Festering Lilies (26 page)

Wanting to bury her head in his chest like one of her dottier heroines, Willow compromised.

‘Really?' she said, frankly. ‘I thought you loathed and despised me, and I was terrified of you.'

‘Don't be asinine,' came his astringent reply. Then more gently he said, ‘Will you let down your hair?'

Feeling as though she were really playing a part in one of her own books, she sat up a little way and tugged off the rubber band, shaking her head to let the luxuriant red hair fly about her face. Tom Worth gasped and, gently pushing her back against the pillows, kissed her again.

‘God you're beautiful,' he said as his hands went back to the small pearl buttons on her shirt, and for once she accepted that statement as the truth.

In the terrifying, wildly exhilarating lovemaking that followed Willow's rational mind ceased entirely to operate. In bed with Richard she had always felt happy to know that she was giving him pleasure and sometimes felt the pleasure herself; she knew him well and liked him a lot; he was a gentle and considerate man, and she had always thought that making love with him was an excellent prelude to a good night's sleep. But in Tom Worth's arms the mixture of volcanic physical sensation and deep surging emotion left her gasping and afraid.

She turned her head on the pillow to look at him as he lay beside her and thought that she saw in his face emotions that mirrored her own. He lifted a hand and rubbed his dark eyes.

‘I must be mad. Are you all right?' he asked.

‘I have no idea,' she said honestly. ‘Are you?'

‘I hope so. I'm sorry. You must believe that I don't usually thrust myself on…'

‘Murder suspects,' she suggested, feeling much happier as she regained some of her customary tartness. He, too, seemed to find it reassuring for he laughed a little.

‘You know you're not that, Will. But I don't want you to think that you are one of a series. I have never, ever, slept with a woman in the course of an investigation. You just…' He broke off, turned his head and then with great gentleness stroked her thin face. ‘You are just the most astonishing woman I have ever come across – and I think I've…'

At that a faint clarion call of danger sounded in Willow's mind and she laid one of her hands across his lips. His eyes smiled at her over the barrier and, trusting him, she took her hand away.

‘It's all right. I'm not going to throttle you with emotion,' he said. ‘But I do find you unutterably desirable. And you got under my skin – through all my defences.'

‘Well, that's all right,' said Willow, smiling back. ‘You seem to have got through mine pretty effectively too.'

Before he left her shortly after six o'clock the next morning, she got up in her old towelling dressing gown, her hair cascading down her back, and cooked him breakfast. As they sat on opposite sides of the kitchen table eating and drinking coffee, he spoke:

‘I said I wasn't going to throttle you with emotion, and I'm not. It's all right: you needn't look as though you were going to be sick. But will you promise me something?'

‘What?' Willow asked, scooping a handful of hair behind her ear and looking exceedingly suspicious.

‘Don't go for any more walks on dark commons, and don't ask too many questions.'

‘Why not?' she asked rather crossly. ‘Are you afraid I'll get to the solution before you?' Even as she spoke she realised what his reason was, but could not bring herself to admit it. He put down the cup and sat looking at her with a mixture of sadness and seriousness.

‘No. It's not a race. It's a bloody important investigation into a vicious murder. I just don't want you to get yourself into any dangerous comers. I'm fairly convinced that this was a one-off, but it's dangerous to provoke anyone who has killed. I of all people know that. Whoever he is, I don't want you irritating him so much that he tries again. All right?'

She nodded, which was as far as her dignity would allow her to go.

‘Why do you think it was a one-off?' she asked.

‘You really are like a terrier; you just won't let go. Because of the state of the deceased's head. It had been hit inexpertly, a great many times, with something hard-edged, rectangular they think, about two or three inches by six or seven. It probably wouldn't have killed him at all, if some of the blows hadn't landed on his temple.'

‘Not an actual weapon at all, then?'

He shook his dark head.

‘So that seems to rule out hired desperadoes,' she suggested, refilling his mug.

‘Not necessarily. It could have been done that way to make us think it was a random killing. But please lay off it all now. Haven't you enough to think about with your job at DOAP, your other life and your novels and, what was he called? Richard something. And…'

Willow waited for him to say ‘and me', but he did not. Instead, he gulped down the rest of his coffee and stood up.

‘It is not really adequate to say “thank you”,' he said. ‘But I do thank you, and I hope to God I haven't upset you too much.'

He had, of course, but he had not been alone when he did it and so Willow smiled a little and said: ‘Or I you.'

‘Bless you,' he said, leaned across the table to give her a quick, hard kiss.

‘Before you go, Tom,' she said breathlessly and stood up to face him.

‘Yes?' He stopped in the doorway of her shabby flat and her knees weakened as she looked at his dark eyes under their shaggy brows, his strong chin and endearingly broken nose. Forcing herself to concentrate on her mind and not her vitals, she said:

‘Have you seen his will? Algy's will, I mean?'

‘Yes,' he said, sighing. ‘And you want to know who the beneficiaries are. Well I shouldn't tell you anything, but I'll give you the broad outlines if you can promise me discretion?'

Willow nodded.

‘A considerable sum to Mrs Gripper. A smaller one to a girl called Gnatche who worked for him, small amounts to various charities and the residue to his party.'

‘Nothing to the brother then?' she said, surprised and annoyed that her determination to discover the terms of the will had been unnecessary. ‘You do know he had a brother, I suppose.'

Tom Worth nodded and just as Willow started to ask whether he had discovered the identity of the brother, left the flat. She could hear him bounding down the stairs and banging the front door behind him. But she could not be sure whether the urgency of his departure was caused by a desire to escape her questions or the emotions they had aroused in each other.

When she reached her desk three hours later, Willow sat down wondering how she was ever going to forget what had happened. Nothing in either of her well-ordered existences had prepared her for the rawness of such real emotion. She found herself resenting Tom Worth as much as she longed to be back in his arms. Telling herself that it was no wonder she was feeling fragile since she had had only about three hours'sleep, her head ached and her eyes felt as though they had been rolled in old carpet, she tried to concentrate on the idea of working.

There was a sharp, decisive rap on her door.

‘Come in,' she said, hoping that the knock would herald some crisis in which she could lose herself and her exasperating emotions. ‘Ah, Barbara. What is it?'

‘I just wondered if you had anything for me to do, Willow,' said the Scottish girl. ‘I've finished all that redrafting and until it comes back typed, I'm stuck.'

‘Yes, I'm sure there's plenty. Um, hang on,' said Willow with such uncharacteristic indecision that Barbara looked curiously at her. ‘No, look: I'll sort something out for you. But first, would you get me the personal files on the department's drivers.'

‘Yes, of course. Why…?'

‘Never mind now. Just fetch them – and don't go out of your way to tell anyone I've asked for them.'

‘All right,' said Barbara, showing quite clearly that she thought her chief was mad. But she left the room and Willow was left to take two paracetamol tablets and try to wipe Inspector Worth out of her mind. Her continuing investigation into the possible suspects was a gesture of defiance that she hoped would exorcise him once and for all. She had quite dismissed Englewood from her mind as a conspirator to fraud, but there was no need to ignore the possibility of the fraud itself. Even if Englewood had not been employing Albert someone else might have – and whatever Tom Worth might believe, Willow was unconvinced by the driver's alibi.

It was quite a relief to think that at the end of the day she would be able to slip out of Willow King's life and character, rather like the species of lizard that can leave its tail behind to dupe pursuing predators. Cressida's luxuries, clothes, easy life and fantastic daydreams would absorb her once again and if they could not completely banish Inspector Worth at least they might help her to come to terms with what had happened to her.

Luckily for Willow her red telephone rang at that moment and, hearing the PUS's peevish tones, she was immediately absorbed into the machinations of the finance committee. He had just been told by Downing Street of the appointment of a new minister and wanted to enlist Willow's help in ensuring that the new incumbent would not disrupt the office's plans for the revised pensions structure. He also wanted Willow to accompany him and his PS to a meeting with the new minister in the House that afternoon.

‘But why on earth?' Willow asked, surprised into uncharacteristic rudeness.

‘Because it's that damned woman Elsie Trouville. She's eaten up with all this feminist nonsense and I want to show her that we're not “sexist pigs” in this office.'

‘I see,' said Willow with considerable coolness.

‘Yes,' agreed the PUS, not having picked up her emphasis. ‘And I will say for you, Willow, you have never bored us with any of that kind of whining.'

‘Thank you so much, PUS,' she said, cooler still. ‘And what time should I present myself?'

‘Meet us in the hall at two-thirty, would you, Willow? Good bye.'

He put down his receiver and Willow, in her own office, followed suit. If she was going to be out of the office for most of the afternoon, she would really have to get down to work. The urgency worked its usual trick with her concentration and she thought no more of the investigation until Barbara reappeared some time later with a heap of files. Even then Willow hardly looked up.

‘Just put them on the side table, will you? I'll deal with them later. If you're still short of a job, will you persuade Roger to finish typing that report and check it carefully? You know how sloppy he can be about tabulated figures. Call them over with him, to double check, please.'

‘All right, Willow,' said Barbara, in a resigned voice, and Willow hoped that this second unlikely instruction might make the girl think that both it and the previous one were merely designed to keep her busy so that she would refrain from commenting publicly on Willow's demand for the chauffeurs'files.

When her AT had gone, Willow nipped across her office to remove the file belonging to Albert and read it from beginning to end. There was very little in it that was any use to her except for the reference he had brought with him from the
Daily Mercury.

It had been written by the personnel officer of the paper rather than Gripper himself and it struck Willow as being rather odd. Having explained that Albert had been an excellent driver, with a clean licence and no stain on his character, the writer went on to say that Albert's departure from the paper's employ was caused merely by a difference of opinion with Mr Gripper and ought in no way to reflect on his capabilities or honesty. Willow had never seen such a reference in her life and thought its bad reflection on Gripper must mean either that the personnel officer hated him and did not care who knew it or that Gripper himself had inspired it. Of the two she thought that the latter was the more likely and began to be very interested indeed in Mr Gripper.

That interest was reinforced when she suddenly remembered that she had not rung Cressida's answering machine to get any messages for days. Scrabbling in her bag for the remote control device, she dialled the number of the Chesham Place flat, knowing that at that hour Mrs Rusham would be out shopping, played the tape back and heard Nan Hambalt's voice saying that her friend on Gripper's Gripes, Jane Cleverholme, would be delighted to dine with Cressida and give her the low-down on gossip columns. Unless she heard to the contrary, Ms Cleverholme would meet Cressida in Chez Saint Simon in Walton Street at eight-thirty on Thursday evening.

Blessing her memory for having woken up in time, Willow checked her watch. One-fifteen. She would have to do without lunch and buckle to in order to dispose of the work strewn all over her desk before meeting the PUS at half-past two. She had lost almost all interest in Eustace Gripper since her encounter with Inspector Worth. He knew that Mrs Gripper had been Algy's mistress and he knew that Algy had left her a substantial sum of money in his will. That in itself suggested that for once Algy had been genuinely in love, as well as giving both Amanda Gripper and her unappealing husband two very obvious motives for murder. If Inspector Worth was still concentrating his investigation on the personnel of DOAP, that suggested he was satisfied that neither Gripper had been in a position to commit murder. Willow had enough respect for Worth's brains to accept his views on that.

There was, however, still the question of Albert. Obviously Worth was interested in him. It was still possible that Albert's dismissal from Gripper's employ had been a ruse and that the driver had been put into the department as a spy, so that when Gripper was finally maddened enough to want to kill the man who had cuckolded him, Albert was there to do the job for him.

‘A little melodramatic, I think,' said Willow at her most dry and turned back to work.