“These are mostly evening dresses,” Joe commented, riffling through the silks and velvets on the hangers. “French labels.” He bunched the midnight blue silk of the dress at the front of the rack and drew it towards him. “Madeleine Vionnet. Oh, how smart!” He sniffed with pleasure. “And a trace of L’heure bleue.”

“Very apt! The Blue Hour. Twilight. That’s when she lives her life. In the evenings. She sleeps until noon, rehearses or performs until ten. The rest of the night’s hers to do what she likes with. Never sees daylight! Terrible life! At least that’s Kingstone’s version of it.”

“Different generations, backgrounds, interests … You’d wonder what on earth they had in common,” Joe said, mystified.

“Until you see them together.” The unromantic Armitage frowned and Joe stayed silent, understanding that he was struggling to clothe in words an emotional state that was outside his experience. “Weird, it was. Seemed made for each other. Very natural together … not lovey-dovey. No, nothing sloppy—just … together. In a room full of people you’d know those two were a pair. Still—she’s used to performing, I have to remind myself,” he finished with a return to his usual hard-headed asperity.

“How long have they been carrying on? Would you know that?”

“Six years. He saw her dance in Swan Lake at the Metropolitan when the Diaghilev company was touring the States and was knocked sideways. They say he travelled everywhere with her until they all came back to Europe.”

“Is he a faithful lover?”

“Lord, no! There was a showgirl on the liner over—maybe there were two—who caught his eye. You couldn’t call either of them faithful. They have others in their lives but they never discuss it with each other, according to Kingstone. Tatler magazine knows more about her past than he does.”

“And that’s a useful thought,” Joe murmured. “Worth following up, perhaps.” He sighed. “An extraordinary way of going on! Or am I being old-fashioned? Tell me—where is she at the moment? Did she spend the night here?”

“Told you—I don’t know. You’ll have to ask the maid.” And, tetchily: “This female element is all new to me too. The bodyguard’s not someone they’d confide in. If they see me at all, I’m the great gowk in the corner, always in the way unless they’re actually being shot at, then they see the point of the broad shoulders. Ideally, for this job, you’d be sans eyes, sans ears and sans you-know-what. Inconveniently, if you want a useful triggerfinger you have to have the rest of the package. Natalia turned up with her luggage and her maid on Monday. Warm reunion. I know she was here on Tuesday night, though I didn’t see her. I think I heard her though!” Armitage cringed at the memory. No sign of her on Wednesday and she wasn’t here last night, according to Julia. That’s all I can tell you.”

“Isn’t he concerned? And shouldn’t we be concerned? I’m supposing our remit embraces mental equilibrium as well as physical well-being.”

Armitage considered this. “I’d leave it,” he advised. “It’s a game they play. Wouldn’t do for you and it certainly wouldn’t do for me. I’d fetch her a wallop! She’ll be back.”

Joe picked up a silver-framed photograph from the dressing table. “This is her, the runaway, here with Kingstone?”

“That’s her. Taken in Switzerland last winter.”

Joe admired the small figure tucked like a teddy bear under the senator’s arm. Clear features in a pale rounded face were softened by an abundance of curling black hair and a furry hat. Dark eyes as round as buttons peered out with a gleam of mischief from the sheltering folds of tweed suiting. “An informal pose,” the society magazines would have sniffed but Joe was enchanted. The photographer and whoever held the snapshot in his hand was involved in their careless gaiety and—yes—their undisguised affection.

“And our worldly, sophisticated statesman is truly in love with this ‘taking little thing’ you say?”

Armitage bridled at the question. “How would I know? You’re asking, so I’ll say—‘in love’ doesn’t come near. Obsessed? No, sounds too melodramatic and mad. This is something strong but it’s not uncomfortable … Magicked! That’s it! Poor bloke’s been magicked!” He dismissed his flight into fantasy with a shrug and a grin.

Joe groaned. “That’s all we needed! Look, Sarge, I can’t give you a direct order any more, so I’ll give you a bit of advice. Find the antidote for this love potion before worse occurs. Oh, and when you’ve found it—give me the recipe. You never know when it might come in handy.”

“Too late for some, I think, Captain.” His expression was hard to read.

“Seven years too late, Sarge? Perhaps that’s the answer—leave it to Time. Was that your antidote? Time? And distance?” He put the question carefully, conscious that this was his first reference to the tragedy he suspected lay behind the sergeant’s flight.

He needn’t have worried about being misunderstood. Armitage replied at once, “No. But—La vengeance se mange très bien froide. I’ve learned to appreciate cold dishes since I emigrated.”

So that was what had brought him back. Could it be so simple?

Revenge. The notion had crossed Joe’s mind but he’d questioned it. He’d told Bacchus that he, Joe, might expect a bullet in the head from the formidable sergeant but there was someone else, he knew, who was a much more deserving target for Armitage’s wrath. The woman responsible for making him flee the country with a capital charge of murder on his head. And a broken heart.

“Watch it, Bill! There’s a much older saying that I’ve learned to put great store by. Confucius. ‘Before you embark on a journey of revenge,’ the wise man advised, ‘dig two graves.’ ”

CHAPTER 5

The telephone shrilled as Armitage was giving this his silent consideration. He stepped forward to lift the receiver. “Yes, he’s here … It’s for you, sir. Cottingham.”

Joe took the phone. “Ralph? Still here, yes. Message from the Yard? Yes, go ahead … Where? Dug up in Chelsea? A few yards from my own front door, you’re saying … I think I may have an alibi. Tell them to look elsewhere …

“What! Say that again … I see. And they say they want you? Must be important … but—no.”

He looked directly at Armitage, implying that he was speaking for his benefit also. “No. I’m countermanding that order. I want you to remain on duty here, overseeing things. The senator is well guarded—he has his own eminently capable guard dog at his side. I’ll deal with this other matter myself. Tell them I have it in hand and I’ll be at the Yard in ten minutes.”

“You’re walking out on us?” Armitage asked. “I have other duties. And a dead body perhaps should take precedence over one that is not likely to become so in the immediate future. Law enforcement before politicking, Armitage. I decided my priorities a long time ago. And I’m senior enough to be able to indulge myself. Something very puzzling and very sinister has come—all too literally—to the surface in the middle of my patch and I’m going to cast an eye over it.” He took a step towards the door. “You know Cottingham, I think? Now Chief Superintendent Cottingham.”

Armitage nodded and confirmed: “Good bloke. We can work together. I’ll make your apologies to the senator. Don’t you worry about him—I’ve got his back.” A smile broke through, showing, Joe was sure, a gleam of envy, a reminder of the keen young detective Joe had known. “A body, eh? You’re still lead hound in this kennel, then?”

Joe knew for certain that the sergeant would have liked nothing better than to be running alongside, nose to the ground, following a trail.

THERE WAS AN indignant detective inspector waiting to brief him in his office.