“I’m sorry for putting you through it,” Lynley said. “But you were the only one I could trust to manage it. I don’t know what I would have done had you not been at home when I phoned.”

“I’d only just got in. I have to admit that Jeffrey wasn’t at all pleased at the manner in which our evening ended.”

Lynley’s reaction played at the corners of his mouth and eyes, equal parts amusement and surprise. “Jeffrey Cusick? I thought you threw him over.”

She laughed lightly and took his arm. “I tried, darling Tommy. I did try. But Jeffrey is quite determined to prove that, whether I realise it or not, he and I are on the path to true love. So he was working on advancing us a bit further towards the journey’s end last night. It was romantic. Dinner in Windsor on the bank of the Thames. Champagne cocktails in the garden of the Old House. You would have been proud of me. I even remembered that Wren built it, so all these years of your seeing to my education haven’t been in vain.”

“But I hardly thought you’d be throwing it away on Jeffrey Cusick.”

“Not throwing it away at all. He’s a lovely man. Really. Besides, he was only too helpful in assisting me with my dressing.”

“I’ve no doubt of that,” Lynley remarked drily.

She laughed at his grim expression. “Not that way. Jeffrey would never take advantage. He’s far too…too…”

“Fish-like?”

“Spoken like the most petulant Oxonian, Tommy,” she declared. “But to be dreadfully honest, he is the teeniest bit like a cod. Well, what can one expect? I’ve never in my life known a Cambridge man to get caught in the throes of passion.”

“Was he wearing his Harrovian tie when I phoned?” Lynley asked. “For that matter, was he wearing anything?”

“Tommy, how vicious! But, let me think.” She tapped her cheek thoughtfully. Her eyes twinkled up at him as she pretended to consider his question at some length. “No, I’m afraid we were both fully clothed when you phoned. And after that, well, there simply wasn’t time. We rushed desperately to my wardrobe and began looking for something that would do. What do you think? Is it a success?”

Lynley eyed the beautifully tailored black suit and matching accessories. “You look like a Quaker on the path to hell,” he said soberly. “Good Lord, Helen, is that really a Bible?”

She laughed. “Doesn’t it just do?” She examined the leather volume in her hand. “Actually, it’s a collection of John Donne, given to me by darling Grandfather on my seventeenth birthday. I may actually open it someday.”

“What would you have done if she had asked you to read a few verses to her to get her through the night?”

“I can sound positively biblical when I want to, Tommy. A few thees and thous, a few lays and begets and…What is it?” He had stiffened at her words. She felt the sudden rigidity in his arm.

Lynley was looking at his car parked outside the station doors. “Where’s her husband?”

She regarded him curiously. “I don’t know. He’s vanished. I went directly in to see Gillian, and later, when I came out of the bedroom, he’d gone. I spent the night there, of course, and he never returned.”

“How did Gillian react to that?”

“I’m…” Lady Helen considered how best to answer the question. “Tommy, I’m not even certain that she’s aware that he’s gone. This sounds a little strange, I’m sure, but I think he’s ceased to exist for her. She hasn’t mentioned his name to me.”

“Has she said anything?”

“Only that she left something for Bobby.”

“The message in the newspaper, no doubt.”

Lady Helen shook her head. “No. I have the distinct impression that it was something at the house.”

Lynley nodded pensively and asked a fi nal question. “How did you talk her into coming, Helen?”

“I didn’t. She’d already made up her mind, and I credit that to Sergeant Havers, Tommy, although from the way she’s been acting, I think she believes that I performed some sort of loaves and fishes in the Clarence fl at. Do speak to her, won’t you? She’s been positively monosyllabic since I rang her this morning, and I think she’s blaming herself for everything that’s happened.”

He sighed. “That sounds just like Havers. Christ, what I don’t need is one more thing to have to deal with in this bloody case.”

Lady Helen’s eyes widened fractionally. Rarely, if ever, did he give vent to anger. “Tommy,” she said hesitantly, “while you were in Keldale, did you happen to…Is it…” She didn’t want to speak of it. She wouldn’t speak of it.

He flashed her his crooked smile. “Sorry, old duck.” He dropped his arm round her shoulders and squeezed affectionately. “Did I mention how damnably good it is to have you here?”

He hadn’t said anything to her. He hadn’t so much as acknowledged her beyond a cursory nod. But then, why should he? Now that her little ladyship was there to save the day- just as she’d managed to do last night-there was no reason for them to communicate at all.

She might have known that Lynley would use one of his mistresses rather than someone from the Yard. Wasn’t that typical of him? An ego so enormous that he had to make certain his London women would jump to his bidding in spite of his catting about in the country. Wonder if her ladyship will still jump through hoops when she finds out about Stepha, Barbara thought. And just look at her with her perfect skin, perfect posture, perfect breed-ing-as if her ancestors spent the last two hundred years throwing out the rejects, leaving them on hillsides like unacceptable Spartan babies in order to arrive at the eugenic masterpiece that was Lady Helen Clyde. But not quite good enough to keep his lordship faithful, are we, sweetheart? Barbara smiled inwardly.

She observed Lynley from the rear seat. Had another big night with little Stepha, I’ll bet. Of course he had. Since he hadn’t had to worry about how much the woman howled, he probably banged happily away at her for hours on end. And now here was her precious ladyship to be serviced tonight. Well, he could handle it. He could rise to the challenge. Then he could move right on to give Gillian a treat. No doubt that anaemic little husband of hers would be only too happy to give the reins over to a real man.

And weren’t they both handling the little bitch with kid gloves! One couldn’t really blame her ladyship for that approach. She didn’t have all the facts on Gillian Teys. But what was Lynley’s excuse? Since when did an accessory to murder get the red carpet treatment from CID?

“You’re going to find Roberta very much changed, Gillian,” he was saying.

Barbara listened to the words with incredulity. What was he doing? What was he talking about? Was he actually preparing her to see her sister when both of them knew damn well she’d seen her only three weeks ago when they’d killed William Teys?

“I understand,” Gillian responded in a very small, nearly inaudible voice.

“She’s been placed in the asylum as a temporary measure,” Lynley continued gently. “It’s a question of mental competence arising out of her admission to the crime and her unwillingness to speak.”

“How did she…Who…?” Gillian hesitated, then gave up the effort. She seemed to shrink into her seat.

“Your cousin Richard Gibson had her committed.”

“Richard?” Her voice grew even smaller.

“Yes.”

“I see.”

No one spoke. Barbara waited impatiently for Lynley to begin questioning the woman, and she couldn’t understand his obvious reluctance to do so. What was he doing? He was making the kind of solicitous conversation that one generally made with the victim of a crime, not with its perpetrator!

Furtively, Barbara examined Gillian. Good God, she was manipulative, right to the bitter end. A few minutes in the bathroom last night and she had the whole lot of them right where she wanted. How long had she been trotting out that little routine?