surprise when Lætitia had turned up in his life, so much younger, prettier and cleverer than he had dared to expect. Also a woman; he had been on the search for a brother. That brother still existed somewhere.
‘Of course, I am already a little old for a first child,’ she said calmly. ‘One can run into trouble, hence all the tests. But all is well.’
A budget of news.
When he turned back into the room, now crowded with people, he saw that Chris Court and Irene Pitt had drawn apart, the MP to talk to a man John Coffin recognized as a television personality, and Irene to supervise the laying out of the food in the other room. His sister was talking to Edward Pitt, who was giving her some wine, then going on to pour some for Court. He did it with a flourish.
Suddenly Coffin felt sorry for the man. Not much fun to lose your wife after years of marriage. If I was him, he thought, I’d feel like dropping poison in Court’s drink.
Of course you’d have to choose your poison, or someone like himself, some eager beaver policeman, would soon be on your trail.
He enjoyed the party, but left early. His sister had left even before he did. She came across to speak to him before she went.
‘Can I drive you home, Letty?’ They were, after all, well out in South London, well away from Cheyne Walk. He felt sure her new house was on Cheyne Walk, nothing less would do for Lætitia.
‘No, I have a car.’
‘Sure?’
‘I am perfectly fit,’ she said firmly. ‘Don’t fuss. There’s something I want to say. You remember the advertisements we have been running in the papers asking about our missing sibling?’
‘I remember.’ He hadn’t wanted the advertisements inserted, it was making public something he still preferred to keep private, but he had deferred to her.
‘We’ve had an answer. Some woman who thinks she may know something. From Glasgow, of all places. Can one of us really have got to Glasgow?’
‘You got to New York.’
‘But I had help.’ She questioned: ‘So what do we do? Do we go to Glasgow?’
‘One of us ought to.’
‘Then I will send you the letter and all the information I have. I think you will find it interesting.’
As he followed her to her car he saw that Court was already standing by it with the door open.
‘He’s in a hurry, isn’t he?’
‘There’s a Division tonight. A three line whip, he has to get back to the House to vote. Besides, better not to hang around.’
‘Perhaps he’d have done better still not to come.’
Letty shrugged. ‘There’s something worrying you. What is it?’
‘I’ve got a nasty murder case boiling up,’ Coffin admitted. ‘It’s on my mind a bit.’ He told her about the discovery of Egan’s body, just hinting at his personal involvement.
‘Is it a very horrible murder?’ She knew that there were certain types of killing that he found hard to stomach.
‘Bad enough. But I’ve known worse.’
‘Then is it you don’t know which way to go? You have no idea who did it?’
‘Oh I think we do. Probably won’t be too hard to prove, either.’
‘Then you’re home. It’s at an end.’
Slowly Coffin said: ‘That’s just it. It doesn’t feel like the end. More like a beginning. And I’ve got the nasty feeling that it’s not the right murder.’
‘You mean the wrong man was killed.’
‘No, I’m sure the killer meant to get Egan. If he hadn’t, Egan would have got him.’
‘Well, then.’
‘Yes, I know I’m being unreasonable.’
He saw her drive off, then made to leave himself. It was a warm evening for the time of year, with a big yellow moon hanging in the sky. He stood for a moment on the doorstep enjoying the evening. The noise from the party floated out to the street, laughter and happy voices mixed with the sound of music. A good party but now was the time to leave it, you should always leave a party while it was still happy. A good recipe for life.
He walked down the street. Just for the moment he fancied he could get a whiff of the old Deller’s smell, but that must be fantasy. Deller’s, once the boast of the district, had not smelt for over ten years now, vanquished, as it had been, by the Clean Air Act.
It was a night for memories and he had plenty centred on this district. A mixed bag, as memories tend to be, but all of them worth hanging on to. That was something he had learnt over the years, that painful memories could be very valuable, marking a place in your life where you had gone wrong but need not do so again.
As he got to his front door he looked back. To his surprise he saw the tall Fleming boy, he thought Mrs Brocklebank had told him he was called Peter, standing across the road from No. 22.
Poor lad, he thought. Listening to the party, but not of the party. Hearing the gaiety but not invited to it.
Then he saw a figure flit up from the basement and run across the road to the boy. He recognized the daughter of the house.
He let himself into the house and walked up the stairs, half sorry for the pair, half envious. Lucky young beggars, he thought. You’ve got it all to go through and it’s a pain as well as a pleasure, but you’ll miss it when it’s done.
A bit later he took another look from the window. Yes, they were still out there under the street lamp. Just parting under the tree. The boy was hanging on to the girl’s hand, letting go reluctantly, then slowly walking away.
Romeo and Juliet, no less, he thought.
When the party was over Edward and Irene were alone in the kitchen, and both of them knew that something had to be said, was going to be said, but were reluctant to be the one who began.
‘Sandwich?’ Irene examined an open sandwich which still had its piece of smoked salmon adhering to it.
‘No, thank you.’
‘Just as well probably, it’s drying out.’ She put it aside. ‘There’s something unpleasing about a dried-out bit of smoked salmon, isn’t there? Mrs B. didn’t manage badly though. Good marks for her.’
‘There’s one thing you can’t do, couldn’t do in New York and can’t do here where there’s less excuse, and that’s get good servants.’
‘Mrs B.’s all right.’ Irene was both surprised and defensive. It was not like Edward to be hostile. Or rude to her. Angry sometimes, yes, but not unpleasant.
‘She’s an old soak.’
‘No, I don’t think so.’ Now Irene was really taken aback. ‘Not her.’
‘If the pile of whisky bottles I found neatly hidden away in the basement is anything to go by, she is. I don’t know who else could have left them there.’
‘The Leggetts … ?’ began Irene. ‘We let them the house,’ before she remembered what the Leggetts, vegans and into yoga, were like. No, it couldn’t be them. And anyway they would have left the bottles around. Hiding or even tidying up was not their style. ‘No, I can see it would not be them. But I dispute Mrs B., I don’t think she drinks at all.’
‘Then she’s got a boyfriend who does.’
‘Edward! Why are you being so nasty? What’s the matter with you?’
‘Do you need to ask?’
‘It’s because Christopher came here.’
‘Yes,