Festering Lilies (31 page)

When Tom had left her, promising to file a report and get someone to ring her with the reference number for her insurance claim, Willow was too over-stimulated to think of sleep. It was partly all the tea and coffee she had drunk, partly the adrenalin that had flooded through her body as she was forced to assess the assault on her possessions, and partly the excitement – or fear – generated by talking once more to a man whose brain moved as swiftly as her own.

Whatever the ingredients, she knew that their effect would be to make her toss and turn sleepless in bed and so she decided to tackle the mess instead of trying to sleep. At last taking off her high heels, she bound her hair back out of her eyes, put on a pair of rubber gloves and raided Mrs Rusham's cupboards for a bundle of plastic bin bags. Then with heavily-repressed regret twisting at her, she piled the remains of the Turner and the vases into bags, twisted closures about their wrung necks and stacked them up to await the loss adjuster.

The spilled feathers billowed around her whenever she moved, and the dust they raised caught at her throat, but as she gradually reduced the mess to some kind of order she found a certain peace. At last with all the debris stowed away, she fetched a dampened cloth and wiped the mess of flower stalks and water from the walls and stood back to see the skeleton of her favourite room laid bare in front of her.

It would not take all that long to reflesh it, she told herself, and it was even possible that some skilled cabinetmaker could repair the once-lovely walnut bureau. As Tom had said, the warning-off could have been infinitely worse. Happier, physically tired out at last and soothed by what she had achieved, she went to bed and in the end she slept.

The next morning, she was still heavily asleep when Mrs Rusham arrived for her day's work. Noticing that her employer was still in bed, the housekeeper moved with careful quietness about her tasks and Willow slept on until woken by the ring of the telephone beside her bed. Groggy with sleep, she reached for the receiver.

‘Hello, Tom,' she said in an indistinct, thickened voice.

‘Willow, my dear?'

‘Ah, Richard!' she exclaimed, wide awake at last and hoping that the disappointment did not sound too clearly in her voice. ‘How are you?'

‘Full of apologies, Willow, for last night. It was stupid. I'd been wanting to ring you for days, but I've had a simply frightful deal.… Meetings until the small hours every morning. And then when I rang Mrs R. last night, she told me you'd be at that restaurant, and so I…'

‘Let's forget it, Richard,' said Willow, determined not to cap his apology with one of her own. ‘How's the deal now?'

‘We've completed now, thank God.'

‘Good. I hope you won, Richard,' said Willow, wanting him to get off the telephone in case Tom was trying to get through and yet not wanting to upset Richard. After all, he had said sorry and she had been rather cavalier with his sensibilities when they had last met.

‘Yes we did. And the fees will be correspondingly enormous. The clients had ghastly doubts half-way through, which added to our problems. But at least now they think we're miracle workers. And they're set to make a lot out of it, so I don't see why we shouldn't.'

‘No, indeed,' said Willow, although she rather disapproved of his bank's methods of billing according to the wealth of their clients rather than simply to the hours worked.

‘So,' he said, as though she had not spoken, ‘I thought we might celebrate. Both my deal and the end of our separation.'

‘Richard, hold on. We haven't had a separation. I know that it's been a week, but I've been horribly busy as well. What…?'

‘It's all right, Willow,' he said interrupting. She could hear the smile in his voice. ‘Manner of speaking only. Will you come out to dinner with me this evening? Please, Willow?'

‘I'd love to, Richard,' she answered, suppressing an internal caveat that if Tom Worth wanted to talk to her, he would take precedence. They settled that Richard would pick her up at half-past eight, and then she got out of bed to dress and see what Mrs Rusham had provided for her breakfast.

Willow had finished her second cup of coffee before she realised that she had been thinking exclusively of Inspector Worth and how he might be progressing with the dual investigations at DOAP. She still hoped desperately that they were both wrong in their suspicions of Algy's murderer, but she was becoming more and more afraid that they were not.

Trying to stop her mind dwelling on the consequences of her intervention, Willow thought instead about Algy, and about whether he could be said to have borne any responsibility for what had been done to him. There was no longer any doubt in her mind that he had perpetrated some dreadful cruelties, and probably enjoyed them too. She frowned and put down her coffee cup.

During his early days at DOAP, Willow had prided herself on being one of the very few Civil Servants who could keep up with him and occasionally get the better of him in arguments. She had even been pleased at times to think that they were rather alike. But it had recently begun to dawn on her that she had been in danger of sharing several of Algy Endelsham's less desirable qualities as well as his wits and drive. Like him, she had often watched in cool contempt as other people wasted their energies in rage, or desire or fear, and had prided herself on not being at the mercy of her feelings as they were.

Unlike Algy, though, Willow had never enjoyed the sight of their weakness and turmoil. Indeed, other people's strong emotions had often frightened her just as much as the prospect of her own. But it was true that she had stayed calmly apart from the rest of the world, and only now could she see how dangerous and how destructive that could be.

If it had not been for Tom Worth, Willow thought, she might never have understood that. She was not ready to admit him into either of her lives, and she still shuddered to remember the terrifying possibilities of feeling he had aroused in her, but she was grateful to him for showing her what she had been doing. His kindness to her the previous night, his unconditional warmth and support, had given her something she had not even known that she lacked. And his lovemaking had shown her what it felt like to be submerged by passion, to give up all self-control and to allow another person to have enough power over her to damage her if he were to misuse it.

Willow knew quite well that Tom – and the feelings he had aroused in her – could destroy her carefully balanced existence if she let him, but perhaps when she knew him a little better she could explain herself to him and come to some kind of arrangement with him. She laughed at herself then because she knew that Tom Worth could never play the kind of part in her life that Richard Crescent played; but she also knew that whatever happened, she could trust Tom Worth with anything.

Willow went back to her novel after breakfast, rather glad to have the option of retreating into the old unfeeling fantasy life for a time. The investigation was over as far as she was concerned: the police no longer suspected her – if they ever had done – and mercifully it was their job to bring the investigation to its inevitable end. If the murderer did turn out to be Albert, she would be relieved. But if … her mind shied away from the other likely possibility and she forced herself to concentrate on her work.

The writing went quite well that day and Willow got her heroine safely into the deadly drama from which the hero would eventually rescue her, before leaving the word processor to bathe and change. When Richard arrived at half-past eight, he bore an immense bunch of white roses and a hopeful, gentle smile. Willow smiled to think of the easy, happy arrangement they had achieved and she kissed him warmly.

‘Richard, darling,' she said, ‘you look as though you expected me to hit you. Surely I haven't been that beastly?'

‘No, my dear, you haven't at all. What an idea! It just is awfully nice to see you after such a hellish week. Here, take these.'

He thrust the five dozen roses at her and she looked at them a little helplessly, wishing that Mrs Rusham had not left.

‘Put them in a sinkful of water,' said Richard, ‘and let Mrs R. see to them tomorrow.' Willow was about to compliment him on his unwonted perspicacity when he added, ‘It would take far too long to arrange them now.'

Ah well, she said to herself as she carried her trophies into the kitchen and ran cold water into one of the sinks for them, perhaps it is for the protection of his lack of understanding that I keep Richard by me. She returned to him with a smile on her face. He took her mink from her and draped it round her shoulders.

The dinner was so good, Richard's conversation so un-worrying and his smile so charming that Willow acceded to his request to take her home. When the Audi drew up outside her front door, they turned to each other and Richard asked a silent question. Willow smiled and nodded. As she opened her door to get out on to the pavement she looked up at her front door. In the shadows of the fat white pillars stood a man. Seeing the car he moved forward a little into the light. Willow stiffened. She felt one of Richard's hands on her arm and heard his urgent whisper:

‘Stay there, darling. I'll see him off.' Willow gripped his wrist with her free hand:

‘No, Richard. You can't, I'm afraid. It's the police. Ah, good evening. Inspector Worth. Have you met Richard Crescent? Richard, this is Inspector Worth of the Metropolitan Police.'

‘Good evening, Inspector,' said Richard and Tom answered simply, ‘Sir.' Then he turned to Willow.

‘I need a word with you, Miss King. Alone.' Before Willow could answer, or even decide what she was going to say, Richard stepped between them.

‘Inspector, I think I ought to sit in on your interview. Miss King has no legal representative available, but she ought to have someone to advise her and after all I am her alibi.'

Thinking ungratefully that she was not his chattel and he had no authority over her, Willow forced herself to speak with reasonable politeness.

‘There's no need for that, Richard,' she said. ‘If the inspector had come to arrest me he would have had a woman police officer with him. Isn't that right, Inspector Worth?'

‘That's right, Miss,' he answered, making his voice even blanker than usual. ‘I'll say goodnight then, Sir.'

‘
Yes
, do go on, Richard,' said Willow. ‘I'll see to this and ring you tomorrow.'

‘Are you sure you'll be all right?' he asked, peering at her in the dull light and quite ignoring the policeman. ‘Won't you let me come in and …'

‘Protect me?' she said a little mockingly. ‘I don't need protection, my dear. Thank you for my lovely dinner. Don't look so anxious. There's always another day.'

It was not in his nature to make a scene in front of someone else and so he took his departure with dignity intact. But he showed his feelings in the viciousness with which he slammed the car into gear. Willow watched the car pull away and then turned back to the inspector, her front door key in her hand.

‘Come on up, Tom,' she said. ‘Drink?'

‘No thanks,' he said. I just came to bring you this.' He held out to her one of the familiar brown envelopes in which internal communications were passed about DOAP. Surprised, she took it from him and ripped open the envelope. Inside was a single sheet of A4 paper covered in handwriting she recognised as Roger's.

Dear Miss King
,
You will probably know by now what has happened, but I
wanted to write to explain that I couldn't help it.
I have a friend in registry, and Albert made him work for
them by threatening me. At first he refused, but when some
of Albert's men beat me up, he didn't have an option really.
And when I tried to stop it, they did the same to him. We
had to go along with them, Miss King. It wasn't safe not to.
They said if we told the police they'd kill one of us.

After Albert heard you talking about corruption in registry, he thought I'd told you what had been going on. He said he'd wreck my friend's life – break his back so that he'd be paralysed. I had to give him something to stop him. I promise I didn't tell him you are Cressida Woodruffe; but I did say that he might get something if he followed you one Thursday evening. I had to. The police told me what he'd done to your flat. I'm so sorry, Miss King, so terribly sorry. But I couldn't let them break his back.

I'm sorry.
Yours, Roger

Shocked by what she had read, Willow could hardly make her voice work. Eventually, without looking at Tom Worth, she asked:

‘Do you know what's in it?'

‘No,' he said, his voice as unemotional as when she had first heard it. ‘But I can imagine. I had him in for an interview first thing this morning and he came across with the whole story. You were right about Albert and the fraud, you see.'

‘Roger just told you,' said Willow, looking up at last. Her eyes seemed dazed, as though she could not understand. ‘But in this he writes that he was too frightened…'

‘Presumably I frightened him even more than Albert,' said Worth. There was something in his voice that cut through the fog in Willow's mind. He sounded disgusted with himself.

‘What's the matter?' she asked, not altogether sympathetically.

‘It's a talent I have – frightening people,' he said. ‘I loathe it, but it is too useful to ignore.'

‘Not physically?' whispered Willow, genuinely appalled. Worth laughed, a short bitter explosion of sound.

‘Of course not,' he said. ‘But just as effective it seems.'

‘You've presumably arrested Albert,' she said when she had recovered some of her equilibrium. ‘Are you charging him with the murder?'

‘No, Willow. Don't you remember, he has a cast-iron alibi for that?' said Worth patiently.