taken part.”
“Which means I’ve decided to enjoy London. I’ve done some wonderful walking and sightseeing.”
“Undoubtedly you have, Jessica, but I also have the feeling… no, to be more accurate, I have had information given me to support my feelings that you’ve possibly been learning things that would be of interest, and of use to me and the Yard in this investigation. Would you share what you’ve learned with me now?”