‘If you say so, sir.’
‘I do say so, inspector. And you’d better believe I’m saying so or you’ll find yourself off this case and back on a six a.m. shift for the rest of your stay here, which, I can assure you, we all hope will be extremely brief.’ He stood, very suddenly for such a heavy man, then, propelled by anger and abhorrence, quickly left the room.
Troy followed, catching up with his boss in the corridor. ‘Bloody fascist.’
The sergeant responded, with some hesitation, ‘He is the chief constable’s nephew, sir.’
‘I don’t care if he’s the smile on the queen’s backside. He starts that caper here I’ll cauterise him.’
Barnaby slammed into his office. Troy took the door in his face, stilled the shivering glass panels with the palm of his hand then entered, as unobtrusively as he knew how. He gave it five hundred before clearing his throat.
‘Want me to have another go at Clapton this morning, sir?’
‘No. He’ll keep. We still haven’t talked to Amy Lyddiard. It’s hopeless at the house with that Dobermann of a sister-in-law. Go and collect her, would you? Gently does it. Tell her it’s for fingerprints.’
After Troy had left he sat staring at the wall wondering how he had come to miss Barbara. There was a time when he missed nothing. Certainly nothing as clearly under his nose as this had been. It was not even a matter of sloppy reading. Christ, he had done the interview where her name had come up himself. Thick as thieves, Ava Jennings had said they were. He remembered the exact words. Thick as thieves.
Barnaby cursed Meredith with his sharp eyes and sharp mind and sharp, upmarket connections, then cursed himself for meanness of spirit. He felt old and heavy and tired. Not to mention in dire need of further sustenance.
Sue, still pneumatically propelled on waves of exhilaration, floated between the twin pineappled pillars of Gresham House, up the drive and round to the servants’ entrance. In her excitement she tugged the old-fashioned bell extremely hard and rather a lot of wire came out, refusing to return when she released the engraved metal pull.
Sue let it dangle. She waited, smiling, while the sodden leaves from the wisteria dripped on to her uncovered head. Her arms still ached slightly from delivering Rex’s shopping, which had included quite a lot of heavy tins. She had been relieved to find him in improved spirits. Still fretting over the possibility that he may have played some unwitting part in Gerald’s death, but determined not to be overwhelmed by the suggestion. He was even talking about going back to work.
Amy, wearing rubber gloves and with a head scarf over her curls, opened the door. Sue stepped inside. The two women stood looking at each other.
‘What is it?’ Amy cried. ‘What is it?’ Then, seizing her friend’s hands, ‘You’ve heard from Methuen!’
‘Yes.’
‘Sue - how marvellous!’
‘They want me to go to lunch.’
‘Lunch! Ohhh . . .’
‘I’ve been dancing all morning. Up and down the stairs, all round the house, in the street.’
‘Of course you have.’ Amy beamed, said ‘Ohhh’ again, gave Sue a great hug and dragged her by the arm towards the kitchen steps. ‘You must come in.’
‘But what about . . . ?’
‘Taking a catalogue back to Laura’s.’
Amy had been polishing silver, which lay, in a heavy box lined with frayed green baize, on the old deal table. There was a saucer of rosy paste and several black-stained cloths. The air had a sweet chemical scent.
Sue sat down and started laughing in a rather delirious way, breaking off now and again to say, ‘I don’t know what to do with myself’ and ‘I think I’m going mad.’
Caught up in all this exhilaration, Amy, crying ‘Don’t set me off’, was promptly set off. Covering her mouth with her hand and choking with gaiety she gasped, ‘If you don’t look at me . . . I’ll be all right . . .’
And that was how they eventually calmed down, by staring determinedly at a point beyond each other’s shoulders. Amy wiped her face and said, ‘We should celebrate. But there’s nothing to drink in this place. Not even cooking sherry.’
‘Funny you should say that . . .’ Sue produced from her shopping bag a white cardboard box, a bottle wrapped in tissue paper the colour of methylated spirits and a corkscrew. ‘Voila!’
She slipped a rubber band off the box and lifted the lid to reveal a large, gooey chocolate gateau. The bottle contained white wine from the Côte de Gascogne. Sue attacked the green plastic seal with the tip of the corkscrew.