Peter Robinson - All the Colors of Darkness

Edwina took some reading glasses from a brown leather case beside her and studied the photos. “No,” she said. “Never see him before in my life.”

“It’s not Leo Westwood?”

“Leo? Good Lord, no. Leo’s far more handsome than the man in this photograph, and not quite so tall. A little stockier, even, with tight, dark curls. Rather cherubic, actually. How do you know about Leo?”

“We found some letters.”

“What kind of letters?”

“From Leo to Laurence. Nothing... shocking. Just letters.”

“They’d hardly be shocking,” Edwina said. “The Leo I knew was definitely not the sort to let it all hang out.”

“When were they together?”

“About ten years ago. Late nineties until the early two thousands.”

“Do you know what happened?”

She stared at the distant patterns of drystone walls. “Whatever usually happens to split people apart. Boredom? Someone new? Laurence didn’t tell me. He was brokenhearted for a while, then he got over it and got on with his life. I assume Leo did the same.”

“Do you know where Leo is now?”

“I’m afraid not. We lost touch after he and Laurence split up. He might still be living in the same place, I suppose. It’s on Adamson Road, Swiss Cottage.” She gave Banks a street number. “I had dinner with them there on several occasions. It was a nice apartment and an interesting neighborhood. Leo liked the place, and he did own it, so if he didn’t have to move for any practical reason, the odds are that he’s still there.”

“Their relationship was serious?”

“I would say so, from what I saw of it, yes.”

“Were there any others?”

“Lovers or serious relationships?”

“Serious relationships.”

“I’d say Leo was the only one until Mark came along, except perhaps for his first love, but that was many years ago, and I can’t remember the young man’s name now. I’m sure Laurence would have done, though. One never does really forget one’s first love, does one? Anyway, Leo was the only one I knew about, at any rate, and I think I would have known. There were casual lovers, of course.”

“Have you ever heard Laurence mention a man called Julian Fenner?” Banks asked.

Edwina frowned. “Fenner? No, I can’t say as I have.”

Banks’s lemon tea arrived. He thanked the waiter and took a sip. Refreshing. Edwina took the opportunity to order another gin and tonic. Birds twittered in the shrubbery. The sun felt warm on the back of Banks’s neck. “We’ve also been thinking,” he went on, “that Mark may have had suspicions regarding Laurence’s faithfulness, or lack of it. Laurence might have been having an affair. Mark could have found out about it.”

“I wish I could help you,” said Edwina, “but I certainly wasn’t privy to all Laurence’s comings and goings. I would very much doubt it, though. While Laurence could be as promiscuous and unfaithful as the next man when his feelings weren’t engaged in a relationship, well... when he was in love, it was a different matter. He took that sort of thing seriously.”

“What about the man in the photo?” Banks said. “They’re touching.”

“I shouldn’t think that means anything, would you?” Edwina said. “It’s just a natural gesture when you usher someone through a door before you. I mean, it’s hardly sexual, or even sensual, is it?”

“But a jealous person might see it that way.”

“True. There’s no accounting for the way some people interpret things.”

“Might Mark have seen it that way?”

“He could have. I wouldn’t have said he was that jealous, mind you. Just a little insecure. When you think you’ve landed such a wonderful catch you’re understandably nervous about losing it. I’m not boasting about my son here. All these things are relative.”

“I understand,” said Banks, thinking that no matter how often the analysts told us the class system had disappeared, there was always plenty of evidence to the contrary. “What about Laurence’s business interests?” he asked. “I gather he was a retired civil servant?”

Edwina paused. “Yes,” she said.

“But he also helped you with Viva, didn’t he?”

She almost spilled her gin and tonic. “What? Where on earth did you get that idea?”

“But I thought that might explain some of his frequent trips to London and elsewhere, if he worked as a sort of business consultant.”

“Good Lord, no. You have got it all wrong, haven’t you?”

“Have I?”

“Office space in London is far too expensive. Our head office is in Swindon. Well, outside Swindon. One wouldn’t want to actually be in Swindon, would one?”

Banks cursed himself. They should have checked. It wouldn’t have been that difficult to find out where Viva’s head office was. “When I found out who you were, I just assumed that was perhaps why Laurence went to London so often, to help you take care of Viva.”

“Laurence? Viva? You must be joking. Laurence had no head for figures, no business acumen at all. Laurence? If I’d let him run things we’d be bankrupt or unemployed by now. I gave Laurence a percentage share in the business. That’s where his money comes from. He never played any actual part in the running of the company.”

“There were also a number of transfers from Swiss bank accounts we’ve been unable to account for. Would they have anything to do with Viva?”

“I very much doubt it,” Edwina mumbled, tapping out another cigarette and lighting it. “Though I should imagine that someone in the employ of the foreign service for as many years as Laurence was would have squirreled a certain amount away, wouldn’t you?”

“Expenses?”

She looked away, up at the hills again. “Expenses. Contingency fund. Mad money. Escape hatch. Call it what you will.”

Banks’s head was beginning to swim. Edwina seemed to have wrapped herself in a cloud of verbal smoke, as well as the real stuff, and her answers were vague and slow to come. He felt as if the interview were suddenly slipping away from him, and he didn’t know why. “Do you know why he went down to London so often, then?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Or why he’d go to Amsterdam? He was there from Tuesday until Friday morning last week.”

“I have no idea. Old friends, perhaps? Contacts. He had them all over the world. They were his life’s blood.”

“What do you mean? I don’t understand you.”

When she gazed at him, he sensed a guarded look in her eyes. “It’s perfectly clear,” she said. “Laurence had no business affairs. Whatever he did down in London after he retired, it certainly wasn’t business. I would guess that he was meeting old colleagues, talking shop, playing golf, perhaps, visiting casinos, lunching at various clubs. Who knows?”

“Could it have had anything to do with his job? The civil service job he retired from?”

“Oh, I should imagine so. One never really retires fully from that sort of thing, does one, especially in times like these?”

“I wouldn’t know,” said Banks, feeling his scar begin to itch. “What do you mean? What was it exactly that he did?”

Edwina sipped her gin and tonic and remained silent.

“Edwina,” Banks said in exasperation. “You’re keeping something from me. I can tell. You were doing it last night, and now you’re doing it again today. What on earth is it? What are you holding back?”

Edwina paused and sighed. “Oh, very well. It is naughty of me, isn’t it? I suppose you’d find out sooner or later, anyway.” She stubbed out her cigarette and looked Banks in the eye. “He was a spy, Mr. Banks. My son, Laurence Silbert. He was a spook.”