It was late, and Banks was about to suggest calling a taxi, considering how much they had drunk, when Zelda suddenly said, ‘Can I stay here tonight, Alan? I don’t want to go back to the empty cottage alone. I know it’s silly, but I just want to know that there’s someone nearby. Can I stay? I can sleep on the sofa. I promise I won’t be any trouble.’
Banks swallowed. Here he was, sitting across from one of the most beautiful women he had ever met in his life, and she was asking if she could stay the night. ‘Of course you can,’ he said. ‘But you don’t have to sleep on the sofa. The spare room’s made up.’
‘Are you sure? I feel like I’ve pressured you.’
Banks smiled. ‘It’s yours whenever you need it.’
She stood up and bent to put her arms around him. ‘Thank you,’ she said, kissing his cheek. ‘God bless you, Alan Banks.’ Then she spoke a few words in Russian he didn’t understand and stood up again.
‘Do you want to go up right now?’ Banks said.
Zelda nodded. ‘If it is not too rude. I’m tired. It’s been a very long week.’
‘OK.’
Banks got up and led the way back down the hall to the staircase. ‘I don’t think I’ve got a spare toothbrush,’ he said. ‘But you can check in the bathroom. There might be one in the cupboard.’
‘No problem,’ said Zelda.
Banks opened the door to the spare bedroom, where Tracy or Brian slept when they visited. It was small, with only a single bed, but there was a nice view of the woods, and on a warm night like this, Zelda could open the window a few inches and enjoy some fresh air and hear the dawn chorus in the morning.
‘It’s perfect,’ said Zelda. ‘Thank you.’
‘I’ll be just next door. You know, if you need...’ Banks backed away, turned and went back downstairs, embarrassed. He heard the bathroom door open and close as he went.
Once back in the conservatory, he found his heart was beating so fast he wasn’t sure whether he should have another glass of wine. But he poured himself one anyway. He changed the Blues Dialogues for Véronique Gens singing Chausson’s ‘Poème de l’amour et de la mer’ and turned the volume down so as not to disturb Zelda. He heard the toilet flush, water running in the sink, then the bathroom door creaked open and closed again. Every sound seemed magnified by her presence, the strange and unsettling presence of a beautiful woman in the cottage. Finally, he heard the door to the spare room shut, and then only silence from upstairs. He would give her a while to settle down and fall asleep before he went up to his own room.
As he sat and listened to Véronique Gens’s warm and sensual vocals, his heart slowed down, but the rest of his body didn’t. Desire tingled in every vein and muscle. If only that kiss on the cheek had missed and hit his lips... It didn’t bear thinking about, but how could he not think about it? Our thoughts are not crimes; our desires are not felonies. But why do they feel as if they are? It is only in acting upon them that the fault lies, he told himself, no matter what William Blake said about sooner murdering a baby in its cradle than nursing an unacted desire.
But he still felt guilty for hoping, for that one brief moment when Zelda asked to stay, that she had meant she wanted to stay and sleep with him. The guilt wasn’t so much because of Ray, but more because of Zelda’s past, the way she had been constantly mistreated, used and abused by men. Was he no better than them? If some pimp came up to him right now and said he could sleep with her for a hundred or two hundred pounds, would he pay it? Zelda was younger than his own daughter Tracy, yet still he lusted after her. Just how good was he when it came right down to it? He felt both relieved and disappointed that it wasn’t him she wanted, merely the proximity of another human being. Relieved because he wouldn’t have to deal with the consequences of sleeping with Zelda, and disappointed because, well, because it was Zelda, and the damn thing was that he didn’t only lust after her, he liked her.
Banks drank the last of the wine and tried to comfort himself with the thought that his virtue was most unlikely to be put to the test: there wasn’t a hope in hell that things with Zelda would go any further. His feelings would remain unrequited. They would remain friends because that was what she needed most, even though what he needed most was not so much another friend as a lover. It was small comfort, but it was the best he would get for the moment.
Chapter 12
When Banks came downstairs on Monday morning, Zelda was already up, sitting in the conservatory with a cup of coffee, reading the Guardian. She looked up and smiled when Banks walked in. ‘Good morning. I hope I didn’t wake you.’
‘Not at all,’ said Banks.
‘I made coffee. But what do you eat for breakfast? I couldn’t find anything.’
‘Ah,’ said Banks. ‘Right. I’m not much of a breakfast person, really. A cup of coffee, then hit the road, that’s me.’
‘But breakfast is the most important meal of the day.’
‘So they say. Whoever they are. I’ve never quite been able to believe it, myself. I think there’s some bread left, though. And I’ve got marmalade.’
Zelda made a face. ‘The bread is mouldy.’
‘Oh, sorry. Well, I’ll happily take you out for breakfast. They do a pretty decent full English down on Helmthorpe High Street.’
‘The coronary special?’
‘Some people call it that.’
Zelda stood up. ‘I suppose I should go home. I just wanted to make sure I thanked you for... you know, for everything.’
‘It’s nothing. Are you sure you’re OK to go, Zelda? I have to go to work — it’s going to be a busy day, today — but you’re welcome to stay here as long as you want.’
‘No. I can go. It’s fine. I feel much better now. Thank you.’
‘There’s nothing wrong?’
‘Nothing.’
‘If you need anything... I mean, the spare room’s always here for you.’
‘I’ll be all right. It was just my first night back, that’s all. Nerves. I don’t think I’ve ever been by myself up there before, and sometimes my memories are not good to be alone with. But Raymond will be back soon.’
Banks followed Zelda towards the front door, where she picked up her jacket from the hook. ‘Thank you once again, Alan,’ she said. ‘See you soon?’
‘Absolutely.’
And Banks stood there feeling like an idiot, waving to her little Clio as it disappeared down his drive. She knew; he was sure she knew what he had been thinking. It must be obvious just from looking at him. It must happen to her all the time. What a bloody fool he was. He had lain awake most of the night, conscious that she was sleeping only feet away, imagining her body, its outline under the thin sheet. She must think he is like all the men she has ever met, all the perverts and abusers. Once, she had cried out during the night, he was certain. He had almost gone to her to ask what was wrong and offer comfort — he would have been happy just to lie beside her and hold her — but realised what a mistake it would have been to enter her bedroom in the middle of the night.
Anyway, Zelda was gone now, and it was time to get a grip. Banks went back to his coffee and stood at his conservatory windows enjoying the early morning light dappling the hillsides, the blue tits flitting from branch to branch in his garden, a robin poking about on the lawn for an early worm. There were things to be set in motion today, including a search of the park at the bottom of Elmet Street, and people to talk to. He was starting to feel very much as if he was coming to the end of this investigation. He couldn’t say that he knew who had killed Samir, or why, but he did feel that he was finally on the right track.