“Like a baby?” Hank demanded, incredulous. “You must be lost in the throes of l-u-v, Si. That was a peacock screeching fit to beat the band.” He sat down, knees spread apart, his arms resting on his chunky thighs. “So I go to the window to either shut the thing or give the old heave-ho to a shoe and kill that damn bird. I’m one helluva shot. Did I tell you that? No? Well, we got this alley in Laguna, see, where the queers hang out.” He waited to see if he would once again have to explain the denizens of Laguna Beach to his audience, but they were caught in the grip of his pictorial pun. He went on happily. “And I get puhlenty of practise heaving shoes out at them, lemme tell you. Whatsay, Bean? Truth or not?”

“Truth, honey,” JoJo replied. “He can hit anything,” she swore to the others.

“I have no doubt,” Lynley said grimly.

Hank flashed his capped teeth. “So, here I am at the window, ready to heave it, see, when what I notice is a heckuva lot more ’an some bird.”

“Someone else screeching?” Lynley enquired.

“Hell no. The bird was there all right, but I got an eyefull-a something else!” He waited for them to ask what it was. There was polite silence. “Okay, okay!” He laughed. He lowered his voice. “Danny and that fella, whatsis name, Ira…Hezekiah…”

“Ezra?”

“Yep! And they are liplocked like I never s-e-e-n. Whew! ‘You two gonna come up for air?’ I yell.” He howled appreciatively.

Polite smiles all around. JoJo gazed from one face to another like a puppy eager to be loved.

“Only, this is the best part.” Hank lowered his voice again. “What we got on our hands isn’t Danny at all. But it’s Ezra all right.” He smiled triumphantly. Their complete attention was his at last.

“More brandy, Deborah?” St. James asked.

“Thank you.”

Hank squirmed forward in his seat. “But he’s gettin’ it on with Angelina! Can you see it?” He barked with laughter and pounded his knee. “This Ezra’s busier than a rooster in a henhouse, fellas. I don’t know what he’s got, but he sure likes spreading it around!” He slurped at his drink. “I made a few pointed remarks to Angelina in the A.M., but that girl is deep. Not a twitch of the e-y-e. I’m telling you, Tom, if it’s action you’re looking for, you oughta get yourself down here.” He sighed with satisfaction and fingered his heavy gold chain. “L-u-v. Wonderful thing, huh? Nothing messes with the mind like l-u-v. Bet you can attest to that, Si, huh?”

“I’ve been distraught for years,” St. James acknowledged.

Hank brayed. “Cotcher heart pretty young, did she?” He pointed a knowing finger at Deborah. “After him for a while, huh?”

“Since childhood,” she replied smoothly.

“Childhood?” Hank crossed the room to slosh more brandy into his glass. Mrs. Bur-ton-Thomas snored loudly as he passed her. “You two’re school sweethearts like me and the Bean, I’ll bet. Remember it, Bean? A little you-know-what in the back of the Chevy. You got drive-in movies here?”

“I think that’s a phenomenon endemic to your country,” St. James replied.

“Say what?” Hank shrugged and fell back into his seat. Brandy splashed out onto his white trousers. He ignored it. “So you met in school?”

“No. We were formally introduced at my mother’s house.” St. James and Deborah exchanged innocent glances.

“Hey, she set you two up, I bet. The Bean and I met on a blind date, too! We got something in common, Si.”

“Actually, I was born in his mother’s house,” Deborah added politely. “But I grew up mostly in Simon’s house in London.”

Hank’s face fell. These are dangerous waters. “Did you catch that, Bean? You two related? Cousins or something?” Visions of haemophiliacs languishing behind closed doors clearly danced in his head.

“Not at all. My father is Simon’s…well, what would you call Dad?” She turned to her husband. “Footman, servant, butler, valet?”

“Father-in-law,” St. James replied.

“Did you catch that, Bean?” Hank said in awe. “This is some romance.”

It was sudden, unexpected. She was trying to adjust. Lynley’s was turning out to be such a multifaceted character, like a diamond cut by a master jeweller, that in every situation a new surface glittered that she had never seen before.

In love with Deborah. All right, certainly. That was understandable. But in love with the daughter of St. James’s servant? Barbara struggled to assimilate the information. How had it ever happened to him? she wondered. He had always seemed to be in such complete control of his life and his destiny. How had he ever allowed it to happen?

She now saw his peculiar behaviour at St. James’s wedding in an entirely new light. Not anxious to be rid of her as soon as he could, but anxious to be away from a source of considerable pain: the nuptial happiness of a woman he loved with another man.

At least she understood now why of the two men Deborah had chosen St. James. Obviously, she’d never even been given a choice, for Lynley would never have allowed himself to speak to her of love. To do this would ultimately have led him to speak of marriage, and Lynley would never marry the daughter of a servant. It would shake his family tree to its very roots.

Yet he certainly must have wanted to make Deborah his wife, and how he must have suffered, watching St. James placidly break the ridiculous code of social behaviour that held Lynley immobilised.

What had St. James said? Father-in-law. In four short syllables he had coolly wiped away every class distinction that might ever have separated him from his wife.

No wonder she loves him, Barbara realised suddenly.

She glanced warily at Lynley as they drove back to the lodge. What must it be like for him, knowing that he had lacked the courage to tell Deborah that he wanted her, knowing that he’d put his family and his title before his love? How he must hate himself! What regret he must feel! How horribly lonely he must really be!

He felt her looking at him. “You did nice work today, Sergeant. Especially at the hall. Keeping Hank at bay for a quarter of an hour shall get you a citation, rest assured.”

She felt absurdly warmed by the praise. “Thank you, sir. St. James agreed to help?”

“He did indeed.”

He did indeed, Lynley thought. He let out his breath sharply in self-derision and tossed the file onto the bedside table. He dropped his spectacles on top of it, rubbed his eyes, and adjusted the pillows behind his back.

Deborah had spoken to her husband. Lynley could see that. They’d already discussed what his response would be when he was asked to assist. It was a simple one: “Of course, Tommy. What can I do?”

How like both of them! How like Deborah to have seen in their conversation that morning all of his concerns about the case. How like her to have paved the way for him to ask St. James’s help. And how like St. James to have agreed without hesitation, for any hesitation would have aroused the guilt that always lay like a dangerous, wounded tiger between them.

He leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes wearily, allowing his mind in its exhaustion to drift back to the past. He gave himself to the bewitching visions of a former happiness that remained unclouded by grief or pain.

The lovely Thais by his side, Sate like a blooming Easter bride, In fl ow’r of youth and beauty’s pride. Happy, happy, happy pair! None but the brave deserves the fair.

Dryden’s words came from nowhere, unbidden and unwanted. He swallowed them down and demanded that they recede into his mind, an effort that took every ounce of his concentration and prevented him from hearing the door open and the footsteps cross to the bed. He was quite unaware, in fact, of the presence in the room until a cool hand touched his cheek gently. His eyes fl ew open.