"I don't follow."
"I assume it's a statement of equality. 'You and I are no different, Adam. If you can't behave like a gentleman, then I can't be a lady.' Something like that?"
She continued to stare into the mirror. "You really do assume far too much, you know. In normal circumstances, I hardly think of Adam at all, and never in such analytical terms."
"You said earlier that the best relationships were the ones without a sexual content," he reminded her, "yet you clearly don't have a good relationship with your father. Should I infer from that that you and he have had a sexual relationship?"
"No," she said calmly, "you should not infer any such thing. I will not allow you to foist some tacky child-abuse theory onto me because it happens to be in vogue at the moment. Anyway, what would you know about any of this? I thought you said you weren't a psychiatrist."
He could feel her anger. "Why so defensive? Is it because you recognize that but for his self-control, you and he might have had a sexual relationship? Perhaps the desire wasn't all one-sided."
She closed her eyes suddenly. "I really do urge you to remember what my father does to people he doesn't like, Dr. Protheroe. You'd be quite mad to make an enemy of him."
Now why, he wondered, did he get the feeling she was talking about herself?
With an effort of concentration she remembered Dean Jarrett's home telephone number. "Dean?" she said when he picked up the receiver at the other end. "Look, I'm really sorry to bother you at home-
"Who is it?"
"It's Jinx."
"Oh my God!" screamed his well-remembered voice. She could picture him so clearly. The telephone was in the sitting room, an art deco excrescence, amongst all the other art deco excrescences in his vibrant and colorful living space. He would be lying on the chaise longue, she thought, his peroxided silver head propped against the ornate tracery at the end of it, receiver in one hand, glass of champagne in the other. Dean performed even when he was alone, and she loved him for it because she couldn't do it herself.
"We've been worried sick," he rattled on. "I said to Angelica, 'Angelica sweetheart, supposing we've lost her?' We didn't know what to do-face the dread prospect of phoning that awful man who passes for your father and puts the fear of God into us, or sit tight and rely on you to come round eventually. You know he phoned and spoke to Angie, and he was most fearfully rude, all but called her a nigger, but he wouldn't say where you were. Just said you were unconscious in hospital and told us to get on with what we were paid to do. Then the fuzz came rushing round asking questions, and we nearly died of shock." He floundered to a halt. "Business is fine," he went on more calmly after a moment. "Don't you worry about the studio. Thank God, people have enough faith in yours truly to stay with us."
She smiled. "I know, that's why I haven't been worried."
"You should have phoned," he said. "We've been that upset. We wanted to send you some flowers. Angelica's been sobbing her heart out, said someone ought to be visiting you."
"I'm sorry. The trouble is"-she paused-"well, to be honest. I'm only firing on about half a cylinder at the moment. I gave myself a hell of a crack on the head and ended up with galloping amnesia." She forced a laugh. "Can't remember much about the last three or four weeks. Silly, isn't it? Look, I'll give you the details of where I am, and then you can get in touch when you want to." She gave him the address and telephone number of the clinic. "But I don't intend to stay here much longer," she said. "As soon as I can find the energy, I'm hopping on the first train back to London."
He clucked like a mother hen. "Stay as long as you need. No sense in coming back before you're ready. Everything's tickety-boo this end, or it will be when I pass on the good news that I've spoken to you. Actually, my darling, you sound great even if the memory is a bit dicky. Is it worrying you?"
"Yes." She took a deep breath. "Have I spoken to either of you between the fourth of June when I left for Hampshire, and now? Can you remember? I mean, did I phone you at all while I was with my parents, or did I come into work on the Monday after I got back? That would be the thirteenth."
"No," he said apologetically. "That's what the police kept asking when they came to the studio. Had we seen you? Had we spoken to you? Did we know why you'd gone back to Hampshire on the Monday? And we told them the truth. Not a cheep out of you since Friday the third. Angelica phoned over and over again on the thirteenth when you didn't come into work, and all she got was your answering machine. We were girding our loins to contact Hell Hall on the Tuesday morning when the devil himself phoned with the awful news that you were unconscious. Since which time we've been tearing our collective hair out." He was silent for a moment. "Do you really not remember anything since the fourth?''
She heard the note of concern in his voice. "No, but it's all right," she said with a light laugh. "I've been told the important stuff, like the wedding's off, Leo's scarpered with Meg, and I tried to kill myself. I just don't remember any of it."
"Well, for what it's worth, dear, neither of us believes the crash was deliberate. You were making it clear as crystal for a good week before you set off for the Hall that you'd made up your mind not to go through with the wedding. Angie and I assumed you were going to break the news to the old devil then, and call the whole thing quits. It came as a bit of a shock to find you hadn't."
She stared at her reflection. "Did I say I wasn't going through with it?"
"Not in so many words, but you were back to your old sunny self again, and I said to Angie, well, thank God for small mercies, she's come to her senses and told Leo to get stuffed, and Angie agreed with me. Well, you know we never liked him. He's very pretty, of course, but he wasn't for you, Jinx. Far too interested in number one, and you want someone who cares for you, sweetheart. Let's face it, we all do."
She laughed. "How's George?"
"Unmentionable. He's left me for a Filipino chef."
"I'm sorry. Are you surviving?"
"Of course. Don't I always? Now, tell me why you rang. I feel in my bones there was a reason, and it wasn't just to hear my dulcet tones."
She raised her knees and propped her elbows on them. "I want you to phone Leo's parents and say you need to contact Leo or Meg Harris as a matter of urgency."
"With reference to what?"
Something terrible... "Can you invent an excuse? Say you're an old school friend of Leo's, that you're only in the country for a week and that you want to meet up with him. He went to Eton, if they ask. I just want you to try and find out where they are, without letting on you know me. Is that okay with you? I want to be able to talk to them and show there are no hard feelings. Could you do that for me?"
"Sure. What's his parents' number?"
"I don't know, but you can get it through directory inquiries, because I did it myself once. It's A. Wallader, Downton Court, Ashwell, Guildford, and if he answers, it's Sir Anthony and if she answers, it's Lady Wallader. And Dean, whatever they say, you must ring me back tonight. Please. I don't care what they tell you, you must ring me back. Okay?"
"No problem," he said breezily.
The phone rang twenty minutes later. Jinx picked it up with trembling hands and cradled it against her face. "Jinx Kingsley."
"It's Dean," he said carefully.
"They're dead, aren't they?"
There was a short silence. "Why did you get me to make the call if you already knew?"
"But I didn't," she said quietly. "I guessed. Oh God-and I was so hoping I was wrong. I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. I didn't know who else to ask. Who did you speak to?"
"His father. He was pretty upset."
She rushed into self-justification. "The police came this afternoon and asked me questions about them, but they wouldn't say why. And I thought, my God, they're dead and no one's telling me." She chewed her lower lip. "Did Anthony say what happened to them?"
There was another silence. "Look, love, half an hour ago I thought you were unconscious; then I find you aren't. I don't know wh
at to do. I phoned back because I promised I would, but let me talk to your doctor in the morning. It'd make me a damn sight happier, it really would."
"No," she said coldly. "Tell me now." She thought she heard his nervous finger rattle the receiver rest. "And don't hang up on me, Dean, because I swear to God you'll be out of a job if you do." Oh Jesus! She sounded like her father ... No matter how much she tried to deny it, his tyranny and passion were in her, too...
"You don't have to threaten me," he said in mild reproof. "I'm only trying to do what's best."
"I know and I'm sorry, but I'm slowly going mad here. I must know what's happened." She waited but he didn't respond. "Okay," she said abruptly, "then I'm calling in your debts." Her eyes narrowed. "Just remember that the only reason anyone feels confident about you running the studio in my absence is because I've encouraged you to make a name for yourself along with me. I didn't have to do that. I could have done what everybody else does, and put your work out under the studio's name. You owe me for that at least."
"I owe you a great deal more, Jinx, which is why I'm shitting bricks this end. I don't want to make things worse for you." He heard her indrawn breath. "Okay, take it easy, I will tell you, but you must promise me you won't do anything silly afterwards."
"Do you mean try and kill myself?''
"Yes."
"I promise," she said wearily. "But if I was desperate enough to want to do it, then giving my word in advance wouldn't stop me. It's only fair you should know that."
Perversely, he found this honesty more reassuring than the pledge. "Sir Anthony said Leo and his girlfriend had been murdered. Their bodies were found last Thursday in a wood near Winchester but the police think they were killed the week before."
She clenched her fist against her heart. "Which day the week before?"
"The Monday, according to Sir Anthony, but I'm not sure he knows. He really was very upset."
Ice settled in a frozen block inside her. "What else did he say?"
"Nothing much."
"Did he mention me?"
He didn't answer.
"Please, Dean."
"He said Leo had been engaged to a woman whose husband died the same way."
She stared at her terrible image in the mirror.
"Are you still there?"
"Yes," she said. "I'm sorry I made you do it. It wasn't fair."
"Don't worry about it." But the line had gone dead and his words fell on deaf ears.
THE NIGHTINGALE CLINIC, LAVERSTOCK,
SALISBURY, WILTSHIRE
one page sent via fax (handwritten) to:
Adam Kingsley
Hellingdon Hall
Nr. Fordingbridge, HAMPSHIRE.
Date: Sunday, 26th June, 1994
Time: 20:50
Dear Mr. Kingsley,
Is there any chance of your coming to the clinic tomorrow morning or afternoon for an informal chat about Jinx's progress? She is, as I am sure you are aware, a private person, and finds it difficult to talk about herself, but it would be helpful for me to have a clearer picture of her history and background. I have some problems understanding what compelled her to make an attempt on her life when she presents as a self-reliant and, in the oircumstances of her tragic widowhood, well-adjusted personality. I would welcome your views on this. One idea I'd like to discuss is the possibility of a joint session where, under my guidance, you and Jinx can explore any rifts that may have developed between you. She is clearly fond of you, but retains a certain ambivalence following the death of her husband. I have tried telephoning but, in the absence of a reply, may I suggest that you call first thing tomorrow with a convenient time. Please be assured that I know how busy you are and wouldn't trouble you if I didn't believe it to be important.
With best wishes,
Alan Protheroe
HELLINGDON HALL,
NR. FORDINGBRIDGE
HAMPSHIRE
facsimile: 27.6.1994 09:45 *one page sent
Dear Mr. Protheroe,
If the brief you were given is beyond your capabilities, please advise me immediately. I understood my daughter would be allowed to recover at her own speed and in her own time.
Yours sincerely,
Adam Kingsley
*12*
MONDAY, 27TH JUNE, HO FORENSIC LAB, HAMPSHIRE-9:30 A.M.
The Reverend Charles Harris and his wife came to view the remains of their daughter together. It was a more harrowing identification than Leo's because Mrs. Harris was present. Frank Cheever had done his best to persuade her to remain at home in the company of a policewoman, but she had insisted on seeing Meg for herself. She had worn her grief with calm composure throughout the car journey, but faced with the terrible sight of her daughter, she broke down. "This is Jinx Kingsley's doing," she cried. "I warned Meg what would happen if she took Leo away from her."
"Hush, Caroline," said her husband, putting his arm about her shoulders. "I'm sure this has nothing to do with Jinx."
Her anger was immediate and terrible. "You stupid man," she screamed, thrusting him from her. "This is your baby lying here, not some parishioner's child. Look at her, Charles. Your Meggy, your darling, reduced to this." She held a fluttering hand to her lips. "Oh GOD!" The word exploded from her with hatred. "How can you be so blind? First Russell. Now Leo and Meg." She rounded on Superintendent Cheever. "I've been so worried. From the moment she said Leo had left Jinx for her, I've been so worried. She's a murderer. She and her beastly father. They're both murderers."
Calmly, Dr. Clarke pulled the shroud over Meg's head, then took the mother's hand and tucked it into the crook of his arm. "We have to leave now, Mrs. Harris," he said gently. "Would you like to say good-bye to Meg before we go?"
She stared at him with drowned eyes. "Meg's dead."
"I know." He smiled into the sad face. "But this isn't a bad place. God is here, too."
"Yes," she said, "you're right." She turned and took a final look at the shrouded corpse. "God bless you, my darling," she whispered through her tears. "God bless you."
Frank Cheever watched Bob usher the wretched woman through the doors, and it crossed his mind that perhaps pathologists earned their salaries after all. He gestured awkwardly to Meg's father. "I'm not as good at this as Dr. Clarke," he said apologetically, "but if you'd like some privacy with your daughter-" He broke off.
"No," said the vicar. "God and Meg both know what's in my heart. I can't say any more to her than I've said already." He led the way to the doors, then faltered. "You really mustn't pay any attention to what Caroline said, Superintendent. Jinx would never have done anything to harm Meg."
"Are you sure about that, sir?"
"Yes," he said simply. "She's rather a fine person, you know. I've always admired her courage."
THE NIGHTINGALE CLINIC, SALISBURY-10:00 A.M.
The telephone rang in Jinx's room, fraying her nerves with its jangling peal. She pushed herself out of the chair and reached reluctantly for the receiver. "Hello," she said.
"It's your father, Jane. I'm sending the car to collect you." Fear ripped through her like burning acid. What did he know? There'd been no mention of Meg and Leo in the papers or on the television news. Her fingers clenched involuntarily round the receiver, knuckles whitening under the strain, but her voice was calm. "Fine," she said, "send the car by all means, it's no skin off my nose. I never wanted to be here in the first place. But I'm not coming home, Adam. I'll tell the driver to take me back to Richmond, and if he refuses to do that, then I'll call a taxi and go to the station. Is that what you intended to achieve by this phone call?"
There was an ominous silence at the other end.
"Leave things as they are or I promise I'll discharge myself." Her voice hardened. "And this time, you'll lose me for good. Do you understand, Adam? I'll take out an injunction to prevent you coming within a mile of my house." She slammed the receiver down with unnecessary force, and sank onto the edge of the bed as the strength seeped like sawdust from her kn
ees and thighs. She felt the beginnings of a headache sawing away behind her eyes, and squeezed her temples tightly with shaking fingers.
The flash of memory that burst in her brain was blinding in its clarity. Meg on her knees, begging ... please ... please ... please... She looked in confusion on her friend's terrified face, felt a corresponding rush of terror drive her own heart into a frenzy, before nausea sent her staggering into the bathroom to retch in agony into the lavatory. Shaking violently, she lowered herself to the tiled floor, and as she laid her cheek on the cold ceramic, she clung in desperation to the fact that, despite all her friend's faults, she had loved Meg Harris.
But it was an hour before the shaking stopped.
THE WHITE HART HOTEL, WINCHESTER-10:10 A.M.
"We know very little about your daughter," said Superintendent Cheever to the Reverend Harris and his wife. "As I explained, we had some difficulty finding you. There is almost nothing of a personal nature in Meg's flat, and we can only presume she was in the process of moving out of it."
He had balked at driving them to the police station and the sterility of an interview room, opting instead for a small upstairs parlor in a hotel near the mortuary, where Fraser and a WPC could sit unobtrusively in the background taking notes. He had abandoned the flamboyance of silk bow tie and silk handkerchief in favor of somber black, and he looked to be what he really was, an ordinary man in ordinary surroundings, unthreatening and rather kind. Mrs. Harris sat hunched in an armchair near the half-open window, a cup of tea, untouched, on the table next to her. Her husband sat on a hard chair beside her, clearly unsure whether to comfort her or leave her to come to terms with her grief alone, holding his own grief in check for fear of making things worse for her. Cheever felt sorry for both of them, but he reserved his deepest sympathy for Meg's father. Why was it, he wondered, that men were expected to disguise their feelings?
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