‘There are papers which prove the deception!’

‘And it was you that found the papers, wasn’t it? I mean, Sabine took the chain off the picture, but it was you who found the papers hidden inside.’

‘Yes, it was me. So what?’

She hesitated for a moment before continuing. ‘You took them out of their hiding place …’ she said quietly. ‘Or did you put them in?’

Forty-Two

Honor’s suspicion had shaken Nicholas. That his own sister could doubt him left him speechless as he put down the phone and cut the connection. He was still smarting when he saw Eloise later.

‘Why did you tell my sister what was going on?’ he asked, not even waiting for her to take a seat.

Composed, she slid into the pew beside him. ‘I had to tell her that you were in trouble—’

‘And put her in danger?’

‘She’s your sister, she’s already in danger,’ Eloise replied, changing tack. ‘I have some news that might interest you. About Carel Honthorst—’

‘So why bother with the note?’

She looked at him blankly. ‘What note?’

‘The one you left on Honor’s car earlier. The one she gave me an hour ago.’

‘I left no note.’

Suspicious, Nicholas looked at her. ‘All right … so what have you found out about Honthorst?’

‘That he was a priest in Amsterdam. One of four sons, mother dead, father also dead. Apparently he was something of a tyrant when he was alive.’ She paused, thinking. ‘If you were told about Honthorst in a note, that means that someone else knows, apart from us. Perhaps someone wanted to warn you.’

He passed her the note. On it was written:

The Dutchman is an ex-priest.

He is working for the Church too.

Be wary of him.

‘Very melodramatic,’ Eloise said, passing it back. ‘Strange choice of words too. “Be wary” is not a normal expression – not nowadays anyway. Sounds like someone for whom English isn’t their first language. Or maybe he’s just an old-fashioned, educated man.’

At once Nicholas thought of Sidney Elliott, the ageing academic. Had Elliott tipped him off? Nicholas doubted it – doubted he would have come all the way from Cambridge to leave a note on a car windscreen.

‘Of course,’ he said tentatively, ‘it could be a woman.’

Eloise turned to Nicholas, eyes steady. ‘No, a woman wouldn’t leave a note on a car. It’s too exposed, too easy to be spotted that way. And besides, it’s not how a woman writes … Do you know who sent it?’

‘No,’ he replied, pushing the thought of Elliott to the back of his mind. ‘I just know that it’s meant to scare me. It means that the Church has sent Honthorst after me. It means that he’s not just working for Gerrit der Keyser, he’s working for both parties – der Keyser for the chain and the Church for the papers, the secret.’

‘Are you going to tell me today?’

Nicholas didn’t need to ask what she meant. ‘No. I’ll never tell you what the deception was.’

‘Never is a fool’s word,’ she replied. ‘Keep your secret if you must – all that matters to me is finding out who killed my husband. That note,’ she gestured to the paper in Nicholas’s hand, ‘means someone else knows what’s going on. I had hoped to keep this matter contained.’

‘No chance. Philip Preston has the chain now. He’s auctioning it. If nothing happens in the next few days, that is.’

‘I heard about the sale.’

‘Have you got the money to buy it?’

The corners of her mouth lifted, but it was hardly a smile. ‘I could buy it, yes. But what good would that do? If someone wanted it badly enough they could outbid me, or steal it from me afterwards.’ She glanced at him. ‘It’s not the chain I want.’

‘Has anyone threatened you?’

Again the near smile.

‘No, Nicholas. No one has threatened me, but I am being watched.’ She shrugged as though the matter were of no importance. ‘I have good protection – my chauffeur takes me everywhere and he’s outside the church now. At the hotel, he sleeps in an adjoining room. As I said before, money is very useful. But you …’ She paused, staring at Nicholas. ‘Who protects you?’

‘No one.’

‘Aren’t you afraid?’

‘Yes, I’m afraid,’ he admitted.

‘I’m not. Everything I prized has been taken away from me. If I was killed, what would it matter? I only want to find out who killed my husband. Other than that, there is nothing else.’

‘You’re still a young woman – you’ll think differently in time.’

‘All the old platitudes! The ex-priest in you is showing, Nicholas. I thought you’d left all that behind. Claude used to tease you about it, didn’t he? He was very fond of you, you know. He liked your company and thought you’d been treated badly, hounded out of London. He liked you, even loved you … I don’t want comforting. Nothing can ever comfort me for losing Claude and—’ She stopped abruptly.

‘What were you going to say?’

‘Nothing.’

‘You were,’ Nicholas pressed her. ‘There was something else. Tell me.’

Getting to her feet, Eloise paused by the pew and genuflected, dipping her head towards the altar. Then, without saying another word, she walked out.

Forty-Three

Philip Preston was having his own problems and the housekeeper had called him home urgently. Gayle was drinking, babbling incoherently about being out shopping and seeing someone. When she caught sight of Philip, she leapt to her feet and clung to him.

‘I went to the gym, darling,’ she said, gesturing to her glass. ‘I’ve only had one drink, honestly. I think it’s those new tablets Dr Marshall gave me. They mess up my head.’ She slumped on to the sofa and Philip sat beside her. She looked unexpectedly pretty – made up, her hair blow-dried, her excess weight concealed under a dark dress – and for a moment she moved him.

But only for a moment.

‘The housekeeper said you were shouting and crying—’

‘I was confused,’ she whined. ‘I tell you, it’s the tablets. Or the gym. It could be the gym – all that noise and banging up and down with the machines. Too loud.’ She shook her head, her thick blonde hair flopping over her face. ‘I’m going to change,’ she said suddenly, grasping her husband’s hand. ‘I promise. We’ll be happy again and you won’t want anyone else. I’m on a diet—’

‘What were you so upset about?’

‘It was silly. I was confused. Like the other time, when I thought I was hearing voices and I wasn’t, it was just a radio left on. At least I think it was. Anyway, it stopped after the doctor gave me that medicine.’ She rubbed her temples. ‘It’s hormones – must be.’

He was gritting his teeth. ‘Hormones?’

‘But it just seemed so real. Like the past, old times. And that made me think of you and how much I loved you and didn’t want to lose you. I never loved him like I loved you—’

‘Who?’

‘Henry.’

‘Henry!’ Philip said, exasperated. ‘Henry’s dead.’

‘I know! I know!’ Gayle mumbled. ‘That’s what confused me when I saw him. This morning, walking down Regent Street with my father.’

It was all getting too much, Philip thought, trying to soothe his wife. ‘Both of them are dead, darling. Your father and Henry Laverne are dead, and have been for a while.’

She nodded. ‘And Hoagy?’

‘And the cat,’ Philip said patiently. ‘The cat’s dead too.’

Forty-Four

Church of St Barnabas, Fulham, London

The passing of time had not diminished his sleekness, rather exaggerated it. Like an oil slick Father Dominic glided into the confessional booth and took his seat, laying his rosary across his lap. Hair that had once been black had faded to a reddish-brown, like an old cat that has sat too long in the sun. His stomach rumbled, reminding him he had missed lunch, as the door of the confessional opened and someone slid into the adjoining booth.