Children of the Revolution

Chapter 8

‘I don’t like all this sneaking around, sir,’ said Gerry Masterson over tea and toasted teacakes in the Golden Grill. ‘It makes me nervous.’

‘Gerry, you don’t have to do it if it makes you uncomfortable. Honestly. You can bow out anytime you like, and there’ll be nothing said.’

Then Gerry smiled. ‘I don’t dislike it all that much,’ she said. ‘I just worry sometimes what’ll happen if we get caught. It’s bound to happen.’

‘We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it,’ said Banks. ‘For now, what did you find out over the weekend?’

‘You asked me to check whether Lady Chalmers was involved with Eastvale College at all, and the answer’s no. Also, I can’t find any connections between Gavin, or anyone else involved in the case, and Sir Jeremy. It doesn’t mean there’s nothing there, of course, but nothing leaps out.’

‘It was a long shot, anyway,’ said Banks. ‘It vaguely crossed my mind the other day that Sir Jeremy might have something to do with it, but I doubt it very much. Anything else?’

‘I managed to get in touch with Gavin Miller’s ex-wife. She’s called Roxanne Oulton now, and she lives in Christchurch.’

‘Have anything to say?’

‘Not much. She hasn’t been back over here since she married her second husband.’

‘The plumber?’

‘Yes. She admits that her marriage to Gavin came to a nasty end, and Gavin felt betrayed. She felt guilty about having the affair, but she said it was the only way she could get free of him.’

‘I can understand that,’ said Banks. ‘Sometimes people need someone else to go to when a relationship ends, to help get them out of it. It doesn’t always last, though.’

‘Well, this one seems to be lasting. Anyway, Gavin and Roxanne didn’t exactly part on the best of terms, and she spent most of the phone call telling me how useless and self-centred Gavin was.’

‘Sounds like a typical ex-wife’s complaint,’ said Banks. ‘Did she know anything about his university days? Canada? Lady Chalmers?’

‘No. They didn’t meet until later, when he was teaching in Exeter, and apparently he wasn’t so obsessed with the past back then.’

‘What about the university? Get anything from them?’

‘It wasn’t easy. Most of the staff aren’t there, of course. Some people still have the concept of weekends off, you know.’

‘I vaguely remember,’ said Banks, smiling in sympathy.

‘Anyway, I managed to get the class lists before end of play on Friday, and I’ve been going through them, trying to contact anyone who might have had classes with Veronica Bellamy or Gavin Miller back then.’

‘Any luck?’

‘It’s a long job. First you’ve got to track them down, then you’ve got to catch them in. Remember, it was forty years ago, and there are quite a few people on the lists. Some are dead, some have moved away, left the country. Someone did tell me that he thought that Ronnie Bellamy was a mover and shaker in the Marxist Society.’

‘Do we know if Gavin Miller was involved in that, too?’

‘Nothing so far.’

‘Pity. I was thinking maybe they were both recruited by Moscow as sleepers, and that’s why Lady Chalmers was so disturbed by Miller’s phone call and his murder.’

Gerry laughed. ‘Really, sir?’

‘Yes. He gave her the password that was deeply implanted in her brain, the one that activated her.’ Banks shrugged. ‘It was worth a try.’

‘Well, I did also manage to get through to someone who was sure that Veronica Bellamy lived in one of the student residences, a place called Rayleigh Tower, at least during her first year. I should be able to get through to student accommodation, and perhaps get copies of the old Marxist Society lists today, and they might have some records. After all, it’s not a very old university, and you’d think they’d want to keep a record right from the start. I should be able to find someone who was in the same residence at the same time as her.’

‘It’s possible. How will that help us?’

‘If Veronica Bellamy lived in a student residence, which it appears she did, then I can also check Gavin Miller and see if he was in the same building, or nearby, for a start. Then I can find out who else was living there and get in touch with them to see if they remember anything and are willing to talk about it. A neighbour might remember more about her than someone who merely went to lectures with her. Same with the Marxist Society, if there still is one, and if its members don’t see giving out any information to the police as consorting with the capitalist oppressors. But the written records won’t tell us much. They’re just the bare bones. The real story has to come from people who knew Ronnie Bellamy or Gavin Miller, preferably their friends. It’s all a matter of memory. We need to find someone who can place Veronica and Miller together back then in one way or another.’

‘Can you do all this on the quiet?’

‘I can do my best, sir, as long as the AC doesn’t come poking around in the squad room. I think DI Cabbot and DS Jackman are going to be out of the office questioning people most of the day.’

‘OK,’ said Banks, finishing off his teacake. ‘Do your best, and keep your head down. I’ll be out all day, but get in touch if you find out anything interesting.’

‘What do you want this time?’ asked Dayle Snider, when she opened her front door to Annie and Winsome later that morning. ‘It’s supposed to be my day off.’

‘So they told us at the centre,’ said Annie. ‘Mind if we come in?’

‘Do I have a choice?’

‘There’s always a choice,’ said Annie, following her into the hall.

Dayle was wearing a close-fitting tracksuit with a white stripe down the trouser legs and trainers with blue markings. Her brow seemed a little clammy, as if she had been working out. Almost as if she had intuited Annie’s line of thought, she said, ‘Yes, you did disturb me, actually. I was on the treadmill.’

‘Never understood the point of those things,’ said Annie. ‘Not when you’ve got such beautiful countryside all around you, in all directions.’

‘Have you checked the weather lately, Detective Inspector Cabbot?’

‘It’s a fine morning for a long walk.’

‘For once.’ She led them into a bright, compact kitchen that looked over the dale to the west, its steeply rising valley sides criss-crossed with drystone walls, slopes deep green from the summer’s rains rising to rocky outcrops and long scars of limestone, silver-grey in the pale November sun. The Leaview Estate, at the bottom of King Street, south-west of the town centre, had been built just after the war, and was starting to show it a little around the edges. Nonetheless, its elegant mix of Georgian semis, terraces and detached houses, built of limestone and gritstone, in harmony with much of the rest of Eastvale, was still one of the most desirable middle-class residential areas in town. All the streets were named after flowers, and Dayle Snider lived on Laburnum Close. The neighbourhood was certainly posh enough that it was attractive to burglars, but the police patrolled regularly and discreetly, and didn’t consign it to the same rubbish heap as they had the East Side Estate on the other side of town, where PCSOs often feared to tread, and crime reduction teams spent their time telling parents how to lock their doors properly while their children were out burgling houses down the street.

‘I suppose you’d like some tea?’ Dayle asked.

‘That would be nice,’ said Annie.

Winsome nodded. ‘Me, too, please.’

Dayle made a show of reluctantly filling the kettle and plugging it in, then emptying the teapot and searching for another teabag. Yorkshire Gold, Annie noticed. Her favourite. Dayle leaned against the counter while the kettle came to a boil. The tracksuit flattered her figure, Annie thought, showing her firm thighs and flat stomach to advantage. It made her realise that she needed to step up her exercise regime herself, if she hoped to get beyond all the aches and pains of her residual injuries, and lose those few pounds she had gained over the past year or so. It was matter of striking a balance between rest and exercise, and she hadn’t quite got it right yet.

While the tea was brewing, Dayle got down three bright yellow mugs from the cupboard over the counter area and set them in a row, a little jug of milk and bowl of sugar next to them. Annie and Winsome sat at the breakfast table by the window, gazing out at the view, Annie wondering whether the massing of grey clouds in the far west meant more rain later. If their silence made Dayle nervous, she wasn’t showing it.

‘OK, so what is it this time?’ Dayle said as she delivered the mugs of tea and took her seat at the table.

‘It’s really just a little point you might be able to help us clear up,’ said Annie.

Dayle blew on the surface of her tea. ‘I’ll do my best.’

‘You’re a friend of Sally Lomax’s, right?’

‘Yes. We work together.’

‘How close are you?’

‘Sally’s a very good friend. I mean, we socialise outside work, go for a drink now and then, and so on, as friends do.’

‘And she brought you together with Gavin Miller for dinner at her house. Am I right?’

‘Yes. But you already know that.’

‘And though you and Miller got on OK for a while, the relationship didn’t take?’

‘No.’

‘So you ditched him.’

‘What is this? I’ve already told you all about that.’

‘Please bear with us, Dayle.’

Dayle frowned. Whether it was at the use of her first name or at being asked to bear with them, Annie wasn’t certain.

‘Now, around the time Gavin Miller had been accused of sexual misconduct, he came to see you here, drunk, you said, and started to pour out his feelings of being an innocent person victimised and demonised.’

‘Right.’

‘But you didn’t believe him.’

‘There’s no smoke without fire.’

‘And you also had first-hand examples of his awkward sexuality, and his apparent inability to handle normal relationships.’

‘You could say that.’

Annie sipped some tea. It was a bit weak. She liked to use two teabags steeped in the pot for seven minutes. A blackbird perched on the wall at the back and sang. Such a beautiful song for such a common and underappreciated bird, she thought. ‘In fact, you considered it quite believable that he might try to bully or blackmail some poor defenceless young student into having sex with him.’

Dayle paused. ‘Well, I wouldn’t put it quite like that, but it certainly wouldn’t have surprised me, no.’

‘Did Gavin Miller know you felt that way about him?’

‘Of course not. Why would I tell him that?’

‘Even when he came to see you?’

‘No. I tried to listen patiently. I made all the right noises and got rid of him as quickly as I could.’

‘He wasn’t angry with you?’

‘He had no reason to be.’

‘And you never saw him again?’

‘No.’

Winsome turned a page in her notebook and Dayle glanced over at her. ‘What’s this all about? Would you please get to the point.’

Winsome glanced at Annie, who went on, ‘Did you have a conversation, or a series of conversations, with Sally Lomax several weeks after Gavin Miller came to see you?’

‘I’ve had many conversations with Sally. I told you. We’re friends.’

‘Yes, but this one was specifically to do with Gavin Miller and his problems. Someone had been to see Trevor Lomax at the college. Someone who told him that she had overheard the two girls who accused Gavin Miller talking in the ladies’, and that they had admitted they set him up. Do you remember that?’

Dayle averted her eyes. ‘Vaguely. Why? What does it matter now?’

‘Did Sally Lomax seek your opinion on the subject?’

‘She may have done. We often discussed things. It’s what friends do.’

‘Personal things?’

‘All sort of things.’

‘Did she tell you that her husband was in a bit of a quandary? He was a friend of Gavin Miller’s, and he wanted to help him, but he didn’t trust the girl who came to see him with the information, and he thought she might be making the whole thing up.’

‘That’s more or less what Sally said, yes.’

‘And that it was also too late to do anything, anyway, and that trying to do something might cause a hell of a stink and drag the college into some nasty publicity, something they had managed to avoid thus far?’

‘She may have mentioned that. Sally is very committed to Trevor’s career.’

‘Is Trevor ambitious?’

‘I suppose you could say he is.’

‘And Sally?’

Dayle thought for a moment, cradling her mug. ‘She likes her job, but I wouldn’t say she was ambitious. She’s more than happy to follow along behind Trevor’s coat-tails, be the belle of the department Christmas party. Sally’s a very attractive woman.’

‘So her ambitions are for her husband?’

‘Sally’s no Lady Macbeth.’

‘Sorry, that’s not what I meant. Interesting point, though. Look at all the bodies in that play.’

‘Are you suggesting that Gavin’s murder four years later has anything to do with some misguided plot of Trevor’s to take power?’

‘Not at all. How could it have? Gavin Miller had no power. Trevor Lomax was his boss. Besides, what would be the next step for him? Dean? Vice chancellor? I don’t know much about the college hierarchy.’

‘Clearly. Then...?’

‘Well, whatever it is, he hasn’t got there. He’s in exactly the same position as he was four years ago. Department head. What I’m asking is what you advised Sally Lomax to tell him.’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘A woman whose ambitions are mostly for her husband’s success tends to have a great deal more power and influence over him than we’d imagine. She has to, in order to manoeuvre him into making the right decisions, the ones that benefit his career, and therefore her, the most.’

‘This is all a bit too Machiavellian for me.’

‘Did Sally seek your advice?’

‘She asked me what I thought about it all, yes.’

‘And what did you tell her?’

‘That Gavin probably put the girl up to it, making up some story about overhearing them.’

‘Would it surprise you to hear that Gavin had never heard anything about the matter, or at least so we believe? That it never went any further than Trevor Lomax’s office.’

‘I can’t say as I’ve ever really given it much thought.’

‘You should,’ Annie said. ‘You see, based on your experience with Gavin, you told Sally to ignore what the girl said, that he’d most likely done it, and that no good would be served by trying to open another inquiry on the basis of one student’s say-so. That it would only cause problems for Trevor, and possibly harm his future career prospects. Am I at all close?’

Dayle’s lips drew tight, and her expression darkened a little. She put her mug down and folded her arms. ‘So what if I did? It’s true, isn’t it? No one ever comes out of these things smelling of roses.’

‘Well, Gavin Miller certainly didn’t.’

‘Gavin, Gavin, Gavin. I’m sick of hearing about poor bloody Gavin. Other people have worked hard for what they’ve got, you know. I don’t see why we should all waste our time helping some bloody loser to get reinstated for something he probably did anyway. Making him out to be some sort of victim we should all feel sorry for. Believe me, coercing a student was probably the only way Gavin Miller could have got laid.’

‘Except with you,’ said Annie. ‘And he’d already failed that test, hadn’t he? Did that make you feel angry and rejected, Dayle, that he didn’t fancy you enough to shag you? What did you do wrong? Come on a bit too strong with him? A touch of the Fifty Shades, was it? Bring out the whips and chains?’

Dayle stood up abruptly. ‘That’s it, you nasty little bitch. I’ve had enough. I let you into my home, and you sit there and insult me. I don’t have to listen to any more of this. You can get out now. Both of you. Go on. Get out!’

‘Oh, sit down, Dayle,’ said Annie. She could see that Winsome was on the verge of leaving but gestured for her to remain seated. ‘We’re not going anywhere until we’ve got what we want.’

‘I’ll make an official complaint to your boss.’

‘Go ahead. It wouldn’t be the first time.’

Slowly, Dayle subsided back into her chair like a deflating doll. ‘You can’t talk to me like that.’

‘Sorry,’ said Annie. ‘Really. It’s just that shock tactics sometimes get us where we want to go much faster than being nice. Saves a lot of time.’

‘And where is it you want to go?’

‘I want to establish that when someone went to tell Trevor Lomax what she had overheard in the ladies’, Lomax was close to believing her and close to trying to find some way of exonerating Gavin Miller. But that you persuaded Sally Lomax that Miller was not worth putting her husband’s career on the line for, and that Miller probably did what he was accused of, anyway.’

‘OK, so that’s what I thought. That’s what I said. What of it? I’m entitled to my opinion, aren’t I?’

‘And Sally Lomax, fortified with your agreement to what she was already inclined towards thinking herself, managed to persuade her husband to do nothing.’

‘Most likely. But what does it matter now?’

The blackbird had stopped singing and moved on, Annie noticed. The rain clouds had moved closer, and their shadows were hastening over the green valley sides. ‘Well, it only matters,’ she said slowly, ‘if Gavin Miller somehow found out about it all a couple of weeks ago.’

The silence stretched as Dayle took in the implications of Annie’s statement and worked out what they meant. Annie could watch the process in her expression, the shadows flitting across her features like the clouds over the hills. ‘Are you saying you think this is why he was murdered?’ she said finally.

‘I’m saying it’s a possibility. Think about it, Dayle. Four years ago you manage to help talk a man’s friend out of possibly saving that man’s career, or at least his name. I’d say there could be enough anger and recrimination in all that to supply a pretty strong motive, wouldn’t you? Perhaps even blackmail was involved. We don’t know. But say Gavin Miller did find out that you were instrumental in Lomax’s decision not to help, and that he blamed you just as much as, if not more than, Lomax himself.’

‘But that’s ridiculous. That would make him want to murder me. He was the one who got killed.’

‘Maybe he arranged to meet you on the bridge. Maybe he’d asked you for money, and maybe he did intend to kill you, but when things got out of hand, and you lost your temper first, you got the better of him, chucked him over the bridge. He was pretty skinny and weak. Malnutrition will do that. You’re strong enough to have lifted him over the edge. But it could have been self-defence. Manslaughter at the most. Probably was.’

Dayle stood up again and her chair fell over. ‘Right. That’s it. No more messing about.’ She pointed towards the door. ‘Out! Both of you. And don’t come back. If you do, I promise you I’ll have my solicitor here before you can even sit down.’

‘We’d better make sure it’s not a Friday afternoon, hadn’t we then, Winsome?’ Annie said, standing to leave. ‘Odds are he won’t appreciate being called off the golf course. TTFN.’

Banks had arranged his chat with Kyle McClusky for late Monday afternoon, after which he was having dinner with Ken Blackstone in Leeds. Before that, he had other plans, about which he had told no one. He knew that he had been warned off Lady Chalmers and her family, but Oriana Serroni wasn’t exactly a family member. Technically, of course, he would be on the carpet again if anyone found he had talked to her, so he was depending very much on her discretion, as well as her concern for her mistress. Of course, it might all blow up in his face, but nothing happened if you just sat on your arse and waited for it. Sometimes you had to stir things up, make things happen.

He found the care home outside Malton easily enough. It was a grand old mansion converted into individual suites. Expensive, no doubt, but with her connections, Oriana could afford it. The dull weather that had started on the weekend seemed to have settled in, Banks thought as he parked across the street and read the morning paper while he waited. At least the rain had stopped, and the temperature was comfortably into double figures.

He had waited a little more than an hour, and was struggling to finish the crossword, when Oriana walked out, bade farewell to a white-uniformed nurse and headed towards her cream Mini. Quickly, Banks stepped out of his Porsche and headed over the street. He got to her before she could open the door, and said simply, ‘Oriana. I wonder if we could talk?’

A range of emotions seemed to cross her face in quick succession, most of them negative. Finally, she seemed confused and uncertain how to respond, then her whole body seemed to relax, and she nodded. ‘You’re checking up on me, are you? Very well. But I’ll talk to you for her, not for you. And I’ll divulge no family secrets.’

‘Understood,’ said Banks. ‘Can I buy you lunch?’

Oriana managed a little smile. ‘There’s a nice pub about two miles away,’ she said. ‘Follow me.’

She drove fast, and Banks wondered whether she was trying to lose him or just impress him. Two miles of winding road later, she turned into a pub car park, and Banks followed her.

The dining area was fairly full, and they raised a few eyebrows walking in, the young exotic beauty and the slightly greying detective. They found a table by the window and sat. Banks had to credit Oriana with good taste. It wasn’t a chain pub, the tables had no little brass plates with numbers on them or oversized laminated menus stuck between the salt and pepper and the ketchup bottle. This was a class place. In moments, a waiter was at their side with tasteful menus bound in imitation leather, printed in italics. Banks had to take out his cheap Boots glasses to read it. Oriana didn’t. Her big brown eyes were just fine by themselves. Banks examined her surreptitiously as they both made their decisions. He wondered if she had ever worked as a model, or on stage; she certainly had the carriage and the figure for it, and she dressed well, even casually: soft kid leather jacket, simple white top, jeans. Her hair hung dark and straight, its natural lustre catching the light when she moved. As she concentrated on the menu she nipped her lower lip between her teeth.

Banks expected her to go for a salad, but she chose the confit of duck with dauphinoise potatoes. Banks decided on steak frites, the steak medium rare.

‘Drinks?’ asked the waiter, after he had taken their orders.

Normally, in a pub, Banks would have ordered beer, but this place seemed more like a posh restaurant, and he was having steak, so he asked about red wine by the glass and settled for a Rioja recommended by the waiter. Oriana asked for the same, so the waiter brought a half carafe. ‘We shouldn’t be over the limit if this is all we have,’ said Banks.

Oriana smiled. ‘You’re the policeman. I am in your hands entirely.’

‘I noticed you didn’t seem too pleased the other day when I turned up at Brierley for the second time,’ Banks said.

Oriana frowned. ‘There was a bad feeling around the place. I don’t like that. Ronnie was worried. It makes for a bad atmosphere. Perhaps I blamed you a little bit. But I...’

‘What?’

‘Nothing.’

‘You call her Ronnie? I noticed that the other day.’

‘Of course. Why not?

‘I thought you worked for her, that’s all.’

‘I do. But our families are old friends. We don’t stand on formality.’

‘I know a little bit about your history,’ Banks said.

She cocked her head to one side. ‘You have been checking up on me.’

‘No, nothing as serious as that. Just a little background research. How is your grandfather, by the way?’

Her brow furrowed. ‘It can’t be long now,’ she said. ‘Have you ever wished for something to happen with every fibre of your being, yet hoped that it never would? That’s how I feel about him. Mostly he’s not my grandfather any more, but sometimes he is. Mostly he remembers no one, and he is so frightened by everything, then sometimes he’ll smile and say my name, and it makes my heart melt.’ Tears came to her eyes. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘No, not at all. Alzheimer’s?’

She gave a little shudder. ‘I hope that never happens to me. I hope someone would kill me first.’

‘Maybe that’s not the sort of thing you should be saying to me,’ said Banks.

They both laughed; it broke the tension and dispelled some of her sadness.

The waiter appeared with their drinks and a plate of crusty bread with olive oil and balsamic vinegar for dipping. Banks didn’t like either, so he left it well alone. The waiter then poured the wine from the carafe into their glasses and slipped away.

‘I understand that your families have had a very long relationship,’ Banks said. ‘And, believe me, I really haven’t been spying on you, and I wouldn’t want you to betray any confidences in any way. I just got the impression that you were perhaps as concerned about Lady Chalmers as you were angry at my reappearance.’

‘Any anger was because of the upset it caused. I mean, it wasn’t you. And that man Nathan. I don’t like him.’

Like a fool, Banks asked why, and the look she gave him told him everything he needed to know about Nathan. It should have been obvious: Oriana was young and beautiful; Nathan was young and full of himself. Blushing a little at his lack of insight, he picked up his wine glass. They clinked and made a quick toast, then he moved on.

‘And Anthony Litton?’

‘Oh, Tony’s all right, I suppose,’ she said. ‘I’ve known him for a long time. I don’t think I’m giving away any family secrets when I say I think he’s a bit of a pompous arse, not to mention a bit of a bully. He’s used to giving the orders and getting his own way. But you’d expect that of a Harley Street specialist, wouldn’t you? I’m certainly glad I’m not one of his patients, though I understand he’s a very good doctor.’

‘I gather he’s still practising.’

‘Only part of the time. He keeps his surgery, and he has other doctors who work with him. He goes down to London regularly and, of course, he keeps the most prestigious, wealthy and famous patients for himself.’

Banks laughed. ‘How long have you worked for Lady Chalmers?’

Oriana arched an exquisitely plucked eyebrow. ‘You don’t know? I thought you knew everything about me.’

Banks smiled. ‘I’m sure it’s in the file somewhere.’

‘Just over ten years,’ Oriana answered. ‘Since shortly after I left university.’

‘And you live at Brierley House?’

‘Yes. I didn’t always. I had a flat in York for a while. But I do for the moment. It suits us all very well.’

‘You’re mainly a researcher, am I right?’

‘Yes. I do the research for Ronnie’s books. I enjoy it, and she doesn’t. I also organise her schedule, drive her to book signings and other promotional events. I also accompany her on overseas book tours. Australia. South Africa. The USA. Canada. Also various cities around Europe, places where there are book fairs and festivals and so on. She’s translated into nearly thirty languages, you know.’

‘A busy life. It’s a wonder she gets any time to write.’

‘It can be. But I enjoy it. I find travel very stimulating.’

‘Do you also act as her literary agent?’

‘No. That would be too much. Her agent is in London.’

‘What about the housekeeping?’

Oriana laughed. It was a charming, musical sound. ‘I’m not a housemaid, if that’s what you’re thinking,’ she said. ‘Can you picture me on my knees scrubbing the kitchen floor?’

‘Not exactly, no.’

‘I answer the door if I’m at home and not otherwise occupied. Ronnie doesn’t like to be disturbed when she’s working. It breaks her rhythm. I do some of the cooking because I love to cook. It’s a passion of mine. That’s all. My mother was an excellent cook, and she taught me all she knew.’

‘In Italy?’

‘Yes. In Umbria. You know the region?’

‘Just a little. I’ve been to Perugia, and Assisi. It’s a very beautiful area.’

‘Yes.’

‘Why did your family leave Umbria?’

‘There wasn’t much for them there. My father was not a natural man of the soil, like my grandfather, and he wasn’t interested in winemaking. He tried for some years, when I was still a child, but he wanted a city career, so he came back here to go to university. In Hull. And my mother wanted more from life, too. She had grown up country poor, and she saw her chance, I think, in my father’s connections with England. Also, I think Father had found his roots in Italy, and he decided he preferred the ones he had in England, but in a way my mother never left home. Living in the countryside is very beautiful, and easy to remember through rose-coloured glasses, but it is also very hard work to make ends meet. I was only about six when we came here. I don’t really remember it very well. My father studied hard, and in the end he became a land surveyor, and now he travels all over the place. He’ll be retiring soon. Something he’s not looking forward to. But it’s not me and my family you want to talk about, is it?’

Banks was actually more than happy to sit there and listen to her talk about herself and her life all day, but he realised he should get down to business. Their food appeared. Banks’s steak was perfectly cooked, the frites crisp and skinny. Oriana said her duck was perfect, too.

‘No,’ he said. ‘It’s about Lady Chalmers. I’m sorry that my talks with her seem to have upset the household so much. As you probably know, I’ve been warned off by my bosses, so I’d be grateful if you would keep this little meeting secret.’

‘You want me to keep secrets for you now?’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘A secret tryst? How exciting.’ Then she turned coquettish, casting her eyes down and smiling shyly. ‘But are you sure you can trust me?’

‘I don’t know,’ said Banks. ‘It seems that if I want to know anything more about what’s going on at Brierley, I have no choice.’

‘There’s nothing I can tell you, so I’m afraid there won’t be very much to keep secret.’

‘I’d just rather no one know we’ve met, that’s all.’

‘Including Ronnie?’

‘Not Lady Chalmers so much. I’ll leave that up to you. I’m more worried about Anthony Litton and Ralph Nathan than about her.’

‘In that case, you needn’t worry. I certainly won’t tell either of them.’

They ate in silence for a while. It certainly beat Banks’s usual lunchtime fare at the Queen’s Arms or the Indian takeaways that often passed for dinner, though any meal would have to go a long way to beat the game pie at the Low Moor Inn. Perhaps Oriana would enjoy that, too. What a stupid thought, he realised, and got back to business. ‘Do you know anything about this telephone call I asked Lady Chalmers about?’

‘No. As you know, I was out. I visit my grandfather every Monday. I often come here for lunch afterwards, too. Usually alone. I like to sit and read a book while I eat sometimes.’

‘Me, too,’ said Banks, ‘when I get the chance.’ He paused, trying to find a way of getting around to hinting that Lady Chalmers was lying without offending Oriana. ‘Only, it seems like a long telephone call about something she wasn’t interested in. Does Lady Chalmers often spend a long time talking to strangers on the telephone?’

‘I wouldn’t say that. Ronnie is always polite on the telephone, even to those people who pester her trying to sell things. I tell her she should tell them to go away and hang up, but she tells me they have a job to do, and it’s not her place to be rude to them. What can I say?’

‘You don’t usually answer the telephone for her?’

‘Sometimes I answer it, if she’s busy. Not always.’

‘So you don’t find it odd that she spent seven minutes talking to Gavin Miller?’

‘No, not really. If they were both at the same university, they might have had some memories in common they chatted about. Remembering their professors, other students, funny things that happened. It wouldn’t have to mean they knew each other at the time.’

‘It’s possible, I suppose.’ Banks showed her the two pictures of Gavin Miller, old and new. ‘Do you recognise this man? Have you ever seen him? Has he ever been to Brierley House?’

Oriana squinted as she stared, her dark glossy hair framing her oval face. ‘No,’ she said finally, pushing them back towards Banks. ‘I have never seen him. Is it the person who phoned?’

‘Yes.’

‘He was quite handsome when he was younger.’

Banks re-examined the image, taken from the group photo outside a college building twenty-five years ago. She was right. Miller had been quite good-looking as a young man. Again, that set his mind wandering back to the University of Essex in the early seventies, when Miller and the lovely young Ronnie Bellamy had been students at the same time. ‘Did Lady Chalmers ever talk about her student days?’ he asked.

Oriana thought for a moment, then said, ‘Just sometimes, years ago, when I was still at university myself.’

‘What did she say?’

Oriana was silent for a few moments, then she said, ‘Mostly she used to complain what a drab and self-centred lot we students were these days, only interested in getting our degrees so we could get good jobs and earn a lot of money. She talked about the “old days” like you people do, as if they were some sort of Golden Age. The revolution. You were children of the revolution. Always fighting for the cause. Always altruistic, never self-interested.’ She laughed at Banks’s expression. ‘What? Am I not telling the truth?’

‘I suppose there is a certain amount of nostalgia for the old days,’ Banks admitted. ‘But it did seem real enough at the time. It seemed within our power to change things. Make a better world.’

‘Is that what you wanted to do? Is that why you joined the police?’

‘I suppose it is, in an odd sort of way. It seemed better than throwing ball bearings under the feet of police horses in Grosvenor Square.’

‘Then you grew older, yes, and you no longer wanted to change things. And just look at the world now.’

‘Well, someone said that if you’re not a communist when you’re twenty, you’ve got no heart, and if you’re not a conservative when you’re forty, you’ve got no brain.’

Oriana laughed at that. ‘So true.’

‘So Lady Chalmers was a left-wing firebrand at university, was she?’

‘So it seems. She went on demonstrations against the government, against wars and dictatorships, that sort of thing. Yes. And I don’t think I’m giving away any secrets to say that I think she also needed to rebel against her family, against the privilege in which she had been brought up. The grand mansion. The servants. And there was the way they earned their fortune. I’m not entirely clear about it, but I think much of the family fortune came from colonialism, perhaps even the slave trade, or at least from the exploitation of native populations. That wouldn’t sit well with Ronnie’s Marxist ideals at the time. She made none of the choices her parents would have wanted her to make. She is very independent-minded and strong-willed. Stubborn and hard-headed, too, sometimes, Jem says. I have to confess that I wasn’t very political at university. Perhaps I spent too much time on my studies and not enough out on the picket lines, though I don’t remember any picket lines.’

‘Margaret Thatcher got rid of them all. How do you get along with Sir Jeremy?’

‘Jem? Fine,’ said Oriana. ‘He’s kind, considerate, intelligent. And he knows so much about theatre, its history, characters. He has such wonderful stories to tell. Funny, too. It’s just a pity he’s away so much.’

‘His work demands it?’

‘Yes. If he’s not abroad somewhere, he’s down in London at the offices. Mind you, Ronnie’s also away a fair bit, especially when there’s a new book out. Me, too.’

‘How do he and Lady Chalmers get along?’

Oriana narrowed her eyes. ‘I told you. No family tales. They get along fine.’

Was there a hidden message there, Banks wondered, or was Oriana merely being discreet? So what if there was a little turbulence. Most marriages suffer turbulence every now and then, as Banks well remembered. ‘The girls?’

‘Hardly girls any more. Well, Sam’s still at university — St Andrews, studying Drama. She likes to come down for the weekend when she can get away. She hasn’t decided yet whether she wants to be a rock star like your son or a famous actress. Those are the best times, when the family’s all at Brierley. Angelina’s “in between” at the moment. She got a decent enough degree at St Hilda’s, in Oxford, and I’m sure she’ll find a job eventually, but right now she’s enjoying her horses.’

‘What line of work is she interested in?’

‘Well, her degree is in History, but she’s horse crazy. Who knows which direction she’ll go in? Right now, it wouldn’t surprise me if she took a job as a stable “lad” just to get a foot on the rung. They’re wonderful girls. My “little sisters”.’

Banks took another photograph out of his briefcase, one he had examined in great detail through a magnifying glass the previous evening. It showed a large group of students marching, carrying banners in favour of the miners. Banks pointed to one blurry figure, clearly a young blonde woman, her head just visible between two other burlier figures. ‘Is that her?’ he asked. ‘Is that Lady Chalmers?’

Oriana peered at the photograph then gave a dismissive pout. ‘It could be,’ she said. ‘But perhaps not. It is hard to tell.’

‘Lady Chalmers went to the same university at the same time as the man who got killed, you know, the man who phoned her.’

‘That doesn’t mean she knew him. He’s not in the photograph, too, is he?’

‘Not that one, no,’ said Banks. ‘But if he did know her, and if he was in trouble or something, and for some reason he called her...’

‘Then she would be lying about the reason for the telephone call.’

‘About its content, yes.’ Banks didn’t like the way this was going; he thought he was losing Oriana. At that moment, the waiter came by to take away their plates and ask if they wanted anything else. They both ordered coffee; Oriana’s an espresso. She swirled what was left of her wine in the glass then set it aside. Banks finished his off.

When they had their coffees, Oriana leaned forward towards Banks, resting her hands on the white tablecloth. Her fingers were long and tapered; she wore no rings. He could just see the tempting line of olive cleavage below the neckline of her top. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘you probably know this already, but the only reason I’m talking to you is because I’ve been worried about Ronnie. She’s been distracted since that day. Very jumpy. I didn’t know it was the telephone call that upset her because I didn’t know about it until you came, but now I think it is. The timing is right, and I can think of nothing else to explain her behaviour. Now, all this week, she has seemed distant and has been very quiet. Whether this has anything to do with what you’ve been asking questions about, I don’t know, only that she hasn’t been herself, and I’ve been worried about her.’

‘So you’re willing to admit that she might be lying about the call?’

‘If she is, it’s for a good reason.’

‘I’m afraid that doesn’t help me. Have you tried talking to her?’

‘I’ve asked her several times if there’s anything wrong, but she won’t say. Something is bothering her, though. I can tell.’

‘But you couldn’t even make a wild guess at what it is?’

‘No. I do know that she can’t have harmed anyone. Ronnie is a kind and gentle person. She wouldn’t hurt a soul.’

‘In what way was she distracted? Would you say she was anxious, sad, angry, or upset?’

Oriana considered this for a moment, then said, ‘Mostly depressed and worried, I would say. Perhaps anxious, also. It’s as if she has a great weight on her mind. Not angry or sad or upset or anything.’

‘Guilt?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘But you’ve no idea what she’s depressed or worried about?’

‘No.’

‘And she was like this even before Gavin Miller was murdered?’

‘Yes. All week since the phone call.’

‘And after the murder?’

‘The same, perhaps even more so after you came.’

‘OK,’ said Banks. ‘Thank you for being so frank.’

‘I’m not saying all this for you,’ she said. ‘I’m telling you for her sake. For Ronnie’s sake. Because I’m worried about her. And because I know she could never have hurt that man. It’s true that we were all at home that night. I made dinner, and we watched a movie the way we usually do on Sunday nights, exactly as she told you. She was here all the time. All three of us were.’

‘I understand.’

Oriana sat back in her chair and finished her espresso. ‘Now I must go,’ she said. ‘Thank you for a nice lunch.’

Banks made a motion to the waiter, who brought over the bill. He seemed to be smirking as he ran Banks’s credit card through his machine, as if he had decided they were lovers on their way to some hotel bed for a bit of afternoon delight. ‘What’s your problem?’ Banks said, glancing up at him. ‘Can’t an uncle treat his niece to lunch once in a while?’

The waiter blushed, Oriana could hardly hold back her laughter, and Banks felt rather pleased with himself.