Angel with Two Faces

Chapter Twelve

Wednesday was the first morning since her arrival that Josephine had not awoken to sunlight on the lake, but more than the weather had changed overnight. When William telephoned early to make sure she was all right, he was understandably in sombre mood and even his daughters were uncharacteristically lethargic about their plans for the day. Josephine refused the half-hearted offer of a run into Penzance for some shopping and settled down at the desk in the sitting room’s large bay window, full of good intentions to do something about the woeful lack of progress she had made with her book – but it was not to be: the bland, grey cloud which hung motionless over the water – mocking any celebrations promised by the half-decorated boat – seemed to recognise the futility of a glorious morning after such a senseless waste of life the night before, and she felt much the same. Every sentence she wrote was contrived and artificial, and her mind refused to engage with William Potticary’s progress along an imaginary cliff-top; instead, she kept mulling over her conversation with Morveth and the uncomfortable knowledge with which it had left her. She had no idea what, if anything, to say to Archie, but at least while he was busy with Nathaniel’s death she would have plenty of time to think about it.

She looked around the room, knowing that it was much as it had been when Archie’s parents were at the Lodge and intrigued to see what it might tell her about them. Like William’s library, it was spacious and comfortable, and had clearly been designed for living in rather than effect. A warm Brussels carpet ran the length of the floor, rich in reds and blues, but otherwise the space was divided in character: the area in which she was sitting had two tall windows, one looking out over the lake and the other along a private road that led to Helston, and its pale-green walls and drapes gave it a light, airy feel and an affinity to summer; the half which contained the fireplace was lined with dark oak bookshelves, possibly made from the wood on the estate, and would make a cosy retreat on a winter’s afternoon. She walked over to look at the books, smiling as she noticed that both the fireside chairs and the footstool had been frayed at the edges by Motley Penrose. The shelves held an eclectic selection of fiction and non-fiction, and there was a predominance of volumes on natural history, botany and gardening. Someone was fond of the Victorians, and there was a complete set of Trollope which must, she thought, have belonged to Archie’s father – she couldn’t see Lizzie Penrose having a taste for chronicles of clerical life. All the books were fine editions, but that had not stopped them being read and loved, none more so than a collection of battered children’s books which sat next to a shelf of novels and plays that Archie had added in adult life. She recognised his tastes and was amused to see that her own books – particularly The Man in the Queue – looked a little out of place alongside Waugh, Forster and Bowen, but were just as dog-eared; at least she hadn’t had to suffer the indignity of finding them pristine and unread.

Her eye fell on a volume of Tennyson’s poetry and she took it down, remembering the empty blanket and the book that Morwenna and Loveday had left behind last night. Where had they gone? she wondered, turning to ‘The Passing of Arthur’ and looking for the reference which Archie had mentioned. Before she could read much, she heard a car draw up outside and went back to the window. Archie got out, looking tired and worried, and Josephine found it hard to believe that he even owned cricket whites, let alone had worn them just the day before yesterday.

‘I’m sorry not to have spoken to you properly last night,’ he said as she met him at the back door, ‘but there was no chance of getting away.’

‘Don’t be silly. I knew I wouldn’t see you as soon as William told us what had happened.’

‘I don’t know what I’d have done without him last night,’ Archie said, giving her a hug. ‘He was wonderful with Nathaniel’s parents.’

‘Yes – he’s going over to see them again today.’

‘That’s good.’

‘What a dreadful way to lose a son.’ She looked at the suit and the frown, and gave Archie a resigned smile. ‘You’ve obviously accepted the case. Maybe we should have gone for that weekend in Brighton after all?’

‘It’s certainly not the holiday I had planned,’ he agreed. ‘A nightcap with the chief constable doesn’t have quite the same appeal, somehow.’

‘I bet his single malt isn’t a patch on mine, either. It’s a bit early for that now, but I could manage bacon and eggs. Have you time?’

Archie looked at his watch. ‘Just about. I’ve got to call the Yard, but I can do that from here. After last night, it’s vital that we find out what’s happened to Christopher Snipe and Bill can help with that up there – he’s got all the resources at his fingertips.’ He left Josephine in the kitchen and went through to the hall to let his sergeant know what was happening. As he was waiting to be put through, he had time to notice things he occasionally took for granted, and found a comfort in their familiarity which he did not often experience. He had always admired the painting that hung over the stairs, an oil by Stanhope Forbes which his father had bought for his mother shortly before the war. The picture showed a team of horses pulling a quarry cart through the Cornish landscape, and he loved it as much for the slash in the bottom right-hand corner of the canvas as for the quality of the brushwork. It was one of several works of art damaged by suffragettes in order to draw attention to their cause, and had met with a particularly militant umbrella while on display at the Royal Academy. The tear, and the spirit which it represented, was what made his father buy it in the first place, and his mother had resolutely refused to have the canvas repaired. Archie remembered how united they had always seemed. He was trying not to think too deeply about the consequences of this investigation on his relationship with the estate but – amid the doubts and suspicions that now surrounded some of his oldest friends – he knew that he desperately needed to find something in his past of which he could be confident, and the uncomplicated strength of his parents’ marriage took on a new resonance.

‘Can’t let you out of my sight for a minute, Sir, can I?’ Bill Fallowfield’s voice cut in on his thoughts, as cheerful and reassuring as ever. ‘I did try to tell you that theatre in the open air was a daft idea, but you wouldn’t listen.’

Archie laughed. ‘News travels fast, Sergeant – have you also heard that I’m forfeiting my holiday as penance for not listening to you?’

‘They did mention something of the sort. A bit selfish of you, Sir, if you don’t mind me saying. A fortnight with Inspector Rogers in charge is more than enough for anyone, so I’d appreciate it if you could get everything cleared up down there as soon as possible – for my sake, if nothing else.’

‘I’ll do my best, Bill, but I could do with a bit of help. We’ve got a missing person down here – could be in the frame for the killing, could be a victim himself, or could simply have disappeared up country to get away from a bit of trouble. Could you put a note in the Gazette for me and see if anything turns up?’

‘Must be something in the air down there,’ Fallowfield said after Penrose had given him the details. ‘That’s the third disappearance we’ve had word of in a month – a lighthouse keeper from Penzance, a clerk in Cornwall on holiday and now an undertaker’s son. Are you sure you don’t want me to throw a few things in a bag and come down to sort them out for you? I’d go a long way for a sniff of the sea and some of Mrs Snipe’s cooking.’

‘You’d be very welcome,’ Archie said, wondering if Bill knew how much he meant it, ‘but I’d better give the local boys a chance.’ His sergeant made a noise that indicated quite clearly what he thought of the Cornish force, but he dutifully read back the details that were to go into the police newspaper. They talked for a bit about various cases that were ongoing, then Archie rang off and went back to the kitchen, where a cup of strong, black coffee was waiting for him.

‘You look like you need that,’ said Josephine. ‘Scrambled or fried?’

‘Is that a question about my breakfast or a comment on my state of mind?’ he asked drily. ‘I don’t mind – which do you do best?’

‘Scrambled. You won’t taste better outside of Scotland.’

‘Then scrambled it is. Bill sends his regards, by the way, and asks what chapter you’re on.’

She grimaced as she broke the eggs into a bowl. ‘I suppose that’s the only advantage of your holiday going up in smoke – think of it as doing some sort of service to crime fiction. It’s a drastic way of forcing me to work, though. Have you had any sleep?’

‘Yes, but only a bit – perhaps that’s why this all seems so surreal.’ He sipped his coffee appreciatively. ‘You know, I can hardly believe that Nathaniel’s dead. One minute, we’re sitting on the rocks in the sun talking about Harry, and the next he’s falling over the cliff dressed as a jackdaw. And God knows what happened in between.’

‘You said the conversation was interesting.’

‘It was. I’d never really talked to him before, although I’d heard lots of good things about him from William – and I can see why now.’

‘You liked him, then?’

‘Yes, very much. He seemed to take his role so seriously,’ he explained, echoing Morveth’s description of Nathaniel as a boy, ‘and his dedication to the estate and the people on it was extraordinary. He was honest, too – or at least that’s how he came across in the brief time we spent together.’ He got up from the table and cut the loaf of bread into thick slices. ‘Perhaps he just needed a stranger to talk to – there was certainly a lot on his mind. He admitted to being in love with Harry.’

Josephine stopped beating the eggs and looked at him. ‘A vicar in a small village? He certainly wasn’t after an easy life, was he? How terrible for him – having to keep all that anxiety and grief to himself. Is that what you were going to tell me last night?’

‘Not just that.’ He repeated what Nathaniel had told him about the fire at the Pinchings’ cottage.

‘So Harry set the fire, with his parents and little sister in the house asleep – or so he thought – and went back upstairs to die as well?’ Josephine was incredulous. ‘Poor Loveday, walking around with all that stuff in her head and no one to help her through it.’

‘And poor Nathaniel – having to carry it alone and reconcile it with his feelings for Harry.’

‘Do you think he was the only one who knew?’

‘I’ve no idea – that’s one of the things I’ve got to try to find out today. You can imagine how much I’m looking forward to running the scenario past Morwenna.’

‘She was away from home on the night of the fire, wasn’t she?’ Josephine said, remembering what Ronnie had told her on the journey from Penzance.

‘Yes – she was working at the poorhouse in Helston.’ He watched as she put a mountain of butter in a saucepan to melt. ‘Why? You’re not reading anything into that, are you?’

‘No, not really. It’s just that she doesn’t strike me as the philanthropic type.’

‘Based on the two minutes you’ve spent with her?’ he asked, but the sarcasm was tame, with no hint of the defensiveness that had touched their earlier conversations about Morwenna. ‘You may well be right, but it was a job, not an act of generosity. There aren’t that many career options here, you know.’

‘I suppose you’ve got to look at that as a serious motive for Nathaniel’s murder,’ Josephine continued thoughtfully. ‘Protecting Harry’s reputation, I mean.’

‘Yes, although I’m inclined now to think that Harry’s death was suspicious, too.’

‘Why more so than before?’

‘Well, if I hadn’t seen someone force Nathaniel over the edge, I’d have been convinced that he either slipped or – after the conversation I’d just had with him – threw himself off. The circumstances are different, but the deaths could be interpreted in the same way by an outsider – an accident seems the most obvious explanation, suicide’s a possibility, but murder seems unlikely. The sightlines are marginal on that stage – if I’d been standing a foot or two forward or to my right, I wouldn’t have seen a thing – in the same way that no one saw the actual moment that Harry went into the water. Apart from Christopher, perhaps – and he’s vanished.’

‘It’s very risky to rely on where you might choose to stand, though,’ Josephine argued, turning the bacon in the pan. ‘It’s either audacious or desperate, and it backfired completely. And surely there are easier ways of killing Harry and making it look like suicide than a riding accident? Horses are so unpredictable, and you say he was a good rider – it would be very hard to be sure of the outcome.’

‘All right, all right,’ he said, holding his hands up. ‘I admit that, as patterns go, it’s tenuous to say the least. I suppose I’m just trying to justify my instincts. Even though I know for a fact how many people have drowned in the Loe Pool – strong swimmers as well as idiots – I was surprised when I heard about Harry’s accident, and downright disbelieving when Morwenna mentioned suicide – and I haven’t changed my mind on either count. Harry did seem to have upset a few people of late.’

‘But what Loveday said about the fire shows that he was capable of taking his own life.’

‘I know, and I’m probably being too blinkered, but I simply don’t believe it.’

‘It seems unlikely that the same person would kill Harry and kill to protect him, though.’

‘Exactly. That just doesn’t make sense. So either I’m wrong altogether about Harry’s death, or there are two murders and two murderers, or the fire and Harry’s reputation had nothing to do with Nathaniel’s killing.’

‘What if Nathaniel had something to do with Harry’s death? I’m assuming his love was unrequited?’

Archie nodded. ‘As far as I know, yes.’

‘Perhaps he just couldn’t take it any more. Maybe Harry tried to blackmail him or threatened to expose his homosexuality. It would be the end of Nathaniel’s life here if that happened, and the scandal would be terrible. That’s a powerful motive for murder, and if someone found out, perhaps they took it upon themselves to avenge Harry’s death. An eye for an eye, and all that.’

They sat down to eat, and Archie considered Josephine’s suggestion. ‘I really can’t see Nathaniel as a killer,’ he said. ‘His reaction to Harry’s death was genuine, I’m sure, and anyway – if someone found out that Nathaniel had killed Harry, surely they’d just go to the police.’

‘Yes, of course,’ said Josephine wryly. ‘I was forgetting how law-abiding you all seem down here. I don’t suppose for a moment that anyone would take the law into their own hands.’

He laughed. ‘How quickly you’ve settled in.’

‘I haven’t asked you what you actually saw last night,’ Josephine said. ‘How did it happen?’

Archie went through the whole incident, from the moment he suspected something was wrong to his finding of Nathaniel’s body. ‘And I don’t need to tell you how many suspects there are. Most of the cast were wearing brown habits and, if that weren’t bad enough, an identical one – Nathaniel’s original costume – went missing from the vestry a few days ago. The only people we can really rule out are the audience and the handful of actors with more individual costumes.’ He rubbed his hands wearily over his eyes. ‘If only I’d reacted more quickly. I doubt I could have saved Nathaniel, but I might at least have caught his killer.’

‘That’s ridiculous,’ she said bluntly. ‘Even from where we were sitting, everything happened so quickly, so God knows what it must have been like for you.’

‘What do you remember about the evening? Any comings and goings I should know about?’

‘Well, Morwenna and Loveday were there early on, but they’d disappeared by the time the play started – I didn’t see them again, but they left their things behind. Morveth picked them up, I think. You know that the vicar stormed out, and his wife went after him as soon as the play was stopped. I noticed Kestrel Jacks in the audience around then, as well – he was standing at the back until William fetched him.’

‘That doesn’t rule him out – he could have gone up the actors’ steps like you did to get to the back of the theatre.’

‘Yes, and the same goes for the undertaker. I didn’t see him leave, but he came back down from the cliff-top quite a while later. The audience had gone by then, and the rest of us were gathered on the stage. He seemed flustered about something – other than the accident, I mean.’

‘Yes. He says his van was stolen last night.’

‘You sound like you don’t believe him,’ she said cautiously, at a loss to know how she could question Jago’s capacity for violence without betraying the Snipe’s confidence.

‘To be honest, Josephine, I’m not sure what I believe,’ Archie said, his frustration getting the better of him. ‘You were spot-on just now – everyone’s a law unto themselves, and they’ve been palming me off with half-stories and veiled threats ever since I got here. I thought Jago was as straight as they come – but he’s the worst of the lot. He asks me to help him find Christopher, but he won’t tell me anything that might allow me to do that – he just mutters some obscure reference to his being punished by Christopher’s disappearance. What’s that all about, for Christ’s sake?’

‘You mean Christopher’s punishing his father by staying away?’

‘No – the implication was definitely that someone might hurt Christopher to get back at him, but I couldn’t get anything more out of him.’

‘Did Jago have any reason to want Nathaniel out of the way?’

‘Not to my knowledge, but what does that prove? So no, I don’t know whether to believe Jago about the van – it could have been taken by the killer, or it could be that he knows exactly what happened to it and just won’t tell me. Perhaps he suspects Christopher of having something to do with Nathaniel’s death and stealing the van to get away quickly. Or perhaps he had a reason to get rid of it himself.’

Josephine could easily understand how Archie felt. Absolute ignorance was one thing but there was nothing worse than being taunted with something that was never fully revealed. His anger mirrored her own irritation with Morveth last night, and it made her even more uneasy about carrying so many secrets which had not been shared with him. Could it really be that he had no idea what his mother had suffered? ‘Tell me about your uncle,’ she said, trying to sound casual about it. ‘He must be in the frame after that impromptu scene.’

‘Jasper? He’s greedy, hypocritical and thoroughly vile – and despite all that, completely unsuited to a career in the Church.’ Josephine laughed, and wondered if Archie got the scepticism which she had often heard him express from his mother. ‘There are rumours that he has his hand in the church till – they’ve been going around for as long as I can remember – but no one’s ever proved it. Needless to say, there was a collective sigh of relief when he announced his retirement, and I think William’s more relieved than most, but even that’s not straightforward now.’

‘But nothing else?’

‘Not that I know of. Why do you ask?’

‘Because of something Loveday said. She told me about the pilfering – that’s old news, as you said, and not at all interesting, apparently – but she also said that Nathaniel had discovered a more serious misdemeanour and was trying to find out more about it.’

‘So she doesn’t know what Nathaniel was talking about?’

‘No – but the vicar overheard her telling me all about it. We were in the church at the time, and I caught a glimpse of him in the vestry.’ She remembered the shadowy figure at the door, and how intently he had been listening to Loveday’s innocent chatter. ‘My God, I should have told you that before. I knew it was stupid of Nathaniel to talk so carelessly, but I didn’t think it would get him killed.’

‘Calm down – I’m sure that’s not the reason. Jasper’s a despicable human being, but I don’t think he’s a killer. Apart from anything else, the person who ran away from that cliff was a damned sight fitter than my uncle. And I know you like Loveday, but people don’t often take her very seriously, and her comments won’t have been as significant to Jasper as you thought they were.’

‘I think you’re underestimating Loveday, you know. Morveth and I talked for a while last night when you’d gone down to look for Nathaniel’s body, and she certainly takes her seriously.’

‘Does Morveth know what Nathaniel had discovered about Jasper?’

‘No,’ Josephine said but, on reflection, she realised that Morveth had not actually said that she didn’t know – just that she didn’t think it was anything to do with Lizzie Penrose.

‘All right. I’ll drop in on Jasper later if it’ll put your mind at rest.’ Josephine doubted that any conversation between Archie and his uncle would put her mind at rest, but she let it pass without comment. ‘Where was Morveth, by the way?’ Archie asked. ‘Did you see her during the play?’

‘I hadn’t met her before,’ she reminded him, ‘but William looked for her at one point and couldn’t see her. I know she wasn’t around to see the incident with Jasper, though, because she told me she’d had to go back to the bus for something.’

‘For an ensemble piece, there were precious few people around when it mattered,’ he said.

She laughed. ‘Morveth seemed anxious afterwards, though – more so than everyone else. She implied it wasn’t a straightforward accident right from the start.’

‘That’s interesting. I know she has a habit of getting to the truth before the rest of us, but even so… And I can’t be sure, but I think she overheard at least some of my conversation with Nathaniel.’

Josephine realised that they hadn’t really talked about Morwenna yet. She was reluctant to mention her name after Archie’s sensitivity during their earlier conversations, but she needed to convince him to explore the nature of Morwenna’s relationship with her brother. She considered how best to raise the subject without being too specific: now wasn’t the time to reveal Morveth’s confidence to Archie – wittingly or unwittingly – but she wasn’t entirely convinced by Morveth’s argument that ignorance was best. There was a horrible irony in being the last to know something about your own family. She would never forget going home to Inverness for Christmas one year and being the only one who didn’t know that her mother had just been diagnosed with cancer. An air of forced jollity hung over all the usual rituals and traditions; she noticed, but could not explain it, and later, when Christmas was over and the news was broken, she felt isolated and humiliated. She had never entirely forgiven her family for not telling her straight away, no matter how well intentioned the decision had been, and she knew that Archie would feel the same. For now, though, he had enough to worry about. ‘Morwenna had fallen out with Nathaniel, hadn’t she?’ she said warily. ‘Loveday wasn’t allowed to speak to him any more.’

‘No. Morwenna told me it was because he’d been confusing Loveday by talking about eternal life and making it difficult for her to accept Harry’s death. That made perfect sense to me at the time – it’s a big responsibility to have to manage your little sister’s grief as well as deal with your own – but obviously there was more to it than that. Nathaniel said he’d faced them both with Loveday’s revelation about the fire, and she blamed him for Harry’s death.’

‘You don’t think it was suicide, though.’

‘No. Do you still really think Morwenna killed Harry?’

‘Well, she had just discovered that he killed her parents,’ Josephine pointed out. ‘And perhaps she wanted Nathaniel out of the way to make sure the family’s reputation wasn’t completely destroyed.’ Archie didn’t dismiss this as she had feared he might, and she took advantage of his silence. ‘Or perhaps there are other family secrets that we don’t know about.’

‘Go on.’

‘Look, I know you weren’t convinced the other day when I suggested that Morwenna might have been afraid of Harry, but something Morveth said last night made me even more sure that there’s some truth in that.’ She bent down to give some bacon to Motley Penrose, who had appeared at the door just in time to excuse her from looking at Archie while she spoke to him. ‘She was talking about a woman on the estate who had been ill-treated by someone close to her, and she said that the woman had to lock herself in her room to get away. That’s word for word what Loveday said Morwenna used to do when she and Harry were arguing.’ She paused, but still he said nothing. ‘You find that impossible to believe, don’t you?’

‘Perhaps I just don’t want to believe it,’ he said honestly, ‘but it’s possible, I suppose. He was the man of the house after his parents died, and he’d have had virtually free rein to do anything and get away with it.’

‘It would explain why Harry and Nathaniel had to go, and perhaps Christopher, too. He was close to Loveday, and Morwenna must have worried about what was said between them.’

‘We don’t know that anything’s happened to Christopher,’ Archie said cautiously. ‘I’m not dismissing it, but to kill three people is a very extreme reaction.’

‘Don’t underestimate the shame of it,’ said Josephine gently. ‘Talk to her about it. It might have absolutely nothing to do with these killings, but she might still appreciate a sympathetic ear from a man she can trust. And she does trust you – that’s obvious.’

‘I’m beginning to think you care about this as much as I do.’

She smiled. ‘I can’t stop thinking about Loveday,’ she admitted. ‘That conversation we had really affected me, and I can see why Nathaniel was troubled by what she told him. It’s so obvious that she’s caught up in a relationship which she simply doesn’t understand. There’s something intense and dark about it – about the family in general.’

‘Who was Morveth talking about?’ he asked.

It was the question she had been dreading, and she knew one secret would have to be sacrificed to answer it. ‘I promised the Snipe I wouldn’t tell you this,’ she said, trying to convince herself that it was a sin of omission rather than a lie, ‘but in light of what’s happened, you ought to know because it shows he can be violent. When I went down to the kitchen the other night, the Snipe was with Beth Jacks, bathing her face. She’d been beaten up by her husband, and I gather it happens regularly.’

‘You’ve found out a lot in forty-eight hours,’ he said, impressed.

‘You don’t have to be here long to realise that the men think they run things, while the women unite and get on with their lives in their own way.’

Archie nodded. ‘That’s true, and I don’t know why I’m shocked about Jacks – he’s a brute at the best of times – but I am. I’m beginning to feel more out of touch with my own home than ever.’

Josephine looked at him with concern. ‘This is going to be hard for you, isn’t it? Should you have agreed to take it on?’

‘I’m involved whether I like it or not,’ he said. ‘It sounds stupid, but, if nothing else, I feel as though I owe it to my parents. They loved this place – it was so much a part of who they were, and if the heart of it has to be torn apart, then it should at least be done by someone who cares. Protecting it – if I can protect it at all from whatever’s going on here – feels like doing something for them.’ The tenderness in his voice when he spoke of his parents made Josephine all the more convinced that now was not the time to make him any more vulnerable to his emotions. ‘I suppose all I’m saying is that it’s personal,’ he added, ‘and I don’t know yet if that’s a good thing or a bad. But either way, it’s time I made a move.’ He got up, looking a little embarrassed, and walked over to the dresser, where she had left the volume of Tennyson. ‘Brushing up on your Arthurian legends?’ he asked, picking it up.

‘I thought I’d better. I’m embarrassingly vague on anything between Shakespeare and Kipling, and I’m ashamed to say that Tennyson has passed me by completely.’ She watched as he turned the pages, and couldn’t help feeling that he needed the peace and quiet of the Lodge rather more than she did at the moment. ‘Are you sure you won’t stay here instead of at the house?’ she asked. ‘It must be chaos over there and we can easily swap. Or you could offer me police protection,’ she added as he started to protest. ‘I wouldn’t mind some company with what’s going on at the moment.’

‘That is utter rubbish, Josephine, and you know it,’ he said, laughing. ‘You’re perfectly happy on your own – irritatingly so, in fact.’

‘Okay, I admit I’ve made more convincing excuses – but it’s not as if there isn’t plenty of room for us both.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘And think of how much it would give the girls to talk about. Seriously, though – I really do think you’d be better off here at the moment. You need familiarity and time to think, and – much as I love them – you won’t get that with Lettice and Ronnie breathing down your neck for every detail of the case.’

‘What about your work?’

‘Now you’re talking rubbish. If it’s anything like your cases in London, you won’t be here enough to disturb me. In fact, it’s probably the only way I’ll get to see you at all.’

‘All right – as long as you’re sure your reputation can stand it?’ She nodded. ‘I really must go,’ he said again. ‘I think I’ll start with Morwenna – it can only get easier after that. I’ll see you later, then.’

‘Yes, but there is one condition,’ she said as she walked him to his car. ‘I get to tell Ronnie that we’re moving in together.’