‘Then talk to the inspector before you ask the same things he did. He’ll tell you my history. There’s no point in going through it again. I was honest with him about my setbacks. I’m much happier with my lot now.’
‘Is your happiness connected with the death of Vivian Quayle?’
Burns was jolted. ‘That did give me pleasure,’ he said, slowly.
‘It must have been a cause for celebration.’
‘I’m too busy here to think about such things, sir.’
‘The inspector told me about the weedkiller you use.’
‘I’m not the only gardener who’s experimented with it. I could name two or three. When I worked for Mr Quayle, I used a similar preparation on weeds. Perhaps you should be talking to the head gardener there.’
‘There’s no need for flippancy.’
‘Then I apologise.’
Tallis gazed around. The gardens were spectacular and the man in charge of them was clearly knowledgeable. It seemed unlikely that he’d desert his post to plot the murder of an old enemy. Yet he had a strong motive, access to one of the poisons found in the dead man and was known to have been close to Spondon on the night in question. Added to that was the calculated stubbornness he was now displaying.
‘I’m told that you’re a fine cricketer,’ said Tallis.
‘I used to be.’
‘Did you never wish to play for the All-England team?’
‘Gardening always came first.’
‘But you were encouraged to play the game when you were in Mr Quayle’s employ. It seems that your bowling was the crucial ingredient of the team’s success. You must miss the chance to play to such a high standard.’
‘There are compensations, sir.’
‘In your position, I’d resent the man that took that chance away from me.’
‘I still play cricket now and then,’ said Burns, arrogance showing through, ‘and Mr Quayle had more cause for resentment than me. Since I left, his team haven’t won a single game.’
‘How do you know that?’
‘Gossip travels.’
‘I thought you’d lost all interest in what happens on his estate.’
‘I can’t help it if I hear rumours, Superintendent.’
Tallis removed his top hat carefully and used a handkerchief to dab at the light perspiration on his brow. His next question came without warning.
‘You’re hiding something, aren’t you?’ he challenged.
‘No, sir, I’m not.’
‘You’re hiding the fact that you’ve kept in touch with your old place of work so that you could be aware of the movements of the man you hated. You’ve been biding your time, Burns, haven’t you?’
‘I’ve not seen Mr Quayle since the day I left.’
‘You didn’t need to if you had a confederate who still worked there.’
‘But I don’t.’
‘We only have your word for it.’
‘I’m telling the truth.’
‘It doesn’t sound like it to me — or to Inspector Colbeck, for that matter.’
Burns was angry. ‘What has he been saying about me?’
‘He thought that you couldn’t be trusted. I’m inclined to agree. It was his suggestion that you might have someone working on Mr Quayle’s estate who reported back to you.’
‘I haven’t been anywhere near the place,’ yelled the other.
‘There’s no need to shout.’
‘I don’t like being accused of something I didn’t do.’
‘Where were you on the day that the murder took place?’
‘You know quite well,’ said Burns with exasperation. ‘I played cricket in Ilkeston then went to Derby in the evening.’
‘But you refuse to say what you were doing there.’
‘I went to see a friend.’
Eyes glinting, Tallis put his face close to that of the other man.
‘Was it a friend or an accomplice?’
The directness of the question made Burns recoil slightly. For the first time, he looked uncomfortable. As Tallis glared at him from close range, the gardener lapsed into a bruised silence.
The visit to the Quayle house had been profitable. Colbeck had learnt far more than he’d managed on the first occasion when he called there. It was the conversation with John Cleary that had been revelatory. He’d made some illuminating comments about his former employer. Colbeck was interested in the news that Quayle often stayed away from home at some unknown location. If the man had been crying on his way to the station on his last day alive, it was highly uncharacteristic. After taking soundings from a number of quarters, Colbeck had built up a picture of a man who savoured power and exercised it mercilessly. It was an image reinforced by the portrait of Vivian Quayle that hung in his house. The man in that, Colbeck recalled, looked as if he’d never shed a tear in his life.
Against the excitement of finding new and important information, Colbeck had to set the discomfort of having Tallis as an unwanted assistant. Apart from the fact that the superintendent would insist on leading the investigation, there was the certainty that he would get under the feet of Colbeck and Leeming. The inspector had devised strategies of dealing with Tallis but the sergeant had not. As long as the older man was there, Leeming would be working with reduced effectiveness, always looking over his shoulder. With the arrival of the superintendent, a complicated case had instantly become even more difficult to solve. If there was some way to dispatch Tallis back to London, it had to be seized.
Colbeck was still enjoying fantasies about how to get rid of him when his cab rolled up outside Nottingham railway station. After paying the driver, he went onto the platform and looked up and down. At the far end, a smartly dressed woman was perched on a bench. She looked so much like Madeleine that he stared at her for a minute before deciding that it couldn’t possibly be his wife because he didn’t recognise the hat she was wearing. He was about to turn away when she glanced in his direction for the first time.
‘Robert!’ she exclaimed, jumping to her feet.
Fired by his good fortune, he ran the length of the platform to embrace her.
‘What on earth are you doing here?’ he asked in disbelief.
‘I came with Miss Quayle. She’s decided to return home.’
Bolstered by Madeleine’s presence, Lydia Quayle had felt confident that she would be given a welcome at the house. As soon as her cab turned in through the main gates of the estate, however, that confidence was replaced by apprehension and, in turn, by cold fear. Her break from the family had been so dramatic and final that she couldn’t imagine that any member of it would wish to see her, let alone be delighted by her reappearance. Lydia was tempted to abandon the visit altogether and ask the driver to take her back to the station. Somehow she fought off that temptation. Memories flooded back to please and unsettle her simultaneously. She passed a glade where she and Gerard Burns had often met in secret, and there were other places that brought their romance fleetingly alive again. It died instantly as the grotto where she and Burns had been discovered together appeared in her mind’s eye. Her memories darkened at once and she shook her head in an effort to get rid of them but they were too vivid to be dislodged. She had returned to an estate that had held joy and terror for her. When the house came into view, her heart sank. It looked so forbidding.
The cab drew up on the gravel in front of the portico and she needed time to compose herself before she stepped uncertainly out of the vehicle. As she stood alone in front of what had once been her whole world, she felt lonely and unwanted. Someone must have seen her through the windows but nobody came out. The door remained closed as if delivering a blunt message. Lydia waited for minutes. She was on the point of leaving when the door suddenly swung open. Her brothers and her sister stepped out together, staring at her as if she was a complete stranger. The sense of rejection was like a physical blow.
In a flash, the mood changed. Her younger brother suddenly ran out to greet her and threw his arms around her.
‘Welcome home!’ cried Lucas. ‘Thank God you’ve come at last.’