Peter Robinson - Playing With Fire

“Don’t be absurd,” said Maurice. “She would have been under sixteen then. He knew her, of course, had done almost since the day she was born. But Frances was twenty-one when they got married, well above the age of consent. There was nothing untoward or unhealthy about it at all. Besides, an older man can bring a bit more stability and experience to raising a family. Frances needed that.”

“So your daughter was grateful for Patrick Aspern’s interest in her?”

“I wouldn’t say ‘grateful’ is the right word to use,” Maurice argued.

“But his interest was reciprocated?”

“Of course. What do you think it was, an arranged marriage? Do you think we forced Frances into it?”

“What are you getting at, Mr. Banks?” asked Julia. “What’s this got to do with Christine’s death?”

“How long were they courting?” Banks asked her. “These things don’t happen overnight.”

“You have to remember,” Julia explained, “that there was Christine to think about. Always. It was hard for Frances to lead a normal life, make friends and go out with boys like other girls her age. She didn’t get out very often, so she had no chance to meet boys. Patrick took her out a few times, while we looked after Christine. Just to the pictures, that sort of thing. More as a favor, really, to get her out of the house for a while. Sometimes he’d take the two of them to the country for a day out. Whitby, or Malham. Somewhere like that.”

“Weren’t you worried?”

“About what?”

“That they might be up to something.”

“Why should we be?” said Maurice. “Patrick was my closest and dearest friend. I trusted him implicitly.”

“But didn’t it bother you, him being so much older than Frances? Weren’t you concerned that he might take advantage of her?”

An edge of irritation entered Maurice Redfern’s tone. “Not at all,” he said. “Why would we be concerned? Frances was twenty and Patrick was in his thirties when they first started ‘stepping out’ together. She was a very attractive young woman, and he was a dashing, handsome, talented doctor with a great future. What could be wrong with that? Why should we object or feel concern? We’d almost despaired of Frances finding anyone, and then… this happened. It was perfect. A miracle. An occasion for joy. Two of the people I loved most in the world finding one another. I couldn’t have wished for a better match.”

So that was it, Banks realized. The reason for all the edginess and embarrassment he had sensed. The Redferns had wanted to get Frances married off, and baby Christine had been an impediment to that. They were the ones who were grateful for Patrick’s interest in their daughter. After all, not many young men are willing to take on a young woman and a baby, especially if that baby isn’t his own. When the good Dr. Aspern took both Frances and the child as well, it would have been easy for the Redferns to turn a blind eye to any number of things. Perhaps they had even encouraged him, left the two alone together, offered to baby-sit? But to what, exactly, had they turned a blind eye?

“What was their relationship like?” Banks asked.

“Perfectly aboveboard,” said Julia Redfern. “There was no hanky-panky. Not in this house. And, take my word for it, we’d have known.”

“Were they affectionate? Demonstrative?”

“They weren’t always touching and feeling each other like some of the kids today,” said Julia. “It’s disgusting, if you ask me. You should keep that sort of thing for private.”

“And they didn’t get much privacy?”

“I suppose not,” she said. “It was difficult.”

“We were just happy that Patrick took an interest in her,” Maurice added. “He brought her out of her shell. It had been a difficult few years. Christine wasn’t always the easiest child to deal with, and Frances was becoming withdrawn, old before her time.”

“Christine was five when Patrick and Frances married?”

“Yes.”

“How did he take to fatherhood?”

“He was very good with her, wasn’t he, darling?” Julia said.

“Yes, very,” Maurice agreed.

Well, what had Banks expected? That they’d suddenly come out and tell him that the pure and holy Patrick Aspern was a daughter-diddling pedophile? But the portrait of utter mind-numbing ordinariness that they were painting just didn’t ring true. Had they suspected something and tried to ignore it? People did that often enough, Banks knew. Or were they really blissfully, willfully ignorant of Aspern’s sexual interest in Tina? And when did that start? When she was six, seven, eight, nine, ten? Or before? Had he been interested in Frances when she was a child, too? He wished he could find out, but he couldn’t think of a direct way of getting an answer to these questions. He would have to see if he could get there indirectly.

“Did the marriage have any effect on Christine?” he asked.

“Well, it gave her a father,” said Maurice. “I’d say that’s pretty important for a child, wouldn’t you? No matter what some of these special interest groups say.”

“Did she behave any differently after the marriage?”

“We weren’t with her so much, so we wouldn’t know. They had their own house by then, out Lawnswood way, not far from where they are now. I’m sure she had her problems adjusting to a new routine, though, as we all do.”

“When they brought Christine to visit, did she seem the same as usual?”

“Yes,” said Maurice. “Until…”

“Until when?”

“What I told you earlier. Until she became a teenager.”

“Then she became uncommunicative?”

“Somewhat, yes. Rather quiet and brooding. Sullen. She could be quite snappy, too, if you pushed her on anything. Hormones.”

Or Patrick Aspern, Banks thought. So he had his answer. It had started, in all likelihood, when she hit puberty. What’s a cut-off point for some pedophiles is the starting point for others.

“Did you see her after she left home?”

The Redferns looked at each other, and Julia nodded. “She came here once,” she said, close to tears. “Maurice was out. Oh, she looked terrible, Mr. Banks. My heart just…” She shook her head and grabbed a tissue from the box on the window ledge. “It just went out to her. I’m sorry,” she said. “It was just so upsetting.”

“In what way did she look terrible?”

“She was so thin and pale. Her nose was running constantly. Her face was spotty, her skin terrible. Dry and blotched. She used to be such a pretty young thing. And I hate to say it, but her clothes were filthy and… she smelled .”

“When was this?”

“Shortly after she’d left. About a year ago.”

When they were living in the Leeds squat, before the boat, perhaps even before Mark. “What did she come for?”

“She wanted money.”

“Did you give her any?”

She looked at her husband. “Fifty pounds. It was all I had in my purse.”

“Did she say anything?”

“Not much. I tried to persuade her to go back to Patrick and Frances. They were beside themselves with worry, of course.”

“What did she say to that?”

“She said she wasn’t going back. Not ever. She was quite emotional about it.”

“Did she say why?”

“Why what?”

“Why she wasn’t going back. Why she left.”

“No, she just got very upset when I mentioned the subject and refused to talk about it.”

“Why did you think she left?”

“I thought it must be something to do with a boy.”

“A boy? Why? Did Patrick Aspern say that?”

“No… I… I just assumed. She was the same age as her mother was when she… I don’t know. It’s a difficult age for young girls. They want to be all grown up, but they don’t have the experience. They lose their hearts to some no-good layabout, and the next thing you know, they’re pregnant.”