Elizabeth George - Just One Evil Act

“Which was his intention all along. And into Pakistan he could disappear with her if Angelina’s death was discovered as not an unfortunate and unexpected termination to a trying time but instead a carefully planned murder.”

He saw her swallow. She squinted against sunlight that was not there, to improve her vision which was already perfect. She said, “That’s not how it was. That’s not how it is.”

“You’re in love with him. Love causes people—”

“I am not. I. Am. Not.”

“Loves causes people,” he went determinedly on, “to lose their objectivity. You’re not the first person this has happened to, and God knows you won’t be the last. I want to help you, Barbara, but without a clean breast of everything on your part—”

“He’s innocent . She was taken from him, and he tried to find her, and he failed to find her, and then she was kidnapped, and only then did he know where she had been because Angelina showed up, accusing him like she always did, hating him like she always did, manipulating and scheming and leaving grief and chaos behind her and . . .” Her voice broke. “He did nothing. He did not do a bloody goddamn thing.”

“Barbara. Please.”

She shook her head. She swung away from him and left the room.

MARLBOROUGH

WILTSHIRE

They found a location that was central to both of them in Wiltshire, at an inn just east of the town. In a copse of beech trees, it sat well off the road, half-timbered and brick with a sloping, ancient slate roof. In its car park Lynley waited for forty-five minutes until Daidre Trahair managed to get there from Bristol.

By the time she arrived, the car park was crowded, so she left her car in the remaining bay, which was farthest from the inn’s front door. He was out of the Healey Elliott and at her car door before she had switched off the ignition. As she glanced up at him, he realised that he had been quite desperate to see her. She was, indeed, the only person he’d even wished to see at the end of his conversation with Barbara Havers.

He said simply, “Thank you,” as he and she opened the car door together.

She said as she got out, “Of course, Thomas. It was no trouble at all.”

“I expect you’ve left a commitment behind in Bristol.”

She smiled. “The Broads will practise quite well without me tonight.”

They hugged. He took in the scent of her hair and the vague and subtle perfume of her skin. He said, “You’ve not dined, have you?” And when she shook her head, “Shall we, then? I’ve no idea what the food will be like, but the atmosphere looks promising.”

They entered the place. It was ages old, with a sloping floor of oak and small diamond-paned windows. A panelled dining room opened off Reception. A teetering stairway led to rooms up above. Although the restaurant was nearly full, they had luck. Someone had just cancelled a booking, so if they didn’t mind sitting near the fireplace . . . ? No fire at this time of year, however.

Lynley would have sat on one of the stair treads. He looked at Daidre and she nodded at him with a smile. She had a smudge on her spectacles, which he found endearing. Her sandy hair was somewhat in disarray. She’d come on the run. He wanted to thank her again for her kindness, but instead he followed the maitre d’ into the dining room.

A drink?

Yes.

Sparkling water?

That as well.

The night’s specials?

Indeed.

Menus?

Please.

Then followed the business of ordering. He wasn’t hungry, but she was. Doubtless, she’d been wrestling large animals for most of the day. A rhino with piles, a kangaroo with a swollen ankle, a hippo with kidney stones. God knew. So he ordered a meal he would only pick at so that she would feel free to order in a similar fashion. She did so, and the waiter disappeared, and then they were alone with each other. She looked at him expectantly. Obviously, an explanation was in order.

“Terrible day,” he said to her. “You’re the antidote for it.”

“Oh dear.”

“To which part?”

“The terrible day part. I’m rather pleased to be its antidote, I think.”

“Think but not know?”

She cocked her head at him. She removed her spectacles and cleaned them of their smudges on her linen napkin. She said when she returned them to her nose, “Ah. I can see you now.”

“And your reply?”

She fingered her cutlery, straightening it unnecessarily. She was, as he was learning about her, as always carefully considering her answer. “That’s just the problem. The think-but-not-know part. At any rate, it’s lovely to see you. C’n I help in some way? I mean, with the day?”

He found of a sudden that he didn’t want their evening to be about Barbara Havers and what she’d been up to. He found that he wished to let that sleeping dog lie, if only for the hours he had to spend with Daidre. So instead he asked her about the job she’d been offered at London Zoo. Had she reached a decision about transplanting herself, uprooting her life, and abandoning Boadicea’s Broads for the Electric Magic?

She said, “A lot depends on what Mark says about the contract. I’ve not heard from him yet.”

“How might Mark feel about your leaving Bristol if you’re leaning in that direction?”

“Well, obviously, there are thousands of solicitors in London waiting for someone like me to come along and hire them for the messy bits of life.”

“Yes. But that’s not what I meant.”

Their sparkling water arrived at the table, along with a bottle of wine. The ceremony of opening this, presenting the cork, tasting, and nodding approval was gone through. The wine was poured for both of them before Daidre replied.

“What’re you asking, Thomas?”

He rolled the stem of his wineglass in his fingers. “I suppose I’m asking if there’s any point to my seeing you . . . aside from our conversations which I do enjoy.”

She looked at her wine as she began her answer. It took a moment as she was not glib and did not pretend to be. “When it comes to you, I’m at war with my better judgement.”

“Meaning what?”

“That my better judgement has been insisting that my life is better kept in order through devotion to mammals who can’t speak. I became a veterinarian for a reason, you see.”

He took this in and evaluated it, turning it this way and that for every meaning he could wrest from it. He settled on saying, “But you can’t expect to go through life untouched by your fellow man, can you? You can’t want that.”

Their starters arrived: freshly smoked Irish salmon for her, a Caprese salad for him. It was far too large. What had he been thinking in ordering it?

She said, “Well, that’s just it, isn’t it? I can want that. Anyone can want it. There’s part of me, Tommy—”

“You’ve just called me Tommy.”

“Thomas.”

“I prefer the other.”

“I know. And please, it was inadvertent. You’re not meant to think—”

“Daidre, nothing is inadvertent.”

Her head lowered as, perhaps, she took this in. She seemed to be gathering her thoughts. She finally looked up, and her eyes were bright. Candlelight, he thought. It was only the candles. She said, “Let’s leave that for another discussion. What I was intending to say is that there’s a part of me that always fails within a relationship. Failure myself to thrive, failure to provide what the other person needs to thrive as well. It’s always come down to that in the end for me, and it probably always will, if my personal history is anything to go by. There’s a part of me that can’t be touched, you see, and that means defeat for anyone who tries to get at the heart of who I am.”

“Can’t or won’t?” he asked her.