A Taste for Death (10 page)

When Hugo was at Balliol, Stephen Lampart had been his closest friend. She had liked him in those days and some of that liking still remained, resented, only half-acknowledged, but bound up with memories of sunlit walks in Port Meadow, luncheon and laughter in Hugo's rooms, with the years of hope and promise. He had been the clever, handsome, ambitious boy from a lower-middle-class home, likeable, amusing, buying himself into the company he wanted by looks and wit, clever at concealing the itch of ambition. Hugo had been the privileged one, his mother an earl's daughter, his father a baronet and a distinguished soldier, possessor of the Berowne name, inheritor of what remained of the Berowne money. For the first time she

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found herselfwondering whether he had resented not only Hugo but all the family, and whether that subsequent betrayal could have had long roots in the soil of an old envy. She said:

'There are two things we have to discuss and there may aot be much time or another opportunity. Perhaps I ought to say first that I didn't ask you here to criticize my daughter-in-law for infidelity. I'm not in a position to criticize anyone's sexual life.'

The grey eyes grew cautious. He said:

'How wise of you. Few of us are.'

'But my son was murdered. The police will know that

soon if they don't already. And I know it now.'

He said:

'Forgive me, but can you be sure? All Barbara could tell me when she rang this morning was that the police had found Paul's body and that of a tramp,' he paused, 'with injuries to their throats.'

'Their throats were cut. Both their throats. And from the careful tact with which the news was broken, I imagine that the weapon was one of Paul's razors. I suppose Paul could have been capable of killing himself. Most of us are, given sufficient pain. But what he wasn't capable of was killing that tramp. My son was murdered, and that means that there are certain facts the police will make it their

business to discover.'

He asked, calmly:

'What facts, Lady Ursula?'

'That you and Barbara are lovers.'

The hands clasped loosely in his lap tightened then relaxed. But he was still able to meet her eyes.

'I see. Was it Paul or Barbara who told you that?' 'Neither. But I've lived in the same house with my daughter-in-law for four years. I'm a woman. I may be crippled but I have the use of my eyes and my intel-ligence.'

'How is she, Lady Ursula?'

'I don't know. But before you leave I suggest that you make it your business to find out. I've only seen my

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daughter-in-law for three minutes since I got the news. She is, apparently, too distressed to talk to visitors. It seems that I count as a visitor.'

'Is that quite fair? Sometimes other people's grief is

harder to bear, to face, than one's own.' 'Particularly if one's own isn't acute?' He leaned forward and said quietly:

'I don't think we have any right to assume that. Barbara's feelings may not be intense but Paul wa her husband. She cared for him, probably more than either of us understand. This is a horrible business for her, for all of us. Look, do we have to talk now? We're both in shock.'

'We have to talk and there isn't much time. Commander Adam Dalgliesh is coming to see me as soon as they've finished with whatever it is they're doing at the church. Presumably he'll want to interview Barbara, too. In time, probably sooner than later, they'll get round to you. I have to know what you propose to tell them.'

'This Adam Dalgliesh, isn't he some kind of poet? An odd hobby for a policeman.'

'If he's as good a detective as lae is a poet, he's a dan-gerous man. Don't underestimate the police because of

what you read in the upmarket papers.'

He said:

'I don't underestimate the police, but I've no reason to fear them. I know that they combine a macho enthusiasm for selective violence with a rigid adherence to middle-class morality, but you aren't seriously suggesting that they'll suspect me of cutting Paul's throat because I go to bed with his wife? They may be out of touch with social reality but, surely, not that much out of touch.'

She thought: This is more like it, this is the real man. She said calmly:

'I'm not saying they'll suspect you. I've no doubt you'll be able to provide a satisfactory alibi for last evening. But it will cause less trouble if neither of you lies about your relationship. I'd prefer not to have to lie about it myself. Naturally, I shan't volunteer the information. But it is possible that they will ask.'

'And why should they, Lady Ursula?'

'Because Commander Dalgliesh will liaise with Special Branch. My son was a Minister of the Crown, however briefly. Do you suppose there's anything about a minister's private life, particularly a minister in that Department, which isn't known to those people whose business it is to discover and document this kind of potential scandal? What sort of world do you think we're living in?'

He got up and began slowly pacing in front of her. He said:

'I suppose I ought to have thought of that. I would have thought of it given time. Paul's death has been such an appalling shock. I don't think my mind is working properly yet.'

'Then I suggest that it begins working. You and Barbara have to agree on your story. Better still, agree to tell the truth. I take it that Barbara was your mistress when you first introduced her to Hugo and that she remained your

mistress after Hugo was killed and she married Paul.' He stopped and turned to her.

'Believe me, Lady Ursula, it wasn't intended, it wasn't like that.'

'You mean that she and you graciously decided to abstain from your sexual liaison, at least until the honeymoon was over?'

He came and stood in front of her and looked down.

'I think there's something I ought to say but I'm afraid it isn't, well, gentlemanly.' She thought but did not speak: That word is meaningless now. With you it probably always was. Before 1914, one could talk like that without sounding false or ridiculous, but not now. That word and the world it represented have gone for ever, trodden into the mud of Flanders. She said:

'My son's throat was cut. In the light of that brutality, I don't think we need concern ourselves about gentility, spurious or otherwise. It's about Barbara, of course.'

'Yes. There's something you ought to understand if you don't already. I may be her lover but she doesn't love me. She certainly doesn't want to marry me. She's as satisfied

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with me as she can be with any man. That's because I understand her needs and I don't make demands. Not many demands. We all make some. And, of course, I'm in love with her as far as I'm capable of loving anyone. That's necessary to her. And she feels safe with me. But she wouldn't get rid of a perfectly good husband and a title to marry me. Not by divorce. Certainly not by conniving at murder. You have to believe that if you and she are going

to go on living together.'

She said:

'That at least was frank. You seem well suited to each other.'

He accepted the subtle insult behind the irony.

'Oh yes,' he said sadly, 'we suit each other.' He added, 'I suspect she doesn't even feel particularly guilty. Less so than I do, oddly enough. It's difficult to take adultery seriously if you're not getting much pleasure out of it.'

'Your role must be exhausting and hardly satisfying. I admire your self-sacrifice.'

His smile was reminiscent, secretive.

'She's so beautiful. It's absolute, isn't it? It doesn't even depend on whether she's well or happy or not tired or on what she wears. It's always there. You can't blame me for trying.'

'Oh yes,' she said, 'I can, and I do.'

But she knew that she was being less than honest. All her life she had been beguiled by physical beauty in men and in women. It was what she had lived by. When, in 1918, with her brother and fianc both killed, she, an earl's daughter, had gone on the stage in defiance of tradition, what else had she to offer? Not, she thought with wry honesty, any great dramatic talent. She had, almost casually and instinctively, demanded physical beauty ih her lovers and had been unjealous and over-indulgent of it in her women friends. They had been the more surprised when, at the age of 32, she had married Sir Henry Berowne, apparently for less obvious qualities, and had given him two sons. She thought now of her daughter-in-law as she had watched her many times, standing motion

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less in front of the glass in the hall. Barbara was incapable of passing a mirror without that moment of narcissistic stillness, that calm reflective gaze. What had she been watching for? That first droop from the corner of the eyes, the fading blue, the dry fold of skin, the first cr6ping of the neck which would show how transitory it was, this over-prized perfection.

He was still restlessly pacing, still talking.

'Barbara likes to feel that attention is being paid to her. You have to admit that about the sexual act. Attention, specific and intense, is certainly being paid. She needs men to desire her. She doesn't much want them actually to touch her. If she thought I had a hand in killing Paul she wouldn't thank me. I don't think she'd forgive me. And she certainly wouldn't protect me. I'm sorry. I've been too frank. But I think it had to be said.'

'Yes, it had to be said. Who would she protect?'

'Her brother, possibly, but not, I should have thought for long and certainly not at any risk to herself. They've

never been particularly close.'

She said dryly:

'No sibling loyalty will be demanded of her. Dominic Swayne was here in this house with Mattie for the whole of yesterday evening.'

'Is that his story or hers?'

'Are you accusing him of having a hand in my son's death?'

'Of course not. The idea is ridiculous. And if Mattie says he was with her, I've no doubt he was. We all know that Mattie is a model of rectitude. You asked me if there was anyone Barbara would protect, I can think of no one else.'

He had stopped his pacing now and sat down again

opposite to her.

He said:

'Your reasons for telephoning me. You said there were two things we needed to discuss.'

'Yes. I should like to be sure that the child Barbara is carrying is my grandchild, not your bastard.'

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His shoulders stiffened. For a moment, it could have been a second only, he sat rigidly gazing down at his clasped hands. In the silence she heard the ticking of the carriage clock. Then he looked up. He was still calm but she thought that his face was paler.

'Oh, there's no doubt about that. No possible doubt. I had a vasectomy three years ago. I'm not suited to father-hood and I hadn't any wish to be made ridiculous by paternity suits. I can give you the name of my surgeon if you want proof. That's probably simpler than relying on

blood tests once he's born.'

'He?'

'Oh yes, it's a boy. Barbara had an amniocentesis. Your son wanted an heir and he's going to get an heir. Didn't you know?'

She sat for a moment in silence. Then she said:

'Isn't that a risky procedure for the foetus, particularly so early in the pregnancy?'

'Not with the new techniques and in expert hands. And I saw that she was in expert hands. No, not mine. I'm not

that kind of fool.'

She asked:

'Did Paul know about the child before he died?'

'Barbara hasn't said. I imagine not. After all, she's only just heard of it herself.'

'The pregnancy? Surely not.'

'No, the sex of the child. I rang and told her first thing yesterday morning. But Paul may have suspected that there was a child on the way. After all, he did go back to that church, presumably to ask his God for further and better instructions.'

She was seized by an anger so intense that, for a moment, she couldn't speak. And when her voice did come it quavered like the voice of an old, impotent woman. But at least her words could sting. She said:

'You never could resist it, even as a boy, the temptation to combine vulgarity with what you imagined was wit. Whatever happened to my son in that church, and I don't pretend to understand it, in the end he died because of it.

When next you're tempted to indulge in a cheap witticism you might remember that.'

His own voice was low and as cold as steel.

'I'm sorry. I thought from the beginning that this con-versation was a mistake. We're both too shocked to be rational. And now, if you'll excuse me, I'll go down to see Barbara before the police descend on her. She's alone I take it?'

'As far as I know .she is. Anthony Farrell should be arriving soon. I sent for him to his private address as soon as I got the news but he has to get up from Win-chester.'

'The family lawyer? Having him here when the police arrive - won't that look suspicious? Too like a necessary precaution?'

'He's a family friend as well as a lawyer. It's natural for both of us to want him here. But I'm glad you're seeing her before he arrives. Tell her to answer Dalgliesh's questions but not to volunteer information, any informa-tion. I've no reason to suppose the police will take an unnecessarily dramatic view of what, after all, was common adultery. But it isn't something they'll expect her to confide even if they know about it. Too much candour

looks as suspicious as too little.'

He asked:

'Were you with her when the police broke the news?' 'The police didn't break the news. I did. It seemed to me advisable in all the circumstances. A competent woman officer told me first, then I went down alone to see Barbara. She behaved very prettily. Barbara has always known what emotion it is appropriate for her to feel. And she's a good actress. She should be. She's had plenty of practice. Oh, and another thing. Tell her to say nothing about the child. That's important.'

'If it's what you want, what you think is wise. But it could be helpful to mention the pregnancy. They'd be particularly gentle with her.'

'They'll be gentle. They won't be sending a fool.' They were speaking like confederates, precariously allied

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in a conspiracy which neither would acknowledge. She felt a cold disgust as physical as nausea and with it there swept over her a weakness which shrivelled her in her chair. Immediately, she was aware of him at her side, of his fingers, gentle, firm, pressing her wrist. She knew that she should have resented his touch, but now it comforted her. She lay back, her eyes closed, and her pulse strengthened under his fingers. He said: