Dialing Gemma’s number, he filled her in briefly, then said, “Ring Kit’s grandfather and tell him he’s all right, that he’s safe with me. Nothing more. Then give Laura Miller a ring, too, would you, love?”
“What are you going to do?” asked Gemma. “You have no legal right to keep him with you without their permission.”
“I know,” he answered guardedly. “But I don’t see any alternative at the moment.”
There was a pause, then Gemma said, “Bring him here, then, until we figure something out. At least there’s a garden for the dog.”
“Will Hazel and Tim mind?”
“I’ll just go have a word. See you in an hour or two,” she added and rang off.
Kincaid eyed Kit, who had been listening intently in spite of the arrival of his breakfast. “We’re going to visit Gemma for a bit,” he said as he picked up his fork and tucked into his eggs. “Okay with you?”
Instead of answering Kit frowned and said, “I didn’t know you knew the Millers.”
“They were worried about you. Gemma and I were worried about you. And I imagine all the friends that Laura Miller rang were worried about you, too.”
Kit looked a bit sheepish. “I didn’t think of that. Honestly. I only thought-”
“I know. Sometimes we lose our perspective.” Kincaid waved his fork at Kit and grinned. “Eat up. All those hours without food probably stunted your growth.”
“You sound just like my mum,” Kit said, concentrating on cutting his sausage. He ate in silence for a few minutes, then looked up at Kincaid. “It wasn’t any good, you know. Going home, I mean. It didn’t bring her back.”
Gemma stood at Hazel and Tim’s kitchen sink, washing up the remains of Sunday lunch. Kit had eaten two huge helpings of Hazel’s spaghetti, in spite of his late breakfast.
His initial reserve had quickly melted, the thawing process helped along by the immediate and limpetlike adoration of Toby and Holly. Hazel and Tim had welcomed him kindly but without fuss, and after lunch Hazel had tactfully suggested that he might bathe Tess in the big claw-footed tub upstairs. Now he and Kincaid were giving the dog a blow-dry in front of the sitting room fire, helped-or more likely hindered, Gemma thought with a smile-by the small children, and Hazel and Tim had taken the opportunity to go for a walk.
Gemma had been glad of a few moments alone. The sight of Duncan and Kit together had made her feel quite unexpectedly queer. It seemed that her knowledge of their possible relationship had altered her perceptions, for she now found the resemblance between them so unmistakable that she was amazed she hadn’t seen it instantly. That, she might have expected, but she had not been prepared for the aching tenderness she felt for them both. And the tenderness was mixed with unease, for she was not only worried about Kit, but concerned about how their involvement with Kit would affect all their lives.
The door opened and Kincaid came in, brushing dog hair from his pullover. “I’m sure I smell like wet dog,” he said, grinning. “But Tess is definitely improved. The next thing will be to get Kit into the tub.”
Wiping her hands on a tea towel, Gemma went to him and put her arms round his waist. She looked up into his face. “You don’t have any doubt now, do you?”
He pulled her closer to him and stroked her hair. “No,” he said softly. “And that frightens me. It’s funny-I’ve even begun to be afraid I’ll find out it’s not true. What if Ian McClellan comes back and takes him off to France?”
Gemma pulled back so that she could look at him again. “We can’t think that far ahead. Let me make us a cuppa and I’ll fill you in on this end.”
He released her, and in a moment she brought two steaming mugs to the table. “What did his grandfather say when you rang him?” he asked as they sat down.
“He seemed relieved, and said he’d wait to hear from you. But I could hear Eugenia in the background. She’s determined to punish Kit for running away.” Gemma shook her head. “What I don’t understand is how Vic turned out as well as she did, coming from that sort of home.”
Kincaid frowned as he thought about it. After a moment, he said, “I think Eugenia was difficult when Vic was a child, and self-centered, but not to the extreme we’re seeing now. It’s possible that the deterioration in her personality has been progressive.” He looked up and met Gemma’s eyes. “And I think at some level she is suffering genuine grief, and lashing out at others is her way of dealing with it. Or not dealing with it.”
“You’re being too kind,” said Gemma.
He shrugged. “All right, then. The woman’s just a bloody bitch. But what matters is that she’s no fit guardian for Kit in her present state, and it’s likely she never will be.”
“Hazel says Kit can stay in the spare room here as long as necessary, and when I talked to Laura Miller this morning, she said she’d offered to have Kit with them, at least until the end of term.” Gemma put her elbows on the table and leaned forwards. “That’s what he needs-school and friends and some sort of normal family life.”
“You don’t have to convince me, love.”
“You just have to convince his grandparents, and Laura said Eugenia turned her down flat.”
“I know,” he said as he took out his cell phone. “But I have no intention of approaching Eugenia about anything. And I intend to play things my way.”
He punched in a set of numbers, then hit SEND. “Hello, Bob? It’s Duncan here.” After a moment, he said, “No, no, he’s fine. But he’s going to stay the night with friends here in London. They’re psychologists-they know the best way of dealing with these things.” There was another pause while he listened, then he continued, “I think you can convince Eugenia that she needs a respite. You have my phone number-you can reach me anytime. We’ll talk tomorrow.”
As he rang off, Gemma became aware of another presence in the room. Turning, she saw that Kit had slipped in from the hall. Before Kincaid could speak, she touched his arm and gestured towards the door.
“Was that my grandfather?” said Kit, his face expressionless.
Kincaid nodded. “Hazel and Tim have asked you to stay here for tonight, if that’s okay with you.”
“Why can’t I stay with you?”
“Come sit down and have some tea, Kit,” said Gemma, giving Kincaid time to formulate an answer.
As Kit came slowly to the table, Kincaid said, “I’m sure you’d be fine on my sitting room sofa, but there’s no access to the garden for Tess. I live in a top-floor flat.” He paused a moment. “If it would make you feel more comfortable about staying here, I could stay next door at Gemma’s-that is, if it’s all right with her.”
Gemma made a face at him as she handed Kit his mug. “I think that could be arranged.”
“What about tomorrow?” asked Kit, still wary.
“We’re working on that.” Kincaid studied him as he sipped his tea. “Would you like to stay with the Millers for a bit, if we could arrange it? They want you to come, and you could go back to school, see your mates.”
“What about Tess?”
“Laura said they’d be glad to have Tess,” volunteered Gemma. Laura had, in fact, been sputteringly furious at the idea of Eugenia refusing to let him keep the dog.
Kit looked down at his untasted tea and frowned. “I’m not sure I want to go back to school.”
“It’ll be awkward for a day or so,” said Gemma. “Because they won’t know what to say to you, but after that it’ll be okay.”
Shaking his head, Kit said, “It’s not that. It’s Miss Pope.”
Gemma glanced at Kincaid, who raised his brows in surprise.
“Who’s Miss Pope?” he asked. “One of your teachers?”
“English.” Kit grimaced. “I hate English. I’m going to be a biologist like Nathan. And I hate Miss Pope.”
Gemma sensed that there was more here than a subject preference. “Did Miss Pope do something that made you particularly angry?” she asked gently.
Kit nodded. “She… she said ba
d things about my mum. About my mum and my dad. She said that if my mum had been a proper wife, Dad would never have left.”
“Oh, Christ,” Kincaid whispered. Then he said, carefully, “Kit, did you tell your mum about this?”
Kit’s eyes filled with tears, and he wiped angrily at them as he nodded again. “The day before she… At first I thought maybe that was why she died-because she was upset. They said it was her heart… and then last night…” He stopped and sniffed.
“Go on,” said Kincaid. “What happened last night?”
“Tess wasn’t the only reason I ran away. I heard them talking. Grandmama said Mummy… she said Mummy was murdered. But I don’t understand. Why would someone want to kill my mum?”
Kincaid closed his eyes for a moment, and Gemma guessed he was marshaling all his patience not to curse Eugenia in front of Kit. “We don’t know,” he said. “The police are trying to find out. But in the meantime, you need to understand that whatever happened, it’s not your fault. It had nothing to do with you.”
A muffled squeal came from the sitting room, followed by giggles and excited barking.
“Oh, dear,” said Gemma. “We’ve left the little demons alone too long.” She pushed back her chair.
“I’ll go,” offered Kit, jumping up. “I left them watching 101 Dalmatians. Maybe they’ve decided to make a fur coat out of Tess.” He left the room and Gemma sank back into her seat.
“I know two things now,” said Kincaid. “One, we can be pretty sure where Vic went when she left the English Faculty that afternoon. And two,” he paused and met her eyes across the table, “I’m not letting him go back to Reading, no matter what it takes.”
CHAPTER 18
I said I splendidly loved you; it’s not true.
Such long swift tides stir not a land-locked sea.
On gods or fools the high risk falls-on you-
The clean clear bitter-sweet that’s not for me.
RUPERT BROOKE,
from “Sonnet” (January 1910)
The Park Lane Hotel, Piccadilly
5 June 1974
Dear Mummy,
Sorry I haven’t written lately, but there’s been so much going on it’s hard to squeeze in a moment to think, much less keep up with correspondence.
I came up yesterday for my launch party and decided to stay a few extra days. Sometimes it does one good to get away from provincial life and provincial company for a bit. Tonight I’m making up a party with several (rather glamorous) London friends for the theater and dinner at the Savoy after.
The launch party yesterday was lovely. It will make next week’s punch and biscuit affair at Heffer’s seem even drearier than usual. Daphne will be lurking about hoping not to be noticed, while Darcy bores everyone within earshot with a lecture on the intricacies of deconstructionism. You know what they always say, If you can’t write…
At least we won’t have Adam mooning about like a forlorn crow, since he’s off do-gooding somewhere in Africa.
Did you see the piece in the Times? If not, I’ll send you a copy. It seems my work is finally getting the critical attention it deserves, though I think the reviewer could have been a bit better informed.
Must dash, people waiting.
Love, Lydia
This time Gemma and Kincaid were left to cool their heels in the plushly upholstered anteroom of Daphne Morris’s office. They’d left London early in Gemma’s battered Ford Escort, Kincaid having expressed concern over the Midget’s acquisition of a new noise, and they’d made good time to Cambridge considering the Monday morning traffic. Kit had agreed to stay behind with Hazel and the children without too much protest.
Daphne’s assistant, Jeanette, still wearing the baggy cardigan Gemma remembered from Friday, informed them that the Headmistress’s schedule didn’t allow time for unexpected visitors, and if they wanted to see her, they’d have to wait until she finished her history lecture.
But before the appointed hour was up, Daphne herself appeared, looking every inch the headmistress in a navy suit and upswept hair. She ushered them into her office and took a seat behind the massive barrier of her desk. “What can I do for you this morning?” she asked with the smooth smile and the touch of impatience Gemma imagined she used when dealing with annoying parents.
“Did you have a nice weekend?” Kincaid countered as he made himself comfortable in one of the rather feminine visitor’s chairs. “Relaxing and all that?”
Daphne merely watched him, but Gemma saw her make an aborted reach for the pen on her desk, then clasp her hands together on the desktop.
“I hope so, because we had a very interesting weekend, didn’t we, Gemma?”
Daphne glanced from Gemma to the darkening bruise under Kincaid’s eye, her unease more evident. “If this is a social call, Mr. Kincaid, I really must-”
“We had a very productive visit with Morgan Ashby, as you may have noticed”-Kincaid smiled-“once he had calmed down a bit. It seems Morgan felt he had a good reason for disapproving of your relationship with Lydia-beyond the fact that Lydia had been intimate with you.”
“Of course we were intimate,” said Daphne with a touch of exasperation. “Lydia was my closest friend.”
“Don’t prevaricate, Miss Morris. You know perfectly well that’s not what I meant, but if you want me to spell it out for you, I will. You had an ongoing sexual relationship with Lydia Brooke. According to Morgan, she bragged about it when they had rows. She must have enjoyed making him feel inadequate.” Kincaid shook his head as if disappointed. “She didn’t tell you that, did she?”
“I don’t know what you mean. I-” Daphne swallowed and clenched her hands together. “It’s not true. She’d never have told Morgan. She said he tried to bully her into admitting it, but she wouldn’t.”
“Do you mean you didn’t have sex with Lydia, or simply that Lydia wouldn’t have shared your secret with her husband?” Kincaid paused, frowning, then added with an air of discovery, “And if she told him, she might have told others, too-she might even have gone so far as to tell someone who could use it to damage your career.”
“No!” Daphne stood up, gripping the edge of her desk. “You don’t understand. Morgan was a raging paranoid. He imagined things, and if Lydia told him anything it was because he frightened her. They were poison for each other, and he drove her-”
“Why did she marry him, then?” asked Kincaid, and Gemma thought of Morgan thirty years ago, dark and dangerously handsome. The intensity of his need for her must have seemed flattering at first, and she doubted Lydia would have had the judgment to see what might lie behind it.
“I don’t know,” said Daphne. “I never knew. All I can tell you is that something happened that summer. Lydia was never the same after that.”
“Morgan says it was you who changed Lydia-drove her over the edge-you and the others.” Kincaid leaned forwards and jabbed his finger at her for emphasis. “She slept with all of you-you and Adam and Nathan and Darcy-and the strain of it made her ill.”
“We’ve seen Darcy, too, and he confirms the story,” said Gemma, gently. “You may be right about Morgan’s paranoia, but we have no reason not to believe Darcy when he says you and Lydia were lovers. Why should he lie about it?”
Daphne stared down at her white-knuckled hands, and after a moment she let go of the desk and walked slowly to the window. With her back to them, she said, “Darcy is a right bastard. What would he know about lovers-or love-when he never understood anything but his own gratification? And it was so much more complicated than that.” She fell silent and stood looking out into the manicured school grounds.
“More complicated than what?” Gemma prompted.
“Lydia…” Daphne shook her head. “I loved Lydia from the very first moment I saw her, running up the staircase at Newnham with her arms full of books, laughing. She seemed so much more alive, more intense than other people. You thought if you could just get close enough to her, some of that specialness would rub off on
you, like fairy dust.
“But there was a vulnerability about her, too, and I suppose that’s what made her a good victim for Morgan.” Turning to face them, Daphne continued, “I’ll tell you what you want to know because I’m tired of hiding things. It’s gone on far too long…” She closed her eyes for a moment, then began on the exhalation of a breath. “We’d experimented a bit at college, but it was just that for Lydia-experimenting. It wasn’t until she came back to Cambridge after her suicide attempt that we began to have a serious affair, but even then she had a different agenda. She was only seeking comfort, emotional support. She’d decided she couldn’t risk another relationship with a man, and I was safe.” Daphne’s smile held little humor.
“Even at college she’d only really enjoyed it when the boys were watching, and so she was more or less doing me a favor in return for stability and companionship.”
“And you knew it,” said Gemma.
“Oh, I tried to fool myself at first, but you can’t keep that up for very long. And as Lydia found her footing again she began to find me… tiresome. Her work was becoming quite successful and she was moving in much more sophisticated circles than her old friends could offer.” Daphne paused, staring past them with an unfocused gaze.
“So she broke off your relationship, and you started planning your revenge,” said Kincaid.
Daphne gave him a startled look, then tilted her head back and laughed aloud. “Don’t be absurd, Mr. Kincaid. It was I who broke things off between us. I didn’t care for feeling like a burden to anyone, so I left Lydia.” More soberly, she added, “But I didn’t foresee the consequences.”
“What happened?” asked Gemma, with a quelling look at Kincaid.
“Lydia was utterly and absolutely devastated.” Daphne paused, but there was no tension in it. She leaned back against the windowsill, her arms folded loosely across her chest, as if the telling of her story had released her. “She wrote to me, saying she drove away everyone who mattered to her because she hated herself. The letter came in the post after she’d crashed her car into a tree outside Grantchester.”
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