The Last Judgement

She shook her head once more. ‘No. Never a murmur. I owed him that. Within his limits he was a good husband. Within mine I was a good wife. I never wanted to hurt him. He never had the slightest idea. And I was always careful with Jean as well. He was a hot-blooded, passionate man. I was terrified he might go to Jules and tell him, hoping he’d divorce.’

She’d begun to cry again, at all the memories and the lost joys of life. Flavia had to decide whether to stay and offer comfort or just leave. She wanted to know more. What did she mean, she’d been careful with Rouxel? But she seemed to have had enough, and any comfort offered was not going to do much good. Flavia stood up, and turned to face the bed. ‘Mrs Richards. I can only thank you for your time. I know we’ve made you remember things you want to forget. Please forgive us.’

‘I will forgive you. But only if you fulfil your side of the bargain. Help Jean, if he needs it. And when you do, tell him that it was my last gift of love to him. Will you do that? You promise?’

Flavia promised.

Going back out into the cool fresh air and feeling the soft warmth of the sun was like waking up after a nightmare and finding that the horrors were not real after all. Neither of them said anything as they walked to the car, got in, and Argyll started the engine and drove off.

A mile down the road, Flavia grabbed his arm and said: ‘Stop the car. Quickly.’

He did as she asked, and she got out. There was a break in a hedge near by, and she walked through it into a pasture. On the far side there were some cows grazing.

Argyll caught up, to find her staring across the field at nothing, breathing heavily.

‘You OK?’

‘Yes. I’m OK. I just wanted some air. I felt I was suffocating in there. God, that was horrible.’

There was no need either to comment or even to agree with her. Side by side they walked slowly around the field in silence.

‘You’re thoughtful,’ he said eventually. ‘Something beginning to make sense?’

‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘Not there yet, but it’s coming. I wish it wasn’t.’

‘Come on,’ he said softly after a while. ‘Let’s get going. You’ll feel better once we start doing something.’

She nodded and he led her back, then drove to the hotel where he steered her into the bar, ordered a whisky and made her drink it.

In all, it took her nearly an hour plunged in thought before she was able to lift her head and say, ‘What do you think?’

And Argyll wasn’t concentrating on anything, either. ‘I think it’s the first time I’ve ever met anyone where I could honestly say she’d be better off dead. But I suppose that’s not what you meant.’

‘I didn’t mean anything. I just wanted to hear someone talk normally. Anything. Even you seem to have lost your flippant style.’

‘All I know is that we now have another good reason for working this mess out. It’s not going to make much difference to her life, but someone owes her a little. Even if it’s just guarding her memories.’

17

Very tired and downcast, Argyll eased Edward Byrnes’s unscratched Bentley into a parking-space outside the art dealer’s house at about half-past seven, then they went and rang the doorbell.

‘Flavia!’ came a booming voice from the direction of the sitting-room as the door opened. ‘About time, too.’

Following the voice after a second or so came the body of General Bottando.

‘My dear girl,’ he said solicitously. ‘I’m so pleased to see you again.’

And, with a most unprofessional lapse into emotionalism, he wrapped his arms around her and gave her a squeeze.

‘What are you doing here?’ she said in astonishment.

‘All in due course. First, you look as though you need a drink.’

‘A big one,’ Argyll added. ‘And some food.’

‘And then you can tell us what you’ve been up to. Sir Edward here delivered your message, and I thought it was time I got on a plane to have a chat. You seem remarkably unwilling to come back home,’ Bottando said as he led the way into Byrnes’s sitting-room.

‘How about you telling me what you’ve been doing?’ asked Flavia, following him in.

Bottando said calmly, ‘Do you want some of Sir Edward’s gin?’

‘Definitely.’

Byrnes, who had been standing in the background looking on approvingly and with some pride at his ability to host reunions, duly poured the drinks, considered the possibility of discreetly retiring, rejected the idea on the grounds that he was too curious, and sat down to listen.