Martin Edwards - The Arsenic Labyrinth

‘Darling, I’ve already said go for it. What more can I add?’

She thrust out her lower lip. ‘All right. I’ll tell Ethan I’m on board. With your blessing.’

‘So tell me about yourself, Rob Stevenson.’

He was tempted to say: they call me Tusitala, the teller of tales . But it would sound too much like taking the piss. He caught the eye of a waitress and ordered another glass of wine. Sarah asked for an orange juice because she was driving and he didn’t press her to change her mind. The journey here had been hair-raising when she was sober.

‘Not much to tell.’

‘Now that I don’t believe!’ She wagged a finger. ‘You know, ever since we met, I’ve talked non-stop about myself. It’s time I found out a bit more about you.’

Didn’t she understand the deal? She chattered and he listened. It was for the best. There were things in his life she really wouldn’t want to know.

‘I’d much rather talk about you.’

‘You’ve never mentioned any family. Are your parents alive? Do you have brothers and sisters?’

Funny question. Even funnier, the honest answer was that he didn’t know. He’d been put in the Home as a baby and nobody had ever come back to claim him. In his early days this provided endless scope for harmless fantasies. His favourite was that he was the bastard child of a peer of the realm, or a general or a gentleman farmer who owned a good deal of land. But when he told the other kids, their mockery was merciless. Some of them bullied him, a couple went further and did things that even now he preferred not to remember. As the years drifted by, he learned there was more pleasure and profit in making up stories about his own life, rather than someone else’s.

‘I’m the only one left, I’m afraid.’ The drinks arrived, not a moment too soon. ‘To be honest, it’s something I’d rather not talk about.’

‘Oh, I do understand.’ Her puzzled expression suggested otherwise, but she was a kind woman, unwilling to hurt. This reluctance to inflict pain was something they had in common. ‘Your work, then. Tell me about that.’

‘Well, that’s where I go wrong.’ The wine wasn’t bad. He just hoped to God she hadn’t forgotten her credit card. ‘All work and no play. Makes me a dull boy, I’m afraid.’

As he put down his glass, he felt her hand slide on to his thigh. ‘No, Rob, you may take me for a fool, but I’m not. You have hidden depths, you just don’t want me to explore them yet, that’s all. I mean, I can’t help being curious.’

‘Honestly, I’m not very interesting.’ The modesty of this convenient reply gave him a little jolt of pleasure, but it wasn’t enough to satisfy Sarah.

‘You’re a successful businessman and yet you live out of a single suitcase and never seem to do much work. Put yourself in my position. I can’t help adding two and two together.’

Oh shit . ‘And what answer do you come up with?’

He held his breath as he waited for her reply. She was stroking his leg through the twill of his trousers. A gentle, sympathetic movement.

‘You’ve been made redundant, haven’t you?’

A long silence. Her reply had come out of left field, but no matter. An escape hatch was opening up in front of him. He swallowed rather theatrically. Sometimes he thought he might have made a good living on the stage.

‘It’s … it’s uncanny. How did you guess?’

She blushed. ‘You know when you said you were going out to do some business the other day? Well, I followed you.’

He nearly choked on his steak. ‘What?’

‘You’re cross with me, aren’t you?’

‘No.’ He gulped down a mouthful of water. ‘Just amazed.’

He’d had no idea. Perhaps he should have noticed, but failing to do so was forgivable. Nobody expected their landlady to start shadowing them when they took walks in the country.

‘Oh thank goodness. I’ve worried ever since that day. You didn’t take your laptop with you, not even a mobile as far as I could see. You just walked and walked, as though you were lost in a daze. I tried to stay a safe distance behind, but I’m not that fit and after a mile you were out of sight. Please don’t be cross with me. I only did it because I was curious. And because I care.’

He’d underestimated her; not the first time he’d made such a mistake with a lover. Women caught you unawares sometimes, lulled you into a false sense of security with their silliness and then trapped you into an act of self-destruction.

He slipped his hand under the table and rested it on top of hers. ‘That was very wicked of you. But very sweet. I ought to tell you the full story, but it’s rather painful.’

‘If you’d rather say nothing …’

‘No, no. You deserve better than that.’

He smiled a soulful smile, buying time as his mind raced. She was leaning closer, her sympathy threatening to turn into a simper.

‘The company has put me on gardening leave. It’s very common in the world of high finance. My contract comes to an end next month and then I’ll be out of work. Until then I’m hanging on by my fingertips. It’s a cut-throat game I’m in, you see, and my figures for last quarter weren’t up to target. All because I wouldn’t let clients make investments when the market conditions weren’t right for their portfolios.’

‘Because you had their best interests at heart!’

A self-deprecating shrug. ‘We have a new global chief executive, an American wheeler-dealer. He’s only interested in numbers, not people. Ethics are fine, he says, but they don’t pay the wages. Unless I bring in more business before the end of the notice period, he’ll let me go. A couple of first class investment opportunities have emerged — but he’s already switched my clientele to another broker.’

‘That’s terrible!’

‘It goes with the territory. You won’t hear me complain.’

‘But …’

‘No, let’s change the subject. Please? It’s hard for me to talk about this stuff, after the years I’ve spent at the top of the tree.’

She took a swig of orange juice. ‘I’d like to help.’

Got away with it! His pulse was racing, but he’d not lost his touch. Seriously, this was better than sex.

‘You help me just by being you.’ He touched her hot hand, trying to keep the triumph out of his voice. ‘Thanks for being so understanding. I think you realise — it will take a long time for me to trust someone completely again.’

A light shone in her eyes. He knew she was making up her own happy ending.

At first, Hannah had dismissed Jeremy’s suggestion that she consult Alban Clough about the Arsenic Labyrinth, but on reflection it wasn’t such a bad idea. She headed back to the Museum of Myth and Legend while Les and the CSIs debated the risk assessment for the exploration of Mispickel Scar. She doubted whether the small print of the Health and Safety at Work Act required a Senior Investigating Officer to check the crime scene for curses. But if you never asked, you never found out.

Alban saw her in his daughter’s chilly office, under the watchful eyes of Armstrong and Betty Clough in their gilded frames. What must it be like to belong to a dynasty? Family expectations might be claustrophobic, but inheriting a fortune eased the pressure. Alban didn’t seem to have felt any duty to conform. After the sale of the business, he’d been free to pursue his dream. On the phone, Hannah hadn’t explained why she wanted to see him and when she asked about the Arsenic Labyrinth, his tufted eyebrows rose.

‘Why would a busy police officer investigating a ten-year-old disappearance want to bother her head about a half-forgotten old legend?’

‘I was fascinated by your story about Gawain and the Loathly Lady.’ Tongue in cheek, but she could play games just like this strange old satyr. ‘The labyrinth is associated with the Inchmore family. I thought I should consult the oracle.’