In Pursuit of the Proper Sinner (Inspector Lynley, #10)(217)

Lynley read the words and felt a chill of apprehension.

I'm taking care of this myself Andy Maiden had written.

Julian had just finished weighing Cass's puppies when his cousin came into the room. She'd evidently been looking for him, because she said happily, “Julie! Of course. How silly of me. I should have thought of the dogs at once.”

He was using the aniseed oil on Cass's teats, readying her puppies for the twenty-four-hour test of their sense of smell. As harriers, they had to be excellent trackers.

Cass growled uneasily when Samantha entered. But she soon settled when Julian's cousin adjusted her voice to the soothing tone that the dogs were more used to.

Sam said, “Julie, I had the most extraordinary encounter with your father this morning. I thought I'd be able to tell you at lunch-time, but when you didn't turn up … Julie, have you eaten anything today?”

Julian hadn't been able to face the breakfast table. And his feelings hadn't much changed by lunch. So he'd busied himself with work instead: inspections of some of the tenant farmers’ properties, researching in Bakewell what hoops one had to jump through when making changes in a listed building, throwing himself into the myriad chores in the kennels. Thus, he'd been able to ignore everything that wasn't directly related to whatever he designated as the immediate task in hand.

Sam's appearance inside the kennels made any further efforts at distraction impossible. Nonetheless, in an effort to avoid the conversation he'd promised himself that he'd have with her, he said, “Sorry, Sam. I got caught up in work round here.” He tried to sound apologetic. And, in fact, he felt apologetic, when it came down to it, because Sam was working her heart out at Broughton Manor. The least he could do to demonstrate his gratitude, Julian thought, was to show up for meals in acknowledgement of her efforts.

He said, “You're holding us together, and I know it. Thanks, Sam. I'm grateful. Truly.”

Sam said warmly, “I'm happy to do it. Honestly, Julie. It's always seemed such a shame to me that we've never had much of a chance to—” She hesitated. She seemed to sense the need to change gears. “It's amazing when you think that if our parents had only mended their fences, you and I could have—” Another gear change. “I mean, we're family, aren't we. And it's sad not to get to know the members of your very own family. Especially when you finally do get to know them and they turn out to be … well, such fine people.” She fingered the plait that hung long and thick over her shoulder. Julian noticed for the first time how neatly it was braided. He saw that it very nearly caught the light.

He said, “Well, I'm not always what I should be when it comes to saying thanks.”

“I think you're great.”

He felt himself colour: the curse of his complexion. He turned from her and went back to the dog. She asked what he was doing and why, and he was grateful that an explanation of aniseed oil and cotton swabs provided them a means to get past an awkward moment. But when he'd said all there was to be said about Pavlov, conditioning, and how the association of an unpleasant scent with their dam's milk could be used to test the puppies’ developing sense of smell, he and his cousin were back in that awkward moment again. And again Samantha was the one to save them.

She said, “Oh Lord. I've completely forgotten why I wanted to talk to you. Your dad. Julie, it's remarkable what's happened.”

Julian rubbed the oil on Cass's last swollen teat and released the dog to her puppies. He recapped the bottle as his cousin related what had occurred between herself and Jeremy. She concluded with “It was every bottle, Julian. Every bottle in the house. And he was crying as well.”

“He did tell me he wants to give it up,” Julian said. And out of strict fairness and a resolve to be truthful, he added, “But he's said that before.”

“Then you don't believe him? Because he was … Julie, really, you should have seen him. It was like desperation came on him all at once. And, well, frankly, it was all about you.”

“Me.” Julian replaced the aniseed oil in the cupboard.

“He was saying that he'd ruined your life, that he'd driven off your brother and sister—”

That was certainly true enough, Julian thought.

“—and that he'd finally come to understand that if he didn't mend his ways, he'd drive you off as well. Of course, I told him that you'd never leave him. After all, anyone can see you're devoted. But the point is that he wants to change. He's ready to change. And I've been looking for you because … Well, I had to tell you. Aren't you pleased? And I'm not making up a word of what happened. It was bottle after bottle. Gin down the drain and bottle smashed in the sink.”

Julian knew at heart that there was more than one way to look at what his father had done. True as it might be that he wanted to get off the drink, like all good alcoholics he could also be doing nothing more than positioning his players where he wanted them. The only question was why he might be positioning his players at this precise moment. What did he want and what did wanting it now mean?

On the other hand, what if this time his father actually meant what he said? Julian wondered. What if a clinic and whatever it was that could follow a clinic would be enough to cure him? How could he—the only child Jeremy had left with enough concern to do something about the situation—begin to deny him that opportunity? Especially when it would take so damn little to obtain the opportunity for him.