Nicci French - Until it's Over

At this Kamsky gave a knowing smile. ‘He killed her, though. In his own room.’

‘And what about Ingrid de Soto? There’s no possible connection.’

‘There was an invitation from Mrs de Soto in Mr Thornton’s possession.’

‘What?’ I stared at Kamsky for a moment. Then I remembered Andrew de Soto in the hotel, his wretched, creased face. ‘Her husband thought she was having an affair,’ I said slowly. ‘You mean, she was having an affair with Miles?’

‘We don’t know about that yet,’ he said. ‘We’ve only just started.’

I wanted to say that Miles wouldn’t have had an affair with someone like Ingrid de Soto, but what did I know? Nothing had ever been the way it seemed.

‘I feel a bit sick,’ I said.

‘I can imagine.’

‘I don’t think you can, actually.’

‘All I can say, Astrid, is that you may never understand. Sometimes questions don’t have answers.’

‘Right,’ I said.

‘You should go home now.’

‘You’re forgetting. I don’t have one any more.’

I think none of us really wanted to leave and go our separate ways, because that would be the end. We’d be scattered, blown in different directions, like the seeds of a dandelion clock. After we’d met outside the station, after the fragmented explanations, the arguments, the disbelief, the tears, the hugs, we walked slowly down the street, me pushing Campbell ’s crappy bike, and stopped at the first pub we came to. It was dark and hot inside, with music playing too loudly. The men squeezed round a table near the window while Pippa and I went to get drinks. I felt as though I was moving under water, sluggish with tiredness and shock. As we were watching the man behind the bar pulling pints, another horrible thought came into my mind and I did something I never do, which is to ask someone about their sex life: ‘Did you ever sleep with him?’

‘Who?’

‘Miles.’

‘Once. Twice, maybe.’

‘Oh, for God’s sake, Pippa.’

‘It was after you’d finished with him, if that’s what you’re wondering, but before Leah. I wanted to cheer him up, comfort him.’

‘So you slept with him. You couldn’t just buy him a drink, have a chat?’

‘It was a way of holding him through the dark hours, I suppose. So, I’ve slept with a murderer. That’s a first.’

‘Not the most lovable thing you’ve ever said.’

‘Sorry.’ Then she looked at me. ‘He adored you. Maybe he went mad because of it. People do, you know. He’s sick in the head.’

‘What is it with you, Pippa? Is it an animal thing, like spraying on your territory?’

The barman interrupted us. ‘Excuse me. That’ll be ten pounds thirty, ladies.’

‘Here.’ I pulled the money out of my purse and slid it across.

‘Why did you never say?’ I asked Pippa, after collecting the change.

‘I just did.’

I started to say something, then gave up. What was the point? The world was full of secrets, each of us hiding our real self from everybody else, even those we called friends.

I managed to pick up three of the pints and walked across to the table where the others were sitting.

‘Cheers,’ I said, raising a glass. ‘Here’s to… well, what? What are we drinking to?’

‘Friendship,’ said Davy, with no trace of irony in his voice.

Pippa spluttered.

‘No, I’m serious,’ said Davy. ‘This has been shocking, more for Astrid and Pippa than the rest of us, I know, but we’re left, aren’t we? The six of us.’

‘At least we know we can trust each other,’ added Pippa, with another snort. Davy frowned at her. I gave her a disbelieving look too.

‘Cheers, anyway,’ he said and lifted his glass.

‘Yeah,’ said Dario.

So we toasted each other. I took a cautious sip. I didn’t need alcohol: the world was already unsteady around me. Nothing real or solid.

What was happening to Miles now? Was he still in the police station, with his solicitor, maybe? Were they questioning him at this very moment, capturing his words on a tape-recorder? Or was he sitting alone in a cell? Did his parents know yet? I’d met his mother several times and his father once, but my imagination balked when I tried to picture them hearing that their clever son was accused of murder. I heard Owen saying my name, but all I could see were images: Ingrid’s slashed face; Leah’s; Miles’s soft brown eyes looking into mine.

‘Don’t cry,’ said Davy. ‘You never cry.’

‘Sorry,’ I said. ‘Sorry.’

‘Astrid?’ Owen said. ‘It’s OK. Cry if you want.’

And in front of everyone, he put his hand over mine and lifted it to his lips.

‘Hey! What’s going on?’ Dario’s eyes were bulging.

‘Shut up,’ said Owen.

But I leaned across the table, took Owen’s thin face between my hands and kissed him full on the lips. ‘It’s all right,’ I said.

Of course, it wasn’t all right, but the drink started to take hold and we ordered more and, in a slightly hysterical way, started to talk about old times and even to laugh a bit. It was mostly a performance but it helped us get through the evening until it was time for us to part. Just as we were starting to shift in our seats and nod our goodbyes, I remembered something. I took the cash out of my pocket.

‘This is probably evidence of some kind,’ I said. ‘Before the police grab it, we should share it out.’

But Davy stopped me. ‘For goodness’ sake, Astrid, people are already looking at us. Don’t flash money around in a place like this.’

It was probably more to do with embarrassment than fear but I gave a shrug.

‘I’ll do the maths,’ said Pippa. ‘Then we can arrange to meet tomorrow somewhere a bit more salubrious. It’ll be an excuse for another farewell drink.’

There were nods all round as we stood up, buttoned our jackets and went out into the street together. The rain had stopped and darkness fallen, though the last traces of day still glowed on the horizon. The air was warm and beneath the petrol fumes and curry I could smell blossom.

‘Don’t you love London?’ I said dreamily, to no one in particular. Then: ‘Oh, fuck, someone’s slashed both my bike tyres.’

‘How mean,’ said Pippa indignantly. ‘Can you mend them?’

‘Not without my repair kit. Never mind. I’ll just have to leave the bike here and come back tomorrow.’ I looked at them all, grouped on the pavement. ‘Well, this is it, then.’

‘Till tomorrow.’

I hugged Pippa, gripped the others by the arm. Owen stopped me. ‘Astrid,’ he said, in a low voice. ‘Don’t go just yet. Please.’

I hesitated, then took his hand. ‘Saul’s expecting me,’ I said. ‘And besides – well, this is the wrong time for anything except sleep. Maybe it will always be the wrong time – after this.’

‘Don’t say that.’

‘We’ll see each other tomorrow, Owen. I’m not going anywhere.’

‘You’re right. Try to rest. I hope your dreams are peaceful.’

I found it hard to go. I knew we were meeting the next day, and yet it felt that this was the last time I would see them. At last, with a final wave, I was gone from them. I looked back once to see them dispersing, a group breaking up into its individual parts, then walked along the street in the direction of the underground station. A police car passed me from the opposite direction, but for once it had nothing to do with me – some other victim and some other crime. And as I walked, past the crowded bars and the closed-up shops, through the pools of light cast by street-lamps, under the narrow bridge where a couple stood entwined and pigeons nested, the horror thinned. For a few moments I thought only of the sound my feet made on the pavement, felt only the last heat of the day on my face, saw only the road in front of me as it curved round the corner. The story was over, but summer had only just begun.