R Raichev - Assassins at Ospreys

‘He didn’t care about the child?’

‘Not one bit, Antonia. Poor Ingrid, on the other hand, wanted a child more than anything else in the world, so she lied to him that she was on the pill. I don’t think he ever forgave her for it. Oh, it is all so sordid. Anyhow, she got pregnant, which had been her intention all along. It made her extremely happy. She started buying things for the baby – clothes, a cot, a pram, various toys.’ Beatrice pressed her handkerchief against her lips.

‘I don’t think you should get upset now, really.’ Colville put a protective arm round her shoulders.

Beatrice sniffed. ‘She said she’d never been so happy… But then the accident happened and she lost the baby. And then – then she was dealt another blow – the doctors told her she couldn’t have any more children. That’s when it happened. She said it felt like a wire snapping inside her brain.’

‘She swore she’d kill Renshawe, didn’t she?’ Colville said portentously.

Beatrice didn’t answer. She had covered her face with her hands.

There was a pause. ‘Ralph was drunk that night, but he isn’t the only one to blame.’ Beatrice looked from Antonia to Payne, her eyes brimming with tears. ‘I haven’t told you the whole story. You see, it was my fault too.’

‘Nonsense,’ Colville said robustly. The next moment he looked up. ‘Was that the front door?’

‘No, it was my fault. I was tipsy that night. Not as drunk as Ralph was but tipsy nevertheless. We had been drinking at Baudolino’s Bar in Greek Street. We’d had such a marvellous time. Ralph made me laugh. He said such outrageous things! I was very much taken by him, I must admit. How I laughed. I was quite hysterical with it. That’s always a bad sign, isn’t it?’

‘I think Ingrid’s back,’ Colville said.

Beatrice didn’t seem to hear. ‘I didn’t stop Ralph from driving. I should have done, but didn’t. I had actually brought a bottle of champagne with me. We kept drinking from it. I encouraged him to drive fast. If I had been a mature, responsible kind of person, I wouldn’t have allowed Ralph to get into the car, but I wasn’t. I was intent on having a good time. I wanted to please Ralph. We could have taken a cab. Don’t you see? I might have prevented the accident. Only I didn’t.’

‘Did you ever tell Ingrid that part of the story?’ Antonia asked after a pause.

‘Goodness, no. I gave her a completely different version of events. How I’d begged Ralph not to drive that night. How I had implored him. How I had wept. How I had tried to hide the car keys. I told Ingrid a pack of whoppers. Well, I am as bad as Ralph. I as good as killed Ingrid’s baby. What’s the matter now, darling?’ Beatrice asked irritably as Colville rose abruptly from his seat. ‘Where are you going?’

‘I’m going to check,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I think Ingrid’s come back.’

Beatrice blinked. ‘Come back?’ Her expression changed and she clapped her hand over her mouth. ‘Oh my God. The door -’ She shook her forefinger. ‘Look! It’s ajar! Oh, Len, why didn’t you shut it?’ She gesticulated frantically.

Without a word Colville lumbered out of the room.

Beatrice Ardleigh looked at Antonia with wild eyes. ‘Do you think she might have heard? Was I shouting? I was shouting, wasn’t I? Oh my God.’

‘I don’t think you were that loud,’ Antonia tried to reas-sure her.

‘I was shouting, Antonia. She must have heard every word I said. She knows now that I lied to her.’

The next moment Colvillle re-entered the room. He stood by the door and leant against the wall. His ruddy face was visibly paler. His eyes had a dazed look. He appeared to have had a shock of some kind.

‘Darling, what is it?’ Beatrice cried. ‘Was it Ingrid?’

He swallowed. Then he gave an awkward laugh and passed his hand across his face. ‘It must have been, but it looked nothing like her.’ Aware how absurd this sounded, he shook his head.

‘What the hell do you mean, Colville?’ Major Payne asked.

There was a pause. ‘If I didn’t know that at this very moment Bee was here in this very room,’ Colville said hoarsely, ‘I’d have said it was… her.’

‘You thought it was me? What – what are you talking about?’ Suddenly Beatrice looked terrified.

‘It was your doppelganger, Bee. Your double. I saw your double going up the stairs.’ He swallowed. ‘She even smelled like you. She smelled of Ce Soir Je T’Aime.’

Partners in Crime

Father Lillie-Lysander had ‘gone off’ at five in the after-noon. It was over two hours later that he came to. He found he was lying across his bed, spread-eagled, still wearing his sumptuous dressing gown. He had no recollection of going into his bedroom, but he must have done. It was dark now. He had missed the twilight – he liked the twilight. An atmosphere of tenebrous deliquescence. That was how Baron Corvo would have put it.

Twilight. He remained lying with his eyes open. He had a special feeling for twilight. He got a thrill out of it. Well, he seemed to be one of those men who – how did it go? – rebelled against the light and knew not the way thereof, nor abided in the paths thereof.

Suddenly he laughed. He had remembered a joke Robin had made concerning the long black cassock favoured by Jesuits, about one of its rather peculiar features – the sleeve-like strip of material attached to each shoulder – the so-called wings. These curious appendages, Robin had said, are a vestigial legacy of the days when the Holy Fathers had four arms and could distribute the Body of Christ in two directions at once.

Lillie-Lysander wondered idly what his bishop’s reaction might be if he went to him and made a full confession – about the way he felt, the thoughts he had, the things he did. Would the old fool call for an exorcism? For public defrocking? The bishop would probably have him flogged if he could! He might even be inspired to write a sermon on the subject.

Be vigilant, my brethren (Lillie-Lysander improvised). These cunning, crafty and artful creatures manage to pass them-selves off as men of God, but they are only wolves in sheep’s clothing. They preach not the Gospel of Truth but their own diabolical philosophies and counsels. They make the black night their morning and ally themselves with the terrors of the pit. Yes, they feel secure only when surrounded by deep shades of darkness -

Father Lillie-Lysander rose gingerly from the bed. He felt only the tiniest bit woozy – a trifle swimmy. He had read somewhere that drugs killed brain cells. Surely that was an exaggeration? He was proud of his brain; he wouldn’t want to harm it. He should be fine in a couple of minutes. After he had had a cup of coffee and some break-fast – he was feeling ravenous – or did he mean dinner? It was morning, wasn’t it?

He knew he needed to do something rather urgently. He needed to speak to somebody – no, not to the bishop. To Robin? Yes. He needed to speak to Robin. Poor Robin. Lillie-Lysander put on his slippers and walked across the room. How funny. He felt light inside, yet it was like wading through treacle.

Lillie-Lysander dialled Robin’s number and as soon as he heard Robin’s voice, said, ‘I am afraid I have some bad news. I don’t think you will like it.’ His tongue felt thick – but he didn’t think he was lisping.

‘I will most certainly not like it if it’s bad news.’

‘Your uncle has sent for his solicitor, Robin.’

‘Don’t tell me he intends to change his will,’ Robin said quietly.

‘Well – yes.’ Lillie-Lysander was a bit annoyed that Robin had guessed the nature of the problem so quickly, but then Robin must be thinking of little else. ‘That is his intention. You are no longer his heir.’ Lillie-Lysander kept shutting his eyes and shading them against the electric light with his hand. He felt extremely thirsty.