A Place of Hiding (Inspector Lynley, #12)(213)

She smiled at him. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were hoping to get me drunk.”

“Poison you more likely,” Adrian said. “And inherit the fortune that doesn’t exist. I trust I’m not your beneficiary either.”

“I am sorry about that, my dear,” Ruth told him. And then as he urged the wine upon her, “I can’t. My medicine...The mixture wouldn’t be good for me, I’m afraid.”

“Ah.” He set the glass down. “Not willing to live a little dangerously, then?”

“I left that to your father.”

“And look where it got him,” Adrian said.

Ruth dropped her gaze and fingered her cutlery. “I’m going to miss him.”

“I expect you are. Have some of the beef. It’s very good.”

She looked up. “Have you tasted it?”

“No one cooks like Valerie. Eat up, Aunt Ruth. I won’t let you leave the kitchen till you have at least half of your dinner.”

Ruth didn’t miss the fact that he didn’t answer the question. In conjunction with his return to Le Reposoir when she’d expected him to leave with his mother, this gave her pause. She could see no real reason to be leery of her nephew, though. He knew about his father’s will, and she’d just told him about her own. Still, she said, “All this concern about me. I’m qui te...qui te flattered, I suppose.”

They observed each other over the table, over the steaming bowls of beef and rice. The silence between them was different from the silence Ruth had enjoyed earlier, however, and she found herself glad when the telephone rang, fracturing the moment with its insistent double brring. She began to rise to answer it.

Adrian intercepted her. He said, “No. I mean you to eat, Aunt Ruth. You’ve spent at least a week not taking care of yourself. Whoever it is will phone back eventually. In the meantime, you’ll get some food inside you.”

She lifted her fork although its weight seemed enormous. She said,

“Yes. Well. If you insist, my dear...” because she realised it didn’t really matter one way or another. The end was going to be just the same. “But if I might ask...Why are you doing this, Adrian?”

“The one thing no one ever understood was that I actually loved him,”

Adrian replied. “In spite of everything. And he’d want me here, Aunt Ruth. You know that as well as I. He’d want me to see things through to the end because that’s what he would have done himself.”

He spoke a truth that Ruth could not deny. That was the reason she lifted her fork to her mouth.





Chapter 29


When Deborah left the Queen Margaret Apartments, Cherokee and China were going through their belongings to make certain everything was accounted for in advance of their removal from the island. Cherokee first demanded China’s shoulder bag, however, and rustled through it noisily in search of her wallet. He was looking for funds so that they might all go out to dinner and carouse for the night, he announced. However, he ended up saying, “Forty pounds, Chine?” when he saw the paucity of his sister’s cash position. He went on to declare, “Jesus. I’ll have to spring for the meal myself, I guess.”

“Now, that makes a change,” China remarked.

“But wait.” Cherokee held up one finger in the manner of a man hit by sudden inspiration. “I bet there’s an ATM you can use on the High Street.”

“And if there isn’t,” China added, “by sheer coincidence I happen to have my credit card.”

“God. Today is my lucky day.”

Brother and sister laughed together companionably. They opened their duffel bags to sort through everything. At this point, Deborah said her goodnights. Cherokee was the one who saw her to the door. Outside, he stopped her in the dim light on the step.

In the shadows, he looked much like the young boy he would probably always be at heart. He said, “Debs. Thanks. Without you here...without Simon...Just...thanks.”

“I don’t think we actually did much.”

“You did a lot. And anyway, you were here. In friendship.” He gave a brief laugh. “I wish it could have been more. Damn. Married lady. I was never lucky when it came to you.”

Deborah blinked. She grew hot but said nothing.

“Wrong time, wrong place,” Cherokee continued. “But if things had been different, either then or now...” He looked past her to the tiny courtyard and beyond that to the lights of the street. “I just wanted you to know. And it’s not because of this, because of what you’ve done for us. It’s the way it always was.”

Deborah said, “Thank you. I’ll remember, Cherokee.”

“If there’s ever a time...”

She put a hand on his arm. “There won’t be,” she said. “But thank you.”

He said, “Yeah. Well,” and he kissed her on the cheek. Then, before she could move away, he held her chin and kissed her full on the mouth as well. His tongue touched her lips, parted them, lingered, and withdrew. “I wanted to do that the first time I saw you,” he said. “How the hell did these English guys get so lucky?”

Deborah stepped away but still tasted him. She felt her heart beat lightly, fast and pure. But that would not be the case if she stood in the semi-darkness with Cherokee River a moment longer. So she said, “The English are always lucky,” and she left him by the door. She wanted to think about that kiss and all that had preceded it as she walked back to the hotel. So she didn’t walk directly there. Instead, she descended Constitution Steps and wended her way over to the High Street. Very few people were out. The shops were closed, and what restaurants there were sat farther along, towards Le Pollet. Three people waited in a queue at Cherokee’s cash machine in front of a Nat West and a group of five adolescent boys were sharing a loud mobile phone conversation that echoed off the buildings which lined the narrow street. A skinny cat ascended the steps from the quay and slunk along, hugging the front of a shoe shop while somewhere nearby a dog barked frantically and a man’s voice shouted to silence it.