An Air That Kills (39 page)

‘I thought I heard you.' She sat down beside him. ‘Are you all right? You look awfully tired.'

‘Fine. Thanks for the sandwiches.'

She gripped his hand. ‘Don't shut me out, Richard. I need you.'

He pulled his chair towards hers and put his arms around her. ‘It's all right. I'm sorry this has been such a ruined day.'

‘I met this woman when we were up at the park,' she said. ‘She told me there'd been this terrible murder in Minching Lane. Someone had his head bashed in.'

‘That's more or less what happened, I'm afraid.'

‘But I've been so worried. Can't you see?'

His arms tightened round her. She moved nearer to him. Her body was warm and soft.

‘It wasn't like you'd think,' he said. ‘I arrested two people today and both of them will probably end up on murder charges. One was so drunk he couldn't stand up by himself. And the other was a woman who came up to my shoulder. She looks like a rabbit and she was absolutely terrified. Poor kid.'

‘Would it help to tell me? I'd like to know.'

He told her about Charlie Meague and Antonia Harcutt. He began reluctantly, but as he went on talking it became easier; his professional experience had taught him that confession had a momentum of its own.

‘It's the girl that worries me, you see. If I'd kept quiet, no one would ever have known that she'd killed her father.'

‘No one except her. Will she hang?'

‘Almost certainly there'll be a reprieve. So she'll go to prison instead. For someone like that, it will be living hell.'

‘You had to do it.'

‘That's just it. I didn't have to.'

A few minutes later, they went upstairs. When Thornhill came back from the bathroom, Edith was sitting up in bed with a book in front of her. As he slid into bed beside her she turned towards him.

‘Richard,' she said.

She moved a little towards him and twisted her face up to his. They started to kiss. He felt her hand running down his body and turned towards her. Their lovemaking had an urgency to it, a compound of desire, guilt and relief. For Thornhill, it was over too quickly. His urgency had defeated itself, leaving him with a sense of futility, of soured hopes.

Edith stroked his hair. ‘It's all right,' she murmured. ‘It's all right.'

Afterwards, they settled down to sleep beneath the mound of blankets and the eiderdown. Thornhill was very warm. He felt Edith's body shaking slightly under his arm.

‘What is it?' he asked. ‘Are you crying?'

‘Yes, but it doesn't matter. I'm just so glad that you're safe.'

The trembling stopped and gradually her breathing acquired a slow regular quality. Thornhill stared, dry-eyed, into the darkness. The events of the day trekked through his memory towards an unknown destination.

Jill Francis loomed up in his mind. He didn't want her there: she was an intruder and her very presence made him feel disloyal to Edith. He plucked words out of the darkness to describe Jill Francis. The words were like incantations and their purpose was to drive her away. She was cold, he thought. Remote. Arrogant. Irrational. Snobbish. And she had lovely eyes.