‘Seriously, though,’ Banks went on. ‘Are we OK with this?’
Annie and Gerry looked at one another and nodded. ‘It’s a pity Winsome isn’t here,’ Annie said.
‘Winsome’s on side. I’ve spoken with her on the phone,’ said Banks. ‘It wasn’t quite the same as the little discussion we’ve had here tonight, but she’s up for whatever happens.’
‘And what does happen?’
‘That depends very much on what I get from Veronica and what Gerry gets from our Marxist Society lady tomorrow. It might not be a bad idea,’ Banks added, ‘if you or Winsome went with her to Leeds. And before anyone takes umbrage at that, it’s neither a measure of any shortcomings on Gerry’s part, nor my appeasement of Annie’s hurt feelings. It’s the way we should have played it all along. We complement one another; we don’t compete. And two of us makes it official. With notes.’
‘But you’re keeping Lady Chalmers to yourself?’ Annie commented.
‘Oh, yes. I think so. For the moment. And again, I think it’s because I’m far more likely to get something out of her if there’s just the two of us.’
‘You’ve got nothing but a bunch of lies so far,’ Annie said.
‘I’m aware of that. It might be very fragile, but I think there’s at least a bit of rapport between us. And I think she’s heading for a fall. She’s scared. Like Winsome said about Lisa Gray, she’s going to get tired of all the lies and evasions and open up about her fears to someone. Me, I hope. You might take the piss out of us both being of that same generation, the sixties and all, but things like that can be damn useful, having stuff in common. We’re both Van Morrison fans, too.’
‘Fair enough. I’ve got nothing against Van Morrison. Quite like “Have I Told You Lately”, as a matter of fact.’ Then she glanced at Gerry. ‘I’ll go to Leeds with you.’
Gerry swallowed and nodded uncertainly. Then she stood up. ‘I’d better go now. I think we’ve finished, haven’t we? Finished our business?’
Banks stood up, too. ‘Yes. And thanks, Gerry.’ He looked at Annie, who hadn’t moved. ‘Annie, you shouldn’t be driving.’
In the brief silence that followed, Banks worried that there might an explosion coming, but Annie said simply, ‘I know. You’re probably right. What do you suggest? A taxi? It’s a long way.’
‘I can give you a lift home, if you like,’ Gerry volunteered.
Annie stared at her for a few moments, then got to her feet. ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Excellent. Harkside’s a bit out of your way, mind.’
‘That’s all right.’ She gestured to the half-full wine glass she had set on the table.
When they had left, Banks closed the door with a sigh of relief and leaned back on it until he heard the car drive away. Annie had drunk the best part of the bottle of wine, so he picked another from the rack, then he put it back and decided tonight’s shenanigans called for a large Laphroaig. Then he rummaged through his CD collection to find something that suited his mood. He stopped at Bitches Brew, thinking that might be a good choice in the light of the evening’s entertainment, but he quickly suppressed the politically incorrect thought. On second thoughts, he realised, he wasn’t the one who had used the ‘B’ word, and he rather felt like a bit of late-sixties Miles Davis funky experimentation, so he put it on anyway. Loud.
11
Banks wasn’t happy about visiting Lady Chalmers at her house again on Tuesday morning, but needs must. He would have much preferred an interview room, or his office, to the grand mansion, where he always felt intimidated by the ostentatious display of wealth. But he hadn’t wanted to let her know he was coming this time, and he knew there was no way she would agree to come down to the station, or go anywhere else with him, for that matter, without Ralph Nathan or Anthony Litton in tow. Besides, at least this way there was a chance that AC Gervaise wouldn’t find out so quickly, not if Lady Chalmers or Oriana didn’t tell her. He had made sure before turning into the drive that there were no signs of the media in the area.
Oriana seemed marginally more pleased to see him this time than when he had called by with Annie the other day. At least she greeted him with a smile, and it seemed genuinely warm. If she thought he was her ally in trying to plumb the depths of Lady Chalmers’ anxiety and depression, then she was right, in a way, though it was not perhaps for the same reasons.
When Oriana came back from consulting with Lady Chalmers, Banks found himself led towards a different room this time. Before he went in, Oriana touched his arm gently. He tried to ignore the electric tingle that her touch sent through him. When he looked at her, he could tell that she was both imploring him to be kind and encouraging him to uncover the reasons for her employer’s troubles. Banks hoped he could, but he had a sneaking feeling that the discussion would be more fractious than that. He gave Oriana an encouraging smile and went into the room.
It had the same view of the town centre, castle and river as its neighbour, but was much smaller, and most of the walls were covered by bookcases, many of them filled with copies of Charlotte Summers books in a variety of languages. A heavy mahogany desk stood under the window, and Lady Chalmers sat there in jeans and a white cashmere jumper, her desk littered with papers weighted down by a mug with ‘The trouble with being a famous writer is that sometimes you have to write’ written on it. There was also a large computer screen, the kind that didn’t need anything but a wireless keyboard and a mouse. She offered Banks the only other chair in the room and swivelled around so that she faced him. Mozart’s Clarinet Quintet was playing from speakers concealed somewhere in the room, or perhaps from the computer itself.
‘I like to listen to Mozart while I’m working,’ said Lady Chalmers. ‘It seems to help channel the creativity.’
‘He’s certainly good for that,’ said Banks. ‘I’m sorry to interrupt your work.’
‘That’s all right. I’m not having a particularly fruitful day. I can’t seem to concentrate. As a matter of fact, I’m glad for the interruption. It gives me an excuse to take a break for a while. I’d also like to apologise about our last meeting, or its aftermath. And for that rather silly telephone call.’ She blushed. ‘As you probably guessed, I was a little drunk. It doesn’t happen very often.’
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ said Banks. He was beginning to feel as if he were the one who had been summoned here. Behind Lady Chalmers’ shoulder, the computer screen-saver went through a random cycle of photographs. Exotic places – perhaps a Greek island, an ancient amphitheatre, the Champs-Élysées, an Asian street market, the Amalfi coast. There were also some family shots of the children, Angelina and Samantha, at various ages. Oriana in a bikini, which was a sight to behold, smiling, her sunglasses up on her forehead. Lady Chalmers and her husband, Banks assumed, standing on a yacht beside Anthony Litton, and a woman Banks took to be his late wife, Veronica’s sister, Francesca. He noticed a strong resemblance between the sisters. Oliver Litton came up, too, and he had some of his mother’s looks, though there was nothing feminine about him. With his handsome, chiselled features, bald head and broad shoulders, he looked more like a football player than a potential Home Secretary. The photographs were distracting, but Banks didn’t want Lady Chalmers to turn them off. He also hoped that Oriana in a bikini would come around again before he left. Naturally, there was no sign of Gavin Miller in any of the photos. None of them seemed older than ten or fifteen years as far as he could judge.
‘How can I help you this time?’ Lady Chalmers asked.
‘It’s a bit delicate,’ said Banks, ‘but first I’d like to ask you if there’s anything you’re worried about, afraid of, that sort of thing?’
Her answer came too fast and lacked conviction. ‘No. Why? Should I be?’
‘Not at all. It’s just … maybe an impression … your phone call and everything … that something may be troubling you.’
‘Then you have the wrong impression.’
But Banks could tell by the signs of strain in her expression, and th
e discolouration under her eyes, as well as the haunted look in them, that this was far from the case. She was looking closer to her true age today. She was also very subdued, but he could sense something powerful within, barely suppressed. What was she hiding? And why? It was obviously a great burden on her, yet she seemed determined to the point of self-sacrifice to bear it.
Could she possibly suspect someone close to her? Banks wondered. Were the three women lying about their alibi to protect one of their number? Oriana, Veronica, Angelina. Was one of them a killer? No, Banks couldn’t accept that. It didn’t make sense. It was a violent crime. Someone had beaten Gavin Miller, then literally picked him up and thrown him over the edge of the railway bridge like a sack of rubbish. Banks couldn’t see any of the three women doing that. But there was definitely something that felt wrong, something out of kilter in the household, and he was determined to get to the bottom of it. He decided to try a direct approach. ‘We now know that you knew Gavin Miller at university,’ he said. ‘That’s what I really wanted to talk to you about. Why you denied it.’
Lady Chalmers slumped a little in her chair. A head-and-shoulders photo of her standing with her nephew Oliver rose and faded on the screen, followed by the two of them standing in front of a cherry tree in blossom. It could have been taken in Tokyo, for all Banks knew. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said. ‘It was such a long time ago. If I knew him, it could only have been in passing.’
‘You went out with him for three or four months in late 1971 and perhaps a month or so more in early 1972.’
‘That’s ridiculous.’
She wasn’t a good liar, and Banks could tell easily that she was simply denying by rote now. The game was already becoming tiresome to her. ‘Why are you lying to me about something I already know to be true, Lady Chalmers? Perhaps if you told me the truth, it would help clear this mess up, and you could get on with your life, get back to normal.’
She gave him a pitying look, as if such a thing were never to be. ‘Normal? What’s the truth, anyway? Why does everyone rate it so highly? Do you think it really sets you free?’
‘Sometimes,’ said Banks. ‘But let’s stick to the facts for now. Were you sleeping with Gavin Miller at university in the early seventies?’
‘If you think you already know the answer, why ask me? I slept with lots of boys at university. Does that shock you?’ When Banks didn’t appear shocked, she went on. ‘You can’t expect me to remember their names after all this time.’
‘This was different,’ Banks said. ‘He was in love with you.’
‘Oh, Mr Banks. How naive you are. They were all in love with me. At least to hear them speak. For a week or two, at any rate.’
‘You didn’t return his feelings.’
‘Am I supposed to feel guilty about that, or something? Do you think that’s why I killed him? Because he was in love with me forty years ago, and I didn’t love him back? I expect it was just a bit of fun, like all the rest. I was young. Impulsive. Capricious.’
‘So you do admit that you went out with him?’
‘How quaint that sounds. Went out. Perhaps. I’m just saying he was nothing special, and I don’t really remember anything about him.’
‘Would he have remembered you?’
‘I’d like to think so, but I doubt it. Tell me, Mr Banks, in all honesty, would you remember or recognise all or any of the girls you slept with when you were a student, if you were ever a student, that is.’
Banks ignored the implied jibe at his education. ‘There weren’t that many,’ he said.
‘You’re implying that I’m a slut?’
‘Nothing of the kind. You’re the one who said you slept with a lot of boys at university. I’m only asking about your relationship with Gavin Miller.’
‘Relationship? Would you really call it that?’
This was like trying to catch smoke between your fingers, Banks was beginning to feel. Then, when he looked again at Lady Chalmers’ eyes, he saw they were not only haunted but a little glazed, which indicated that she may have been drinking, or perhaps was on some sort of medication. He guessed the latter, as it was still morning, and he could neither smell nor see any signs of alcohol. Valium or something, then. To take the edge off, muffle the anxiety and make talking to her like trying to grasp smoke. There was nothing to do but persevere. ‘I wouldn’t know what to call it. I’m assuming it’s true that you did go out with Gavin Miller back then. Why not? After all, he was a handsome enough boy, and he probably flattered you. Wrote poems about you, perhaps? What I’d like you to tell me is why you denied this in all our conversations.’
‘Because I don’t remember,’ said Lady Chalmers. ‘I’m not saying I didn’t sleep with him, I just don’t remember it, that’s all.’
‘Why did you stop seeing him?’
‘I obviously got bored. Or I found a better lay.’
‘You don’t need to be crude. It doesn’t suit you.’
‘How do you know? How can you presume to know anything about me?’
‘I stand corrected. Let’s say you got bored with him, then, and you had a better opportunity waiting in the wings. When he rang you a couple of weeks ago asking for donations to the alumni society, did you know who he was?’
‘No. Of course not. It was over forty years ago. I wouldn’t have known him if I’d passed him in the street, let alone by just his voice. I certainly didn’t recognise him from that picture you showed me.’
Banks took the older photograph from his briefcase, the one they thought had been taken in the early eighties. ‘What about this?’ he asked, holding it in front of her.
‘Perhaps,’ she said, her eyes shutting slowly.
Banks put the photo away. ‘He didn’t mention your shared past when he phoned?’
‘Of course he did. But it meant nothing to me. You make it sound like some grand affair, for crying out loud. It was just a fuck.’
‘So you moved on to someone else?’
‘I suppose so. It wasn’t all to do with men, you know. I was also busy studying.’
‘And there was the Marxist Society, too, I believe?’
‘For a while.’
‘I hear you were keen, quite a firebrand.’
‘Are you trying to embarrass me with my youthful politics now, Mr Banks? What does that have to do with anything? Are you going to arrest me for being a communist forty years ago? Yes, I admit it, officer, I was a member of the Marxist Society. It was a long time ago. I was young and idealistic. Weren’t you ever young and idealistic? I thought communism would solve all the world’s problems. I still believe in equality, whatever you may think of me. Maybe you’d call me a champagne socialist. Isn’t that the term today for rich people like me who spout on and on about inequality and social injustice? Guardian readers? I think everyone should have Veuve Clicquot rather than Freixenet, if that’s what they want.’
‘Or a decent single malt whisky,’ said Banks. ‘I couldn’t agree more. Though I doubt the distillers and the winemakers would agree.’
Lady Chalmers smiled. ‘Capitalist pigs.’ She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. ‘What can I say? We were young, naive, privileged intellectuals. There were people around then with the real will and power to do things, to change things, to do it violently, if necessary, through social upheaval. I was a bit too queasy for that. They could cause serious political and social unrest. We were intellectuals, theorists and ideologists. They were activists. The front line.’
‘The unions?’
‘Yes, for the most part. As you might remember, they were very militant back then. There was the romantic idea of the true revolutionary hero, the proud worker standing on the barricades brandishing the red flag, not the bloke you see by the roadside leaning on his shovel and having a cup of tea every time you pass by some roadworks. Establishing the true workers’ state. It was a very powerful idea. Very real.’
‘Mostly I remember the power cuts,’ said Banks. ‘Why did Gavin Miller tel
ephone you after all this time?’
Lady Chalmers let out another breath and said, ‘He wanted to touch me for some money, for old times’ sake. A few hundred pounds, just to get him on his feet. Apparently he’d fallen on hard times.’
‘What did you tell him?’
‘No, of course.’
‘And how did he react?’
‘Well, there wasn’t very much he could do, really, was there? He tried to bring up old times, how “fantastic” we were together, and he actually got a bit weepy. That did it for me. I think he was drunk or on drugs or something. In the end, I just told him quite firmly not to ring me again and put the phone down.’
Banks leaned back in his chair. ‘I don’t really understand any need for secrecy about all this. Why didn’t you tell me right from the start and have done with it? You could have saved us both a lot of trouble.’
‘Because I didn’t want to get involved, all right?’ said Lady Chalmers. ‘If you must know the truth, I was ashamed. I know that sounds like a cliché, but I had nothing whatsoever to do with Gavin Miller’s death, and I didn’t see why I had to answer all sorts of prying questions about my past and my personal life and open myself up to suspicion by admitting I knew him, even if it was years ago.’
‘But you opened yourself up to more suspicion by lying.’
Lady Chalmers gave Banks a brave smile. ‘I know that now. I really believed that you’d simply give up and go away. I thought I could hide behind who I am, what I am, my title, my status in the community.’ She gave a harsh laugh. ‘What a betrayal of those youthful ideals, don’t you think?’
‘If we all remained true to the dreams of our youth,’ said Banks, ‘it would be a very strange world indeed.’
‘But a better one, perhaps,’ Lady Chalmers whispered, almost to herself.
Banks sometimes wished he had followed Schiller’s advice himself. He had let some of those dreams go far too easily. But this was no time to get maudlin. ‘Had you ever seen him around town? Did you know he was living here in Eastvale?’
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