The Paying Guests(144)

‘I’m afraid I don’t know their names.’

‘But Mrs Barber was dancing pretty freely with them?’

‘It was a family party. Mrs Barber danced with several people. She danced with me, as it happens.’

‘She did?’

He said it in that bland way of his, that was somehow like the lenses of his spectacles, making his gaze more penetrating even while appearing to screen it. She went on, after a second, ‘All I mean is, the dancing was harmless.’

‘You don’t recall there being anyone – a cousin, or some other man – with whom Mrs Barber seemed on particularly friendly terms?’

‘No, I don’t.’

‘No one who seemed specially to admire her? Just cast your mind back for me, would you?’

But her mind had gone back already. She was remembering watching Lilian from the sofa. She was remembering standing with her at the gramophone, the space between them tugging itself closed.

She shook her head. ‘No.’

‘And you were with her all evening? You left the party together? No one else travelled with you? You weren’t aware, before you left, of Mrs Barber making any sort of arrangement with any other guest? I ask because the people I’ve spoken to, they all say there was something about Mrs Barber that night. Nobody can quite put a finger on it, but – just something. She had taken a great deal of trouble over her costume, apparently. You didn’t notice anything?’

‘No.’

‘Could you describe Mrs Barber’s temperament?’

‘Her temperament?’

‘Her likes and dislikes, and so on. I’ve been given the impression that she’s rather a romancer – rather dreamy, rather discontented. It seems to have been well known among her friends and family that she wasn’t quite happy in her married life.’

‘Well, that’s true of half the wives in England, isn’t it?’

He gave a faint smile. ‘Is it? I shall have to ask mine. You knew yourself that she was unhappy, then?’

She hesitated. ‘What do you mean?’

‘It doesn’t surprise you, to hear of it.’

‘I – I never thought much about it.’

‘She never confided in you? She seemed rather to cling to you, I thought, on Saturday, at the police station.’

‘Well, she’d just had to view her husband’s body. She’d have clung to anyone sympathetic, I imagine.’

‘There haven’t been callers to the house? No notes? No letters?’

‘You asked me that once before.’

‘Yes, but as you’ve said, it was hard to concentrate then. Nothing’s sprung to mind since we last spoke? The day of the murder, for example. You and your mother both mention in your statements that you heard the sounds of Mrs Barber doing some spring cleaning – moving boxes, emptying drawers. I keep thinking about that, Miss Wray. It seems to me an odd thing for Mrs Barber to have been doing, given what we now know about her condition at the time. She couldn’t have been… packing things up? Putting clothes and so on together for some sort of trip?’

Frances looked at him. ‘Some sort of trip?’

‘A hasty departure? A flight of some kind?’

She was appalled. ‘No. Not at all.’

‘You seem very certain.’

‘I am certain.’

‘Did you know that Mr Barber’s life was insured, with his wife as sole beneficiary?’

The question was like a wire drawn tight at ankle level: it brought her down with a bump. Leonard’s life insured? Such a thing had never occurred to her. She desperately tried to think through the implications of it. But she couldn’t think anything at all with the inspector watching her. She moistened her dry lips. ‘No, I didn’t know that.’

He nodded. ‘Sergeant Heath came across the paperwork when he was going through Mr Barber’s things. The company has confirmed it. The policy was opened when Mr Barber was first married, but it was extended in July this year – not long after the night of that party, as a matter of fact. Altogether, Mr Barber’s life was insured for five hundred pounds.’

Five hundred pounds! The figure took her aback. After another awkward pause, she said, ‘Well, insurance was Mr Barber’s business.’

‘That’s true.’

‘It sounds to me as though you’re going about picking on any detail that suits you, jumping to all sorts of wild conclusions —’

But she mustn’t lose her head, as she’d lost it yesterday! The inspector watched her, waiting for more, but when she didn’t go on he closed his book and said, in a comfortable tone, ‘Well, I dare say you’re right. As I think I’ve said before, I have to consider every eventuality; it wouldn’t be just to the murdered man if I didn’t. You’ll keep my questions in mind, I hope? And let me know if anything occurs to you? It isn’t pleasant, I know – especially for respectable people like you and your mother. But unfortunately even the most respectable of people sometimes find themselves drawn into unpleasant situations.’ He got to his feet. ‘I’d be obliged, of course, if you didn’t mention our conversation to Mrs Barber. I imagine you’re in contact with her?’

Was this another trip-wire? She said, as she rose, ‘I haven’t seen Mrs Barber since the inquest.’