Careless in Red (Inspector Lynley, #15)(27)

“And isn’t that a bit odd? Whyever would he climb in this weather?”

“You ask the question as if you expect me to know the answer.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, Aldara?”

“Enough.” Aldara firmly set her wineglass down. “I am not you, Daidre. I’ve never had this…this…oh, what shall I call it…this awe of men that you have, this feeling that they are somehow more significant than they actually are, that they are necessary in life, essential to a woman’s completion. I’m terribly sorry that the boy is dead, but it’s nothing to do with me.”

“No? And this…?” Daidre indicated the two wineglasses, the two plates, the two forks, the endless repetition of what should have been but never quite was the number two. And there was the additional matter of Aldara’s clothing: the filmy dress that embraced and released her hips when she moved, the choice of shoes with toes too open and heels too high to be practical on a farm, the earrings that illustrated the length of her neck. There was little doubt in Daidre’s mind that the sheets on Aldara’s bed were fresh and scented with lavender and that there were candles ready to be lit in her bedroom.

A man was at this moment on his way to her. He was even now pondering the removal of her clothes. He was wondering how quickly upon his arrival he could get down to business with her. He was thinking of how he was going to take her?rough or tender, up against the wall, on the floor, in a bed?and in what position, of whether he’d be up for the job of doing it more than twice because he knew merely twice would not be enough, not for a woman like Aldara Pappas. Earthy, sensual, ready. He damn well had to give her what she was looking for because if he didn’t, he’d be tossed aside and he didn’t want that.

Daidre said, “I think you’re going to find otherwise, Aldara. I think you’re going to see that this…what happened to Santo…whatever it is?”

“That’s nonsense,” Aldara cut in.

“Is it?” Daidre put her palm on the table between them. She repeated her earlier question. “Who’re you expecting tonight?”

“That doesn’t concern you.”

“Are you completely mad? I had the police in my cottage.”

“And that worries you. Why?”

“Because I feel responsible. Don’t you?”

Aldara seemed to consider the question, because it was a moment before she replied. “Not at all.”

“And that’s that, then?”

“I suppose it is.”

“Because of this? The wine, the cheese, the lovely fire? The two of you? Whoever he is?”

Aldara rose. She said, “You must leave. I’ve tried to explain myself to you time and again. But you see how I am as a moral question and not what it is, which is just a manifestation of the only way I can function. So yes, someone is on his way and, no, I’m not going to tell you who it is, and I’d vastly prefer it if you were not here when he arrives.”

“You refuse to be touched by anything, don’t you?” Daidre asked her.

“My dear, that is definitely the pot and the kettle,” was Aldara’s reply.





Chapter Five


CADAN HAD HIGH HOPES THAT THE BACON STREAKIES WOULD do the trick. He also had high hopes that Pooh would do the trick. The Bacon Streakies, which were the bird’s favourite treat, were supposed to encourage and reward him. The system was to let the parrot see the bag of goodies dangling from Cadan’s fingers?a manoeuvre sufficient to get the bird’s interest?and then put him through his paces. The reward would follow, and there was absolutely no need to show Pooh the crunchy substance itself. He might have been a parrot, but he was no dummy when it came to food.

But tonight, distractions diverted him. He and Cadan were not alone in the sitting room, and the other three individuals were proving more interesting to the parrot than the food on offer. So balancing on a small rubber ball and walking said ball across the length of the fireplace mantel did not hold the same promise that a lolly stick in the hands of a six-year-old girl held. A lolly stick carefully applied to the parrot’s feathered head, rubbed gently back and forth in the region where one assumed his ears to be, guaranteed ecstasy. A Bacon Streakie, on the other hand, effected only momentary gustatory satisfaction. So although Cadan made a heroic attempt to get Pooh to provide some entertainment for Ione Soutar and her two young daughters, entertainment was not forthcoming.

“Why’s he not want to do it, Cade?” Jennie Soutar asked. She was the younger of the two. Her older sister, Leigh?who was, at ten, already wearing glittery eye shadow, lipstick, and hair extensions?looked as if she’d never expected the bird to do anything extraordinary in the first place and who cared anyway as the bird was neither a pop star nor someone likely to become a pop star. Instead of paying attention to the failed bird show, she’d been flipping through a fashion magazine, squinting at the pictures because she refused to wear her specs and was campaigning for contact lenses.

Cadan said, “It’s the lolly stick. He knows you’ve got it. He wants to be petted again.”

“C’n I pet him, then? C’n I hold him?”

“Jennifer, you know how I feel about that bird.” These words were spoken by her mother. Ione Soutar was standing in the bay window, gazing out at Victoria Road. She’d been doing that for thirty minutes, and she didn’t look like a woman who intended to stop doing it anytime soon. “Birds carry germs and diseases.”