Dying to Know (A Detective Inspector Berenice Killick Mystery) (11 page)

‘Anton?
When did you speak to him?’

‘After
class.’

‘Ah.’

‘Is there any reason I shouldn’t speak to my old friends?’

‘None
at all.’ He shifted on his chair. ‘None at all,’ he repeated. ‘How is he?’

‘Fine.’
Her eyes were still fixed on him. He waited, wondering what she was about to say. But then she stood up and left the room.

He
stared at the door, noticing the chips in the turquoise paint. He wondered whether the parish would extend to redecorating. He wondered whether he should finish the washing up. He wondered how it was that the only woman he had ever loved was lost to him. How had it come to this, he thought, to see her turned away from him, as if there was glass between them and he could see her speaking but not hear?

He
reached towards the old leather, turned the creamy pages between his fingers.

“…
spiritum
quondam
infinitum
,’ he read, “
spatia
omnia
pervadere
et
mundum
universum
…”

There
was a line scored through the Latin. Underneath, in the same ink handwriting, he saw the words, “A certain infinite spirit pervades all space and contains and vivifies the whole world.” Underneath that, and underlined, were the words, “Therefore that force by which the moon is kept in its orbit is the very one that we generally call gravity.” The last word was underlined three times.

Chad
flicked through the pages. He wondered who he was, this Edwardian diarist who had gone to all the trouble to transcribe these words, at least some of which were Newton’s, he was sure of it, to translate them from the Latin, to annotate them. It seemed to be a labour of love, a reflection of the transcriber’s own views.

He
turned to the inside cover, and saw in the same handwriting, the same brown ink, the name, ‘Johann Van Mielen’. He ran his finger under the name, turned the pages to the end of the book.

“…an
empty space into which will see the seeping of evil, an evil kept at bay by our Lord. And the Lord knows how I pray to him to keep me safe, for my husband with his prism and his rays is risking all…”

Chad
turned the page. The writing was different, he realised, the loops more rounded, the ink a different colour, more black than brown. He read some more.

“I
fear for our souls, and for that of our dear child. My husband chases the missing force, the aether, that unites gravity with light, that allows the being of all matter, from the smallest particle to the greatest star. He sees neither me, nor our daughter any more…”

Chad
turned the page. The rounded handwriting continued. “The death of my dear brother haunts us all. Last night I slept alone. My husband inhabits a world wherein I cannot join him. He sits at his bench long into the night, with his lenses and rays and beams. Last night I watched our dear child in her cradle, and I prayed to the Lord to keep us from this Heavyness, this Darkness. When I awoke this morning I ventured to my husband’s room and found him sleeping there, a makeshift mattress on the floor. He is like a shadow to me now, this man whom once I loved, and my heart does bleed. Where once was joy and laughter, now there are tears, and Silence.”

The
next page was blank. Chad turned back, and read the woman’s words again. Then he closed the book.

The
kitchen was quiet. The lamp above him shed a pool of light. He could hear distant piano notes coming from Helen’s studio.

Last
night she had slept there. Venturing in this morning he’d found her sleeping, wrapped in blankets, a makeshift bed on the couch.

A
shadow to me now.

The
words echoed in his mind.

This
woman whom once I loved. Now there are tears. And silence.

Chapter Eight

I
didn’t mean to sleep in the studio, Helen thought, as she folded blankets, lifted the blinds to let in the morning sun. It just kind of happened.

Last
night, there we were, sitting side by side on the sofa, watching television, I can’t even remember what it was, a game show? A kind of competition thing involving food, that’s what it was. I remember pouring wine, probably too much. I remember asking him, again, about that weird lunch yesterday, that Virginia woman. Why are you involved, I said, when what she needs is the police? And he just said what he’d said before, about being her priest… and so after that I got up and came in here, I told him I needed to tidy up before the week’s lessons. And then I sorted out some CDs and then I thought I should work through the Grade 8
barre
music, and I put on the CD player.

And
for some reason the Board have chosen a long piece of Chopin for the
Adage
, the
Lente
con
Gran
Espressione
, and it’s the music we had at that show, the first one where I ever had a real solo, Oh that crimson costume, and Xavier the director claimed to have fallen madly in love with Anton, even though it turned out he was living with someone else all along, that Welsh boy who worked in the zoo and knew all about lizards…

Another
life.

Chad
came to the first night. It was in those weeks before our wedding. I was so nervous, almost sick before I went on… And afterwards, he said, did it go OK? And I remember thinking, what an odd question, how could he not tell how well it had gone, how as soon as I took my first steps I had forgotten to be nervous, and the feeling in the music had led me…

It
had been jagged layers of dark red silk, the costume deliberately torn. It floated around me, as I did a turn, like that, a pirouette, arabesque…

Chad
had said, afterwards, I don’t know anything about it, you see. But –

But
what? I’d said.

You
were very beautiful, he’d said. ‘Graceful.’ And then he’d stood there, twisting his fingers together like he did when he was shy, still does sometimes, and talking about the word Grace, ‘like the word in the scriptures,’ he’d said, ‘a state of Grace, you see, a completeness with things, and that’s what it was like watching you dance…’

She
had looked up at him, at his awkwardness, his hesitancy. She had taken hold of his hands to still them, and her eyes had filled with tears.

‘What’s
the matter?’ he’d asked her, concerned, and she hadn’t been able to reply, hadn’t found the words to say that it was the greatest praise she’d ever had. Instead, she’d smiled, and said, ‘I’m so glad I’m marrying you.’

A
jetee
,
pas
de
bouree
. The feeling of the floating silk around her.

And
now, here I am. The same steps. The same tears in my eyes.

She
stopped, motionless in the sunlit studio.

Chad’s
gone out now. I don’t know where he’s gone.

She
switched off the music, opened the studio windows, huge sheets of glass with a view of the sea, she’d had them fitted specially. She pulled on her leggings, her pink leg-warmers, Anton always laughs at these, she thought, so very eighties… She pressed Play on the CD player, and resting one hand on the
barre
she began, and point and close and point and close and
en
seconde
and close…

We
were full of hope, then, Chad and me. He seemed so strong, so capable. When my mother insisted, as she always did, that I visit without him, our first Christmas, ‘it’ll be back to normal, dear, just you and your sister,’ Chad had said, firmly, that they would have Christmas at home, in London, ‘we can invite your mother to visit us instead, the sights of Hackney will be a nice change from Wiltshire…’

En
cinquieme
… and point and close, and point…

When
did that desert him, that strength? When did he cease to be dependable? When we lost the baby, what made him shrink and furl away, so that instead of being there with the right words, the right touch, a reassuring hug, he was absent, somehow, nowhere to be seen?

Chad
must have gone out early this morning, she thought. There was no sign of him at breakfast, although coffee had been made and there was a plate in the dishwasher…

And
demi
-
detourné
, and point and close…

A
ring on the doorbell.

Perhaps
he went for a walk.

Another
ring.

He
must have keys.

The
bark of a dog.

A
dog?

She
went to the CD player, pressed STOP, hurried to the front door.

A
man was standing there. He had floppy blond hair, a well-cut beige raincoat. Beside him sat a dog, similarly coloured, the two of them giving a general impression of smiling sandy-haired-ness.

‘Hello,’
he said. ‘You must be his wife.’

She
stood there, aware of her leggings and leotard, and wondered what to say.

‘I
mean, of course, shouldn’t assume,’ he went on, ‘please forget I said that…’ He ran his fingers through his hair. ‘Terribly rude of me, I always do it, no manners at all…’ He held out his hand. ‘Phelps,’ he said. ‘Liam Phelps. From the lab. Hoping to see your old man about poor old Tobias, gather he’s stepped in rather…’

His
head was on one side, and the dog, too, had one ear tilted. She smiled at the dog, then at the man, then shook the offered hand. ‘Helen,’ she said. ‘My husband’s out, but I don’t expect he’ll be long.’

She
led them into the kitchen, picking up her old cashmere cardigan from the back of a chair, throwing it round her shoulders. He sat down at the table with an expectant air, which was echoed, again, by the dog.

She
glanced down at him. ‘Does he… I mean, is he…?’

‘Just
some water if you’ve got anything suitable, bowl or something, you know. We’ve had rather a long walk this morning, haven’t we Jonas-boy?’

The
dog gazed up at him and thumped his tail on the tiled floor.

‘A
collie?’ she said.

‘Cross,’
he said. ‘Mongrel, really. But something Collie-ish in there. Rescue dog. Got fed up with living alone, thought I’d share my damage with someone similar.’ He laughed.

The
kitchen seemed brighter, somehow, warmer.

‘What
about you?’ she asked him.

He
blinked at her. ‘What about me?’

‘I
meant, coffee? A drink?’

‘Oh.’
He laughed again, and she laughed too. ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Coffee. If it’s not too much trouble.’

As
she turned to fill the kettle, she saw that he had blushed pink. She wondered whether she had too.

‘Chopin,’
he said.

She
turned back to him. ‘Sorry?’

‘Your
music. Just now. Back there…’ He tilted his head towards the studio.

‘Oh.
Yes.’ She switched on the kettle, reached for two mugs.

‘The
Gran
Espressione
. I’ve always liked it. Used to play a bit, when I was young.’

‘You’re
still young,’ she said, turning back to face him, meeting his eyes.

For
a moment his gaze was fixed on hers. Then he shrugged, and she laughed, and turned away to find the cafetiere, ground coffee, milk from the fridge.

‘Awful
cheek,’ he said, ‘turning up like this, asking for your old man, and now making myself at home, sitting at your table, drinking your coffee… it’s really very kind of you…’

She
pushed down the plunger of the cafetiere.

‘It’s
Tobias, you see,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean to get involved, but Murdo was a good friend of mine, a great colleague at the lab… and now this awful business, it’s a shock for all of us, and Tobias is taking it badly, the job was wrong for him at the best of times, but – I don’t know if you’ve met Tobias?’

‘Yes,’
she said. ‘I have.’ She found a plastic dish, poured water into it, placed it on the floor. The dog ignored it.

‘Well,
you’ll know what I mean. He’s a swell chap, but – fragile. You know. And the work is distressing to him. And Virginia said that your husband had offered to help find him something else, and I suggested to her that we pop over there this morning, and she agreed. And given how bloody difficult she is at the best of times, I thought it was best to seize the moment, as it were…’