Andrew Taylor - Bleeding Heart Square

‘But I know you. And I’ve met Dawlish.’

She shook her head. ‘If the target were Julian or me, they would just chuck a stone through my window or perhaps beat him up. Anyway, from what you say you can’t even be sure that the cufflink came from them.’ She paused and added in quite a different voice, ‘Rory?’

‘What?’

‘Are you all right? I know this isn’t easy for you.’

The gentleness in her voice took him by surprise. ‘I’m fine. It will be better when I find a job, of course.’

‘You’re not going to waste any more time on this business about Aunt Philippa, are you?’

‘You think it’s a wild-goose chase.’

‘It’s a distraction,’ Fenella said. ‘But you should be concentrating on finding a job, not chasing shadows.’

‘But I thought-’

‘Even if you found her, it wouldn’t be any use. Aunt Philippa went to the States to make a fresh start. Why should she give me any money? She owes me absolutely nothing.’

‘I want to help. That’s all. You won’t let me in any other way.’

‘I can help myself, thank you.’

‘You mean that fellow Dawlish can.’

Fenella shook her head briskly. ‘It’s not like that.’

‘Of course it is. I’ve seen how he looks at you.’

‘I’m not saying he doesn’t like me. But it’s not reciprocated, or not in that way. The thing is, we think the same about things and this job is a splendid opportunity. It’s perfect.’

Rory thought it was perfect for Dawlish because it would give him unlimited access to Fenella. He said, ‘It really is over, isn’t it?’

‘What is?’

‘You and me.’

She stood up. ‘Look, we talked about this. We were very young when we got engaged, especially me. Then you went off to India for years and years. We can’t expect to just take things up where we left off. People change. I know I have. And I think you have too. Now you’re just in love with a sort of idea of me, something you dreamed up while we were apart. As far as you’re concerned I’m like a bad habit. You need to give me up and then you’ll be fine.’

‘So that’s it?’

‘Of course it’s not. We can be friends. I hope we always shall be. And who knows what might happen?’

‘I’m a bloody fool,’ Rory said.

‘No you’re not. You’re a dear good man. And I’m truly grateful for all you’ve done. Now, while the tea’s brewing, will you help me clear a space in the hall? There’s so much rubbish I can’t get into the dining room.’

Rory took the Tube back to Holborn. He smoked two cigarettes on the way and glowered at anyone who he thought might be looking at him. Until now, despite the evidence to the contrary, he had taken it for granted that he and Fenella were destined eventually to spend most of their lives together. His assumptions about the future had been based on that proposition. He scowled at his reflection in the window on the other side of the carriage. All that wasted time and emotion. Narton be damned. If Fenella didn’t care what had happened to Miss Penhow, why should he? What was the point? What was the point of anything?

When he left the Tube, it was almost dark. The thick, heavy air tasted of coal dust and chemicals; fog was on its way again. He hurried along the north side of Holborn. As he was passing the long, dark facade of the Prudential building, he drew level with a woman walking more slowly in the same direction. He glanced at her face. In the same moment she turned her head towards him.

He touched his hat. ‘Mrs Langstone. Good afternoon.’

She frowned as though she had been accosted by a stranger. Then she recognized him. ‘Oh hello.’

‘Beastly weather.’ He peered through the gloom at her. ‘I say, you feeling all right?’

‘Yes — no. I mean, I think I might be going down with something. A chill, perhaps.’

They fell into step and returned to the square by way of Rosington Place. A furious yapping came from the lodge. Howlett’s face appeared at the little window. He raised his hand in a half salute. Faster and faster, as though someone were pursuing them, they walked towards the chapel and the gates at the end.

‘Are you enjoying the job?’ Rory asked as they passed Shires and Trimble’s office.

‘Not particularly.’ She did not look at him. ‘But then that’s not really the point, is it?’

They reached the gates that led to the square. He opened the wicket and stood to one side so that she could precede him.

She hesitated, and looked suddenly up at him. ‘Have you ever felt you’d be better off dead, Mr Wentwood?’

‘I imagine most of us have.’ In fact the thought had crossed his mind not twenty minutes earlier. ‘But think of the mess it would make.’

Her blue-grey eyes stared up at him. There wasn’t an answering smile on her face. ‘Life’s messy enough anyway. What’s a little more here or there?’

‘What’s wrong?’ There was nothing like misery for making one blunt. ‘Is there anything I can do?’

‘It’s very kind of you, but no. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m sorry.’

She stepped into Bleeding Heart Square. He followed, closing the wicket. She stopped suddenly, so sharply that he almost cannoned into her. He heard her mutter something under her breath.

Serridge was walking from the direction of the garage towards the house. His loud check overcoat was open and flapped on either side of him like the wings of a brash and enormous bird. One hand was in his trouser pocket, and the other held a cigar. He caught sight of them at the gate and waved.

‘Mrs Langstone. Good afternoon.’ He added, clearly as an afterthought, ‘Mr Wentwood. Have you been out for a walk?’

He was looking at Lydia but she didn’t answer, so Rory said, ‘No, we met by chance in Holborn.’

Lydia moved towards the house and the two men followed.

‘I don’t suppose you’re putting the kettle on, Mrs Lang-stone?’ Serridge said.

‘No. I’m not feeling well.’ She pushed her latchkey into the lock.

Serridge joined her on the doorstep. ‘You do look a bit under the weather if you don’t mind my saying so. A cold or something?’

‘Something like that.’ She got the door open at last and almost ran into the house. She murmured goodbye and set off up the stairs.

‘Let me know if there’s anything you need, eh?’ Serridge called after her.

‘Thank you,’ she said without turning her head.

Serridge stood in the hall and watched her on the stairs. Rory was surprised to see an expression of what might have been tenderness on the other man’s face, as incongruous as an oasis in a desert. For the first time, he was struck by the absolutely revolting possibility that Serridge was sweet on Lydia Langstone.

Saturday, 8 March 1930

Well, I’ve done it! I took Joseph to meet John and Agnes. It was fortunate that Fenella was there, which made things a little easier than they might have been, but it was pretty ghastly. I must admit I’d been dreading this, and I was right. It’s one thing Joseph coming to the Rushmere, where frankly anyone in trousers is likely to be lionized, but it’s quite another to take him to Cornwallis Grove. My brother is such an awful snob! Not that he’s got very much to be snobbish about, if the truth were known. And I’ve always felt that he begrudged Aunt’s money coming to me, though heaven knows there was no reason why any of it should have gone to him. She was MY father’s sister, not his. He wasn’t even related to her .

Agnes wrote and asked me to tea, which was the first I had heard from them since Christmas. I know one shouldn’t think badly of people but I can’t help suspecting that John put her up to writing to me for mercenary reasons. (Even as a little boy, he was very greedy.) I asked if I might bring a friend, and you should have seen their faces when they opened the door and realized that I meant a man friend!