Deception on His Mind (Inspector Lynley, #9)(126)

She squeezed her eyes closed tightly, as if the complete darkness provided by doing so could somehow rid her mind of memory, her heart of anguish, and her conscience of the enormity of the act in which she had found herself a participant. But doing this only served to shoot flashes of light across the backs of her eyelids, as if an inner being over which she had no control were attempting to illuminate everything that she wished to keep hidden.

She opened her eyes once more. The flashing light continued. Perplexed, she watched it flicker and halt, flicker and halt at the point where the wall of her bedroom met the ceiling. It was a moment before she understood.

Short, short, long, pause. Short, short, long, pause. How many times had she seen that signal in the last year? It meant Come to me, Sahlah, It told her that Theo Shaw was outside, using a torch to announce that he was in the orchard.

She closed her eyes against it. Not so very long ago, she would have risen quickly, signaled with her own torch, and slipped quietly from her bedroom. Careful in slippers that muted the sound of her footsteps, she would have slid past her parents’ room after hesitating at their closed door to listen for the reassuring sound of her father's thundering snore and her mother's accompanying, gentle one. She would have descended the stairs and made her way to the kitchen, and from there she would have flown into the night.

Short, short, long, pause. Short, short, long, pause. Even through her eyelids, she could see the light.

She sensed the urgency behind it. It was the same urgency she'd heard in his voice when he'd phoned her the previous evening.

“Sahlah, thank God,” he'd said. “I've phoned you at least five times since I heard about Haytham, but you never answered, and the idea of leaving a message … I didn't dare. For your sake. It was always Yumn who answered. Sahlah, I want to talk to you. We need to talk. We must talk.”

“We've talked,” she told him.

“No! Listen to me. You misunderstood. When I said I wanted to wait, it had nothing to do with how I feel about you.” His words were rapid, hushed. He sounded as if he believed she'd ring off before he had a chance to say everything he'd planned and probably rehearsed. But he also sounded as if he feared being overheard. And she knew by whom.

“My mother needs my help with dinner,” she said. “I can't talk to you now.”

“You think it was because of you, don't you? I saw it in your face. I'm a coward in your eyes because I won't tell my grandmother I'm in love with an Asian. But the fact that I haven't told her has nothing to do with you. Nothing. All right? The time just isn't right.”

“I never believed it had anything to do with me,” she corrected him.

But she might not have spoken. She couldn't divert him from the course that he had apparently determined to take, because he hurried on. “She isn't well. Her speech is getting bad. She practically can't walk. She's weak. She needs nursing. So I have to be here for her, Sahlah. And I can't ask you to come to this house—as my wife—only to burden you with taking care of a sick old lady who might die any minute.”

“Yes,” she said. “You told me all of this, Theo.”

“So for God's sake, why won't you give me some time? Now that Haytham's dead, we can be together. We can make it happen. Sahlah, don't you see? Haytham's dying could be something that was meant to be. It could be a sign. It's as if the hand of God is telling us—”

“Haytham was murdered, Theo,” she said. “And I don't think God had anything to do with it.”

He'd been silent at this. Was he shocked? she wondered. Was he horrified? Was he sifting through his thoughts to fabricate something with just the right ring of sincerity: tender words of compassion that offered a condolence which he did not feel? Or was something altogether different going on in his head, a fervid search for a subtle means to portray himself in the most positive light?

Say something, she'd thought. Ask a single question that will serve as a sign.

“How do you know …? The newspaper … When it said the Nez … I don't know why, but I thought he had a heart attack or something, or maybe even a fall. But murdered? Murdered?”

Not, My God, how are you coping with this horror? Not, What can I do to help you? Not, I'm coming to you this instant, Sahlah. I'm taking my rightful place at your side, and we're putting an end to this bloody charade.

“The police told my brother this afternoon,” she'd said.

And another silence ensued. In it, she heard him breathing and she tried to interpret his respiration as she'd tried a moment earlier to gauge the meaning behind the delay between her revelation and his response.

He finally said, “I'm sorry that he's dead. I'm sorry about the fact that he's dead. But I can't pretend to be sorry that you won't be marrying at the weekend. Sahlah, I'm going to speak to Gran. I'm going to tell her everything, start to finish. I saw how close I came to losing you, and the moment we have this redevelopment project up and running, she'll be distracted, and I'll tell her.”

“And that's what you want her to be? Distracted? Because if she's distracted she might not notice when you introduce us that my skin is a colour she finds offensive?”

“I didn't say that.”

“Or is it that you don't intend to introduce us at all? Perhaps you hope that her project for the town will take enough out of her to finish her off. And then you'll have her money and your freedom as well.”