Ruth Rendell - Adam And Eve And Pinch Me

Violent Crimes interviewed Leonardo Norton on Sunday evening. He was very shocked that Jims, whom he thought the most discreet and laid-back of men, had given them his name. A sense of grievance sounded in his voice. “It was at least eight-thirty before I saw him, probably nearer nine. I’d spent the day with my mother in Cheltenham.” This rang in his own ears as the most innocent and blameless of ways to spend a day. “I really can’t account for what Mr. Melcombe-Smith may have been doing in the afternoon.”

They didn’t ask him where Jims had spent the night. Presumably, they hadn’t much interest in what happened after 4:30 P.M.

The next question was rather near the bone. “Did he have a key to this house?”

“To my house? Certainly not.” Jims, after all, would never admit to such a thing.

“But the lady next door has?”

“Amber Conway? Yes, she does. As I have a key to hers. It seemed wise. I understand Mr. Melcombe-Smith borrowed her key.”

According to her sister, whom they tracked down, Amber Conway had gone to Ireland but not until Saturday. She had been at home on Friday night but the sister knew nothing about a key. Violent Crimes told Leonardo they’d come back. Leonardo phoned Jims at home. When the receiver was lifted he could hear a child screaming, another one laughing, and something that sounded like a Disney video bleating and crooning from the television.

“You are a one,” said Leonardo when he heard Jims’s morose tones. “Quite a little devil when you like. Did you really stick a knife in your wife’s husband’s guts?”

“Of course I fucking didn’t.”

“You’ll be taking bribes in brown envelopes next.”

“I don’t allow even you to say that.”

Leonardo laughed. “Want to come over?”

Jims told him coldly that he didn’t think so. He’d had a grilling that had lasted most of the day and he was tired. Besides, he’d have a fresh confrontation next morning.

“Nothing to worry about,” said Leonardo. “The papers will only say a Westminster man has been helping them with their inquiries. Or maybe ‘a well-known Tory MP.’ ”

“Leave it out, would you?” said Jims.

ON THE OPPOSITE side of Glebe Terrace to Amber Conway and Leonardo Norton lived a woman Natalie Reckman had got to know. She was the sister of her boyfriend’s flatmate’s girlfriend, a rather distantly removed relationship but one whose branchings were instantly simplified by most of the parties meeting for a dinner arranged and cooked by the flatmate. His sister-in-law-to-be told the company how the peace of her street had been disturbed all day by the comings and goings of the police, some in uniform and some, she was sure, plainclothed. Their quarry appeared to be the woman opposite or it might instead be this woman’s neighbor, a young banker or stockbroker or something whom she’d always supposed perfectly law-abiding. Someone had told her that a frequent visitor to his house-and she’d seen him call there herself-was that MP whose wife was a bigamist. She recognized him when she saw his picture in the paper.

Natalie was so excited she could barely eat her dinner. Unfortunately, she had to eat it and she was going to have to stay the night there too or put her relationship with her boyfriend in jeopardy. He’d already complained she was always away and thought more of getting a scoop than of him. Anyway, there wasn’t much that could be done before the morning. But by nine next day she was in Glebe Terrace, her car in the underground car park to avoid all risk of towing away or clamping, and Natalie was ringing the bell on a pretty little house which was the right-hand half of a joined-up pair. No police were about. Just as it began to look as if Amber Conway was still away and Natalie had rung the bell three times, the door was opened by a half-asleep woman with tousled hair and sleep dust in her eyes, wearing a short dressing gown over baby doll pajamas.

“Amber Conway?”

“Yes. Who are you? I only got home at three this morning. Are you the police?”

“Certainly not,” said Natalie. “What an idea.”

“They’ve been phoning me. I told them not to get here till ten.”

“That’s why I got here at nine.” Natalie put one foot over the threshold. “Can I come in?”

Jims had spent the evening lecturing Zillah on what he called her “disgusting and criminal behavior.” If he was to continue to share his life with her it must be on the strict understanding that she did what she was told, starting with a marriage ceremony, quietly carried out this time at a hotel or some such place, anywhere licensed for weddings. After that it would be more sensible for her to live permanently at Fredington Crucis House, only coming to London when her presence was required at some Conservative function, say a party hosted by the leader of the Opposition. Eugenie must go to boarding school and Jordan follow her in three years’ time. Meanwhile he would attend a nursery school of Jims’s choosing.

“I won’t,” Zillah said. “I’ve only just left the bloody place and I’m not going back.”

“I’m afraid you must, my dear. If you don’t I shall have no option but to leave you, or rather, turn you out. Because if we aren’t married and haven’t even lived together for more than two months, I shall be under no legal obligation to support you. Jerry can’t, if he ever did to any extent. He’s dead. So you either toe the line or go on the benefit. I don’t know where you’ll live but I dare say Westminster would put you in bed-and-breakfast accommodation.”

“What a bastard you are.”

“Calling names won’t help. Thanks to some crafty string-pulling, I’ve arranged for us to be married on Wednesday. All right with you?”

That had been Monday. Neither of them had much sleep that night. Even though he hadn’t revealed his state of mind to Zillah, Jims was seriously worried about the police investigation. One never knew when they would pounce again, for pounce he was sure they would. The chief whip had as yet said nothing to him and neither had the leader of the Opposition, but from each he fancied he’d received chilly looks. The idea that they were biding their time was inescapable.

Zillah, too, lay awake but, oddly enough, her state of mind was far more cheerful and forward-looking than his. That afternoon, before he came home, she’d had a phone call from a television channel called Moon and Stars asking her if she’d be willing to go on their A Bite of Breakfast show and talk about her experiences. She’d said she’d think about it and get back to them on Tuesday. If she played her cards right, she could maybe have a career in television. It might be wisest to get married first, just to be on the safe side. She’d ring Moon and Stars in the morning and ask them to wait just one more day, when she’d be able to give them a positive answer.

Jims worried also about the newspapers. That remark of Leonardo’s about describing the man who’d been “helping the police with their inquiries” as a well-known Tory MP still rankled. He was pretty sure they couldn’t do that, they wouldn’t dare, it would be sub judice or whatever the term was, and once again he wished he had some legal training. Probably there would be nothing anyone could link with him-but when would they come back for him? Could he find the courage to make an appointment with the chief whip before the tiresome man sent for him? Once he’d have said his nerve was limitless, but now he wasn’t so sure. He couldn’t understand why he’d had no invitations from the Today program or Jeremy Paxman’s Start the Week . They came fast enough when he had nothing to say.