A Suitable Vengeance (Inspector Lynley, #4)(66)

Deborah made a vague sound of response, and stared, perplexed, at the empty spot next to the dressing table. She went to the wardrobe and peered inside, feeling neither panic nor dismay at first, but merely confusion. Lady Helen chatted on.

“I victimise myself. I hear the word sale in reference to Harrod’s, and I simply fall apart. Shoes, hats, pullovers, dresses. I even bought a pair of Wellingtons once, simply because they fit. So fetching, I thought, just the thing for mucking round Mother’s garden.” She inspected Deborah’s breakfast tray. “Will you be eating your grapefruit?”

“No. I’m not at all hungry.” Deborah went into the bathroom, came out again. She knelt on the floor to look under the bed, trying to recall where she had left the case. Certainly it had been in the room all along. She’d seen it without seeing it last night as well as the night before, hadn’t she? She thought about the question, admitted to herself that she couldn’t remember. Yet it was inconceivable that she might have misplaced the case, even more inconceivable that it was missing altogether. Because if it was missing and she hadn’t misplaced it herself, that could only mean…

“Whatever are you doing?” Lady Helen asked, dipping happily into Deborah’s grapefruit.

Dread was hitting her as she saw that nothing had been stored beneath the bed or hurriedly shoved there to get it out of the way. Deborah got to her feet. Her face felt cold.

Lady Helen’s smile faded. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

In a last and utterly useless search, Deborah returned to the wardrobe and tossed the extra pillows and blankets to the floor. “My cameras,” she said. “Helen, my cameras. They’re gone.”

“Cameras?” Lady Helen asked blankly. “Gone? What do you mean?”

“Gone. Just what I said. Gone. They were in their case. You’ve seen it. I brought it with me this weekend. It’s gone.”

“But they can’t be gone. They’ve just been misplaced. No doubt someone thought—”

“They’re gone,” Deborah said. “They were in a metal case. Cameras, lenses, filters. Everything.”

Lady Helen replaced the bowl of grapefruit on Deborah’s tray. She looked round the room. “Are you certain?”

“Of course I’m certain! Don’t be so—” Deborah stopped herself and with an effort at calm said, “They were in a case by the dressing table. Look. It’s not there.”

“Let me ask Caroline,” Lady Helen said. “Or Hodge. They may have already been taken down to the car. Or perhaps Tommy came in earlier and got them. Surely that’s it. Because I can’t think that anyone would actually…” Her voice refused to say the word steal. Nonetheless, the fact that it was foremost on Lady Helen’s mind was obvious in the very omission.

“I haven’t left the room since last night. I’ve only been in the bath. If Tommy came for the cameras, why wouldn’t he have told me?”

“Let me ask,” Lady Helen said again. She left the room to do so.

Deborah sank onto the stool in front of the dressing table, staring at the floor. The pattern of flowers and leaves in the carpet blurred before her as she considered the loss. Three cameras, six lenses, dozens of filters, all purchased from the proceeds of her first successful show in America, state-of-the-art equipment that served as the hallmark of who she had managed to become at the end of three years on her own. A professional without ties, duties, or obligations. A woman committed to the future.

Every decision she had made during those years in America had taken its legitimacy from the ultimate possession of that equipment. She could look back on every conclusion she had reached, the convictions she had developed, the deeds she had done, and feel neither guilt nor regret because she had emerged with a profession at which she was a bona fide success. That part of a life—which might have been hers to hold and love and nurture—had been mourned in secret made no difference. That she had filled her time with distractions to avoid acknowledging the worst of her loss—indeed, that she had re-evaluated all losses and defined each one as inconsequential—had no impact upon her. Everything was made acceptable and right and completely justifiable because she’d attained her goal. She was a success, possessing all the requisite signs and symbols of that achievement.

Lady Helen came back into the room. “I spoke to both Caroline and Hodge,” she said. Regret made the statement hesitant. She had no need to say more. “Deborah, listen. Tommy will—”

“I don’t want Tommy to replace the cameras!” Deborah cried fiercely.

A quick flash of surprise passed across Lady Helen’s face. It vanished in an instant, leaving in its place an expression of perfectly impartial repose.

“I was going to say that Tommy will want to know at once. I’ll fetch him.”

She was gone only a few moments, returning with both Lynley and St. James. The former went to Deborah. The latter remained by the door.

“Damn and blast,” Lynley muttered. “What next?” He put his arm round Deborah’s shoulders and hugged her to him briefly before he knelt next to the stool and gazed into her face.

His own, she could see, was lined by fatigue. He didn’t look as if he’d slept at all the previous night. She knew how worried he must be about John Penellin, and she felt a twinge of shame that she should be causing him additional distress.