‘Certainly not,’ replied Miss Calthrop. ‘I have told you everything relevant to your inquiries. Our clients may be on the lowest rung of society, Chief Inspector, but they’re still entitled to some privacy.’
Barnaby did not pursue the matter. He could always make a special application should he feel it necessary. He smiled across at Miss Calthrop as warmly as if she had been fully cooperative and changed tack.
‘Have you sent many . . . clients to the Old Rectory, Miss Calthrop?’
‘Over the past ten years or so, yes. Regrettably, not all have benefited. Several have even betrayed the Lawrences’ trust.’
‘No,’ said Sergeant Troy on a drawn-in breath. He thought he might run with this line in mock amazement for a bit then remembered the chief’s nagging about alienating interviewees.
‘Hard to understand, I know,’ said Vivienne Calthrop. ‘You would expect them to be so grateful that they would seize any opportunity to transform their lives. But I’m afraid it rarely seems to work like that.’
‘That’s very sad,’ said Barnaby. And meant it.
‘They’re like animals, you see, who have never known anything but cruelty and neglect. Sudden kindness is often viewed either with suspicion or disbelief. Even contempt. Of course,’ she smiled, ‘we do have our successes.’
‘Young Cheryl, perhaps?’ asked Barnaby. Then in the pause that followed. ‘Sorry. Confidential?’
‘Just so, Chief Inspector.’
‘What about Terry Jackson?’
‘Not one of ours.’
Barnaby looked surprised.
‘Lionel sits on at least two rehab. boards. The young man may have become known to him that way.’
‘They’re all young, are they?’ asked Sergeant Troy. ‘These people Mr L takes on.’
Miss Calthrop turned and stared at him. ‘What is the implication behind that remark?’
‘Just a question.’ Troy remembered the chief putting the same one, to himself as it were, a couple of days ago. ‘No offence.’
‘Lionel Lawrence is a saint among men.’ Miss Calthrop’s bulk started to agitate itself, heaving and trembling like a mountain on the move. Her magnificent voice developed a volcanic rumble. ‘His wife’s inability to have children is a tragedy. Do you wonder he is paternalistically inclined?’
‘Yes. Well, I think that’s—’ Barnaby, rising, was cut off.
‘And now they are old—’
‘Old?’ said Sergeant Troy. ‘Mrs Lawrence isn’t old. Thirty-five if she’s a day.’
‘Thirty—’
‘Nice looking, too.’ On their way to the door Troy stopped at the tacky white table and peered into the Amaretti tin. It was full of rubber bands. ‘Slim, blonde. Lovely—’
‘Open the door, Sergeant.’
Miss Calthrop was still vibrating at full throttle as the DCI thanked her and the two men left.
As they got into the car Troy said, ‘Talk about well built. I bet one of her legs weighs more than our garden shed.’ Then, when there was no reply, ‘We’re really meeting them today.’
‘We meet them all the time, Sergeant. The trouble with you is, you’ve no relish for eccentrics.’
‘If you say so, sir.’
Relish, huh. What’s to relish? As far as Sergeant Troy was concerned, eccentrics was just a poncy word for weirdos. He liked people who ran along predictable lines. The others just tossed a spanner in the works and screwed up life for everybody else. He put the keys in the ignition, revved hard with showy and quite unnecessary vigour and asked if they would be going straight to the address they had just been given for Carlotta Ryan.
‘May as well.’
‘Good. I like driving in London. It’s a real challenge.’
Barnaby winced. Then, as they drove away, his thoughts turned again to Vivienne Calthrop. Her pretty face: blue eyes, perfect small nose and soft, rosy lips lost in a surrounding sea of wobbly fat and double chins. The wonderful hennaed hair tumbling over her shoulders, and eyebrows dyed exactly to match. It was the eyebrows, Barnaby decided, that got to him. There was something touching about the trouble taken.
‘I’d love to hear her sing.’
‘Yeah, great.’ Troy spoke absently. He was watching the mirror, signalling, pulling out. ‘Who?’
‘Who? Didn’t you hear that woman’s voice? It was practically operatic.’
‘Me and opera, chief.’ Troy sighed then shook his head, feigning regret at this mutual lack of enchantment.
‘You don’t know what the word Philistine means, do you, Troy?’
‘Certainly I do,’ Sergeant Troy responded quickly, on solid ground for once. ‘My Auntie Doll takes it for her blood pressure.’