Game Over

Eight

Outrageous Fortune

Swilley traced Candida Scott-Chatton to her home this time, and found a very different person from the poised, controlling woman of the previous day. It was as if the reality of Stonax’s death has suddenly sunk in. She didn’t quite look unkempt – probably she could have emerged from an earthquake with no hair out of place – but there was something ragged in her expression and demeanour, and when she moved it was both sluggish and curiously jerky, as though she had taken some drug and it hadn’t quite worked off.

An elderly, uniformed maid had let Swilley in, and she was shown into a drawing-room which was like the office all over again, only more so – high ceilings, antiques, oil paintings, bronzes; that expensive silence only the houses of the very wealthy seem to have, the stillness of air that no unruly passions would ever stir; the absence of smell, except for a breath of clean carpets and the faintest ghost of potpourri.

When Scott-Chatton entered she was preceded by two elegant whippets, one black with a white mark on its breast, the other brindle-grey. They looked at Swilley from a distance, twitching their tucked-down tails ingratiatingly but not venturing close. Swilley noted that they were both wearing diamond collars. It struck her as not what she would have expected from Scott-Chatton – too vulgarly ostentatious. It also looked, to her admittedly inexpert eye, as if they were real diamonds.

‘Eos and Aurora,’ Scott-Chatton said, as if Swilley had asked. ‘Do you like dogs?’

‘I can take ’em or leave ’em,’ Swilley said.

Scott-Chatton did not ask her to sit, nor sat herself, but remained standing where she had halted, a little way into the room, looking at Swilley with eyes that were no longer chips of ice, rubbing her fingers very slowly as if they were cold, or aching. Swilley had seen old people do that, and it was not a gesture she would have associated with this woman. ‘I have a few questions I want to put to you, if that’s all right.’

Scott-Chatton searched her face. ‘It wasn’t robbery, was it?’

‘We don’t know yet, but it may have had something to do with Mr Stonax’s life, so we need to find out as much about him as possible. I’m afraid we’re a bit confused about what your relationship was with him. His daughter seems to think you and he were still going out together, which is what you suggested to me, but someone else says you dropped him when he got the sack from the DTI.’

‘I can guess who that was,’ she said. ‘You mustn’t take everything Shawna says literally. She has a grudge against me.’

‘Oh?’ said Swilley receptively.

‘She came in to work one day quite unsuitably dressed and I asked her to go home and change. Naturally she took that as a mortal insult, and she’s been waging a war of attrition on me ever since.’

‘Why don’t you sack her, then?’

Scott-Chatton only raised her eyebrows. ‘You can’t dismiss a person these days except for stealing. Surely you know that?’

‘She says Mr Stonax tried to persuade you to keep seeing him and you refused. She overheard him saying he wanted to talk to you and you saying it wouldn’t make any difference.’ A blush of anger coloured Scott-Chatton’s face and Swilley reckoned she might yet find a way of sacking young Shawna, employment laws or no employment laws. ‘Also the gossip papers say you’re going out with Mr Freddie Bell of the Three Bells gaming company.’

Now Scott-Chatton sat. She did it gracefully, but there was a look of involuntariness about it. The dogs came close to her, shivering in that disconcerting way whippets have.

‘I’ll tell you everything,’ she said, ‘because I can see otherwise you will take away all the wrong impressions. But I don’t think it will help you, because I don’t understand any of it myself.’

Swilley seated herself, uninvited, in the chair opposite, and got out her notebook. ‘Go on.’

‘I want you to know that I loved Ed,’ she began, looking at her hands. ‘He was a wonderful man – a truly good man. He was tireless in his pursuit of truth. He was honourable in his profession. And more than that, he was so warm – he lit up a room when he came into it. I was still married when I first met him, though Hugo and I had already separated. When my divorce came through, Ed and I were going to marry, but then his ex-wife died, and he said for decency’s sake we ought to wait a few months. I honoured him for that. How many men would have so much delicacy?’ She looked up as she said this, as if she wanted an answer.

Swilley was interested in the choice of the word delicacy, and wondered what, really, it meant. She declined to answer, saying merely, ‘Go on.’

Scott-Chatton made a little, unhappy movement of her shoulders. ‘I wish to God, now, he had not been so sensitive. At least we would have been married. We would have had that. As it was, that awful trouble came along.’

‘The three-in-a-bed high jinks?’

She flinched at the words. ‘Please, don’t say it like that. And don’t think for a moment there was anything in it. I know he was innocent.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because he told me.’ She met Swilley’s eyes. ‘I know what you’re thinking, but you’re wrong. He would never lie to me. And he wasn’t the sort of man who would ever do something like that, anyway. The whole thing was a fraud, to blackmail him into leaving the department.’

‘If you knew he was innocent, why did you dump him?’

‘I didn’t,’ she cried, with sufficient anguish to make the little dogs stare up at her in what looked like shock. Voices were never raised in these hallowed spaces. ‘I would have stood by him publicly, but Ed persuaded me to seem to part company with him, for the sake of our various causes. I was very much against it, but he said I had to think of the greater good. The scandal was quite dreadful at the time, and he said it would rub off on to me, and on to the Trust and the other various charities that we had both worked so hard for. Donors would have pulled out. The press would have revived it every time the Trust was mentioned. He said I would be throwing away all we had worked for. We argued about it very much – that must be what Shawna overheard, and she got it quite the wrong way around, you see. But I knew there was truth in what he said and I allowed myself to be persuaded. But I wish – you don’t know how I wish – I had resisted him.’

Swilley wasn’t interested in her remorse. ‘If the thing was a fraud, why didn’t he make a fuss? Challenge it? Take it to court?’

‘They had the photographs. Oh, I knew they were faked, he knew they were faked – well, of course he did,’ she corrected herself with a little shake of the head. ‘But there they were, and at the first hint of resistance on his part they went to the papers. You know the rest. They were splashed everywhere, and once the genie is out of the bottle you can’t put it back. It’s no use protesting your innocence, because no-one will believe you. As it was, if he had gone quietly when they showed the photographs to him privately, it would have saved two other people from disgrace – Sid Andrew and that poor girl. I’ve forgotten her name, now. Isn’t that dreadful? But they were both ruined. And if he’d challenged them publicly, who knows what would have happened next?’ She looked up and met Swilley’s sceptical gaze, and said with a touch of heat, ‘Ed said they would target me next, or his daughter. Probably both of us. He said it was better for him to say nothing and go. Photographs are easy to fake – my God, they proved that all right! – and other documents too. Imagine what they could have done to his daughter’s life. I’d have been willing to risk it, for myself, but Ed wanted me to distance myself from him as soon as possible, and so – and so that’s what I did.’

‘So why did they want him out? And why not just sack him?’ Swilley asked.

‘He wouldn’t tell me anything about it. He said it was better if I didn’t know. But from what I can gather he had found something out that they didn’t want known. They couldn’t just dismiss him – they had to do it in a way that would discredit him, so that he couldn’t go public with what he knew. But as to what it was – I truly don’t know.’ She looked at Swilley unhappily. ‘You don’t believe me. You think I’m exaggerating the whole affair.’

Swilley shook the comment away. ‘It’s not for me to say. I just have to ask questions and write down the answers. Why didn’t you tell me all this the first time?’

‘I was shocked. Bewildered. I didn’t know what to think. I wasn’t sure – what I ought to say. What Ed would have wanted me to say. I didn’t know where it might lead, you see, if I told you all this.’

‘And you’re not worried now?’

She almost shrugged. ‘They’ve killed him. How can it get any worse?’ she said quietly.

There was a silence while Swilley made up her notes. Then she looked up and asked, ‘How does Mr Bell come into all this?’

Candida blushed. ‘It isn’t what you may think.’

‘What do I think?’ Swilley invited.

‘People misunderstand Freddie. He is a very kind, gentle man underneath.’

Yeah, underneath the brutal uncaring exterior, Swilley thought. ‘How did you meet him?’

‘At a fundraiser. He’s very generous in giving to charity, and he’s particularly interested in green issues.’

The only green issue Swilley would have expected him to be interested in was dollar bills but she let it pass. ‘How did you start going out with him?’

She blushed deeper. ‘It was after Ed – when he said I should distance myself from him. Freddie had been pursuing me for years. I’d made it clear I wasn’t interested in him but he persisted, and he was very kind and thoughtful in so many ways. So – after – Ed’s trouble – when he asked again – I said yes.’ Her eyes filled with tears of justification. ‘He’s been so kind and thoughtful – and he’s very good company.’

‘I’ve seen pictures of you together at functions,’ Swilley said. She had looked them up after Shawna’s hint. ‘It’s good publicity for him.’

‘And for me. For the Trust, I mean. I don’t see that there’s any harm in serving the greater good at the same time as . . .’

She tailed off, looking down at her dogs. She stroked their heads with a slow, almost sad movement, and Swilley suddenly guessed that Bell had given her the diamond collars for them, and that, yes, they were real diamonds. It made sense, she thought, for Freddie Bell to want to hitch himself to the respectability of Candida Scott-Chatton, the daughter of a marquess and ex-wife of an earl; and for her . . . well, he probably made generous donations to her charities.

‘Did he know you were still seeing Mr Stonax?’

She looked up, startled. ‘I – I don’t think so. He’s never said anything about it. Ed and I were very discreet. No, I’m sure he didn’t know.’

‘Are you sleeping with him? Mr Bell, I mean,’ Swilley asked brutally.

Scott-Chatton mottled and her eyes flashed as she was shaken equally by anger and embarrassment. ‘I don’t think that’s any of your business.’

‘I’m afraid everything becomes our business in a case of murder.’

She stared. ‘You surely aren’t thinking that Freddie had anything to do with it?’

‘We have to consider all possibilities.’

‘Well, I can tell you at once,’ she said with determination, ‘that your suggestion is as wrong as it is offensive. Freddie is much misunderstood and the media are unkind to him, but I know him well enough to be able to tell you categorically that he would never dream of such a thing. And now I think I must ask you to leave.’

She stood up, and Swilley did likewise. ‘One last thing,’ she said. ‘When you spoke about Mr Stonax being forced to resign, and the photographs being faked, you kept saying “they”. ‘As in “they had to make him leave”, and so on. Can you tell me who “they” are?’

She looked faintly puzzled for an instant, and then her face grew both hard and expressionless. ‘I really cannot tell you. Ed told me as little about the business as possible, for my own safety. I have no idea who was behind it all.’

Swilley went away, thinking what a bleedin’ liar she is, Mrs Fancypants Scottwotsit.

Swilley was reporting back to Slider when his telephone rang, and he signalled to her to wait while he answered it.

It was Bates.

‘Did you find the mobile I left for you?’ he asked.

‘Yes, I did,’ Slider said, and he made the signal to Norma that means ‘get a trace on this call’ and mouthed ‘Bates’ to her. Her eyes widened and she dashed from the room.

‘I knew you’d follow it up as soon as it was used,’ Bates said. ‘Where was it?’

‘A schoolboy found it and was using it to chat to a friend,’ Slider said. He had to keep Bates talking. ‘Where did you hope it would be?’

‘I thought it would be fun to let you chase your tail for a while. I didn’t mind where it went, as long as it was found and used. I left it near a school. I was sure no kid could resist a free phone call or two, and it seems I was right. Again. Sometimes perfection is almost wearying.’

‘I’m sure it must be,’ said Slider. ‘Every time you brush shoulders with the law, the law comes off worse. Wouldn’t you like to try getting caught, just for variety?’

Bates laughed. ‘Are you trying to make friends with me, Mr Plod? I don’t recommend it. Remember that I have a large grudge against you, and I intend to pay it back. I’m in the process of setting up a few little surprises for you. Do you like surprises?’

‘Not especially,’ Slider said, watching the door for Norma. She was using the telephone at her own desk which was just out of sight round the corner. ‘But tell me, why in particular do you have a grudge against me? I wasn’t the only person involved in your capture – temporary capture, I should say. In fact, I was quite a minor player. Why are you singling me out?’

‘How do you know I’m singling you out?’

‘I can’t imagine even you have the resources to mount a campaign against the whole squad. What makes me special?’

‘I think you will find that out sooner or later, so I don’t mind telling you that you have enemies in high places – quite a distinction for such a lowly bungler, wouldn’t you say? Yes, you’ve made enemies along the way, and those enemies have resources that make even mine look puny. They are encouraging me to put you at the top of the list. Are you pleased? Don’t you think that’s an honour?’

‘Not really. I rather like being obscure. So, who are these mighty enemies – or are they figments of your imagination? I expect being on the run is rather stressful, and stress can bring on delusions.’

Bates laughed again, but there was an edge to it that had not been there before. ‘You’ll find out how delusional all this is. I shall make sure of that. And now, since you have had ample time to trace this call, I shall say goodbye and let you get on with amusing yourself. Say hello to Mick Hutton for me, by the way. I won’t say I taught him all I know, but we’ve had some interesting conversations in our time.’

And he was gone.

Slider slammed down the receiver and went through to the CID room. Swilley was talking on the phone. She looked at him and said, ‘Wait, he’s here. D’you want to tell him yourself?’

Slider took the phone from her. ‘Any luck?’

‘No, sir,’ Hutton said. ‘It was a landline, but it’s been routed via several satellites round the globe. We were on the third when he hung up, but even if you’d kept him talking I doubt we’d have been able to pin him down. He’ll have gone in through a computer, radioed another remote computer and that will have initiated the call. Then the satellites bounce it back and forth across the world. If we could find the remote computer, we could probably trace the home computer, but it could be anywhere – New York, Tokyo, anywhere.’

‘Clever stuff,’ Slider said.

‘Well, if you’ve got the equipment and the know-how, it isn’t technically that difficult. Communications satellites are easy enough to get into – that’s their purpose in life. And he’s certainly got the know-how. Whether he’s now got the equipment I can’t say.’

‘He seemed to know you. Sent you his regards.’

Hutton made a disgusted sound. ‘I met him a few times at trade fairs and so on. I didn’t know then he was anything but honest. He put up a good front – and he was working for the American trade delegation. Well, you know what that means.’

‘Yes,’ said Slider. It was the accepted cover for the intelligence agencies.

‘It occurs to me,’ Hutton said, ‘that he’d have had plenty of opportunities to set up remotes in America during his trips over there. He’d have had access to the satellites and as much kit as he could ever want. I wouldn’t be surprised if he had a little place or two tucked away over there, an office in Washington, New York, maybe Seattle for the west coast. It wouldn’t need to be big – a single room with a computer and a telephone and a good lock on the door. He could have rented any number of them. If you could find them, or any one of them . . .’

‘Yes,’ said Slider. ‘Probably easier to find him.’

Swilley was sitting on Slider’s windowsill with her notes. He told her the rest of what Hutton had said, and she frowned. ‘But, boss, why would he mullock about with that mobile when he’d set up the safe landline?’

‘Just to amuse himself,’ Slider said. ‘He said he wanted us to chase our own tails for a bit.’

‘Do you think he could be back in his house? He’d got the kit in there, and those massive aerials. He could do all that stuff from there, easy.’

‘It’s sealed and guarded.’

‘But suppose he had a way to sneak in—’

‘A secret passage, you mean?’ said Atherton from the door. ‘Gosh, little Anne, fancy you thinking of something as clever as that. You’re nearly as brainy as Uncle Quentin.’

Swilley defended herself. ‘It’d be the last place we’d look for him, wouldn’t it?’

‘With reason,’ Atherton said. ‘Anyway, his kit was taken out, according to Notting Hill. So he’d have nothing to Famous Five himself back in there for.’

Norma gave him a look and flounced out.

‘This Bates business is making everyone scratchy,’ Slider said. ‘You’d better go and do some paid work to put you in a better mood. You can interview Freddie Bell.’

‘You know how I like hanging out with the rich and shameless,’ Atherton said.

When Slider was alone again, the phone rang, and it was Joanna. At the sound of her calm voice, something in him unknotted. At least she had got there safely.

‘I did what you said,’ she reported, ‘changed lanes and watched the rear view, but I didn’t see anything suspicious – not that I’m entirely sure what something suspicious looks like, but nobody obviously followed me. I even,’ she added with pride, ‘went up an exit ramp and straight back down the other side on to the motorway.’

‘Very inventive of you.’

‘That’s what I thought. Anyway, nobody who followed me off followed me back on. So I think I’m clean.’

‘I think you are too,’ he said. ‘But still be careful.’

‘Always. But you be careful too. I hate to put it this way, but on the evidence it’s you he’s after.’

‘On the evidence, he wants to frighten me. If he wanted to kill me he could have done it by now.’

‘Doesn’t mean he won’t try to kill you after he’s frightened you,’ she said, sounding deadly serious. ‘Is everybody doing everything they can to catch him?’

‘All my people are. And the SOCA must want him very badly indeed. Try not to worry, darling—’

‘I know. Bad for baby Derek.’

‘You’ve decided it’s a boy, then?’

‘I just don’t like the name Rebecca. I sat next to a Rebecca at school and she used to pick her nose and eat the bogies.’

‘Lifelong prejudices are born that way. Let’s call it Gladys if it’s a girl.’

‘Deal. Anything new?’

So to give her something to think about, he told her about Atherton and Emily Stonax. She was not as surprised as he expected her to be. ‘I could see she was interested in him.’

‘But on the very day she finds her father’s been murdered?’

‘That’s the very day you most need comfort. I hope for his sake that’s not all it is. But I had a long chat with her and she’s got the intellect he needs, and the same sort of interests.’

‘Funny, I’ve never heard him say, “Phwoah, look at the brain on that!” or “I wouldn’t half like to give her a game of chess.”’

‘Scoff away, my lad. But don’t forget you’re talking about the man who once dated two solicitors.’ Someone spoke behind her, and she said, ‘I’ve got to go. They’re calling us. Shostakovich five waits for no man. Love you.’

‘Me too,’ he said, seeing McLaren hovering in the doorway.

‘Chicken!’ she laughed, and rang off.

Freddie Bell’s gaming empire was run from his headquarters offices over the Lucky Bells Casino on Leicester Square. Above the offices there was reputed to be a penthouse flat of surpassing magnificence where Freddie himself lived, when he was not at his manor in Gloucestershire, his stud in Wiltshire, his castle in Aberdeenshire, his villa in Monte or his apartment in New York. The man was seriously rich. He had casinos wherever they were legal, ‘arcades’ on high streets and sea fronts, fruit machines in every pub and chippy, betting shops, hotels and motels, plus an interest in several London theatres and a promotional company that specialised in musicals and operas. Atherton had done his homework before heading for Leicester Square. Despite naming his casino empire after himself, he preferred to be called an impresario, which suggested either a desire to become respectable or delusions of grandeur; although, Atherton thought, he was so rich and powerful it probably wasn’t possible for him to be delusional about it. In his younger days, though, he had been so famous for settling disputes with his fists, it had been suggested his empire ought to have been called Seven Bells rather than Three.

The Lucky Bells was his largest casino in the UK, though he had one in Las Vegas that made it look like a corner shop in Droitwich. All the same, it was big, and Bell owned the whole building on a long lease, which given the value of real estate in central London ranked it high among his assets. It had the gaming rooms downstairs; entertainment suites, restaurants and control room on the first floor; and the offices of Three Bells Entertainment Enterprises Ltd on the second. It was one of the grand old buildings in Leicester Square, stone faced, with a fancy frieze all round under the roofline depicting dryads, puff-cheeked Bacchuses and fat bunches of grapes, and false columns between the vertical window lines which ended in busty caryatids. All rather louche and appropriate, Atherton thought. The casino wasn’t open yet when he arrived, but he found one door at the end unlocked and went in. With its prosaic main lights on and the cleaners patiently mowing up and down the vastness of hideous carpet, its night-time glamour was exposed as tawdriness, its luxury fake, glittery and naff. It was sadder, Atherton thought, because it had obviously cost a lot of money to get it to look like a WAG’s dream. To have spent so much on chandeliers like those, and a carpet like that, made the crime against taste all the greater.

He had hardly had time for more than a cursory glance when he was fielded by a man already in dinner jacket, whose dead-fish eyes and bulging unsuitedness to his suiting marked him instantly as a bouncer – or security specialist as he no doubt liked to be known these days.

‘We’re not open, sir.’

‘I’ve come to see Mr Bell,’ Atherton said, showing his brief. ‘He’s expecting me.’

The flat eyes sharpened an instant, memorising Atherton’s appearance. He turned his head slightly, revealing the curly black wire behind his ear, and spoke to his lapel. Atherton could hear the faint bat-squeak of the reply, and saw the nearest security camera up on the ceiling turn minutely towards him. He half expected to be patted down and was rather disappointed to be seen as so little of a threat.

‘Would you come this way, please, sir,’ the man said, leading Atherton towards the back where, behind a screen wall, there was a bank of lifts. He unlocked one with a key from a bunch chained to his belt, showed Atherton in, pressed 2, and stepped out before the door closed. ‘Someone will meet you at the lift,’ he said.

Someone did, and it was a relief for Atherton that it turned out to be a smart and pretty woman, who smiled and offered her hand in a friendly way and said, ‘I’m Lorraine Forrest, one of Mr Bell’s assistants. He’ll see you right away, if you’d like to come this way.’

Atherton suppressed the obvious riposte as she walked off, revealing a very nice posterior in a tightly fitting skirt, and made himself wonder instead if she shortened her name to Rain. It was a belter of a name in these eco-nutty days.

He caught her up. ‘What’s he like?’ he asked, in a low voiced, chums-on-the-way-to-the-headmaster manner. ‘I mean, I’m a bit nervous, what with all this.’ He waved his hand to indicate the Empire. ‘He’s a multibillionaire. What’s it like to work for a man like that?’

‘He’s very nice,’ she said, giving him a humorous look, ‘and I like working for him, and I don’t think you’re the slightest bit nervous, so stop trying to yank my chain. Here we are. Go in, and he’ll be there in a second.’

She shoved him in a motherly sort of way through the door into a vast office, rather dim because of the low ceiling, the tinted glass in the huge windows and the acres of purple carpet on the floor. It was deafeningly quiet. Despite looking down on Leicester Square, with its crowds and fairground rides and all London’s traffic nearby, there wasn’t a sound from outside – quadruple glazing at least, Atherton thought. There was no sound of air conditioning, either, though the air was neutrally cool and odourless. There had been something of an air-brake type of resistance when the door closed behind him, which gave him the hint that the room was sound-proofed and therefore probably miked as well. Standing still, he allowed his eyes to wander casually round the room and spotted four good sites for hidden cameras, which probably meant there were more than four. They were watching to see what he’d do when left alone. Freddie Bell was taking no chances, and given his wealth and the nature of his business, it was probably just as well. Atherton looked straight at the suspect light fitting and gave a big grin. No harm in letting them know he knew.

The right-hand wall of the office was covered floor to ceiling with bookcases, and given that the books were all matching sets of leather-bound hardbacks, he guessed that there wouldn’t be much choice if you actually wanted to read one. Sure enough, immediately after his grin, one whole section swung inwards, revealing a false door, and Freddie Bell himself walked in and closed it behind him.

‘Inspector Atherton?’ he said.

‘It’s Detective Sergeant, actually. But thanks for the promotion.’

‘What, I don’t merit the top man?’ Bell said jovially.

He advanced across the hampering carpet but did not extend his hand. Atherton was tolerably acquainted with his appearance from newspapers and the television, but those media could not convey the sheer animal presence of the man. He was not unusually tall, probably five-ten or eleven, but he was massively bulky, as if he had been designed on a grander scale, perhaps for a planet with a different gravity. His shoulders bulked under his suit jacket as if they’d been borrowed from a Hereford bull. His hands were huge, decorated with a heavy gold ring on the third finger of each, and a watch so massive you could have clubbed seals with it. His head seemed bigger than normal, but his features were big enough to fit it, with a thick nose and a prominent underlip, and blue eyes under strong, fair eyebrows. His light brown hair was cut in a fashionable disarray that must have cost hundreds each time to get it to look so casual: it stood out slightly from his head, which gave the impression that it was being forced outwards by the tremendous pressure from inside the skull that held the brains of this huge and successful empire.

All in all, Atherton thought, you could see what he was – a man who had made his own fortune from nothing and was increasing it all the time, a man in control, a man of power. His suit was fabulously expensive and well cut, his shoes and tie were to swoon for; but strip him of all that, and place him in any surroundings, and Atherton would have bet he would still have looked like an emperor. The power came from inside. Atherton was suddenly glad he had not had to shake hands.

Bell looked to be in his late fifties, although he could have been older but very well preserved. His face was firm and pleasantly tanned, and Atherton supposed it was handsome in a tough Daniel Craig sort of way. He did not have to suppose that women would find Bell attractive – that was well documented. But to talk of Candida Scott-Chatton fancying a bit of rough was to miss the point entirely. This was a rich, powerful and clever man; and after being married to her earl (who by all accounts was a bit of a wet), then mistress of virtuous Ed Stonax, and having worked in the charitable sector all her life among fluffy volunteers and the terminally well-meaning, she might well have been pining for stronger meat and drink even without knowing it. And Atherton could see that it would be intoxicating – if you could keep it down.