Roots of Evil(134)

‘And we’ll have something to drink, in fact I think we should have champagne,’ said Alice briskly. ‘And if you can stay on for supper, that would be best of all. You might not want to do that, but I hope you will. All of you, I mean.’ She turned her attention to Francesca. ‘Do stay, Francesca. I’d like it if you would.’

‘Well, actually,’ said Francesca rather diffidently, ‘I was thinking I’d leave you to it for a couple of hours. There might be all kinds of family things – private things for you to talk about. And I truly wouldn’t mind walking down to the village. It looked so nice when we drove through. I could have something to eat in the pub and come back later.’

‘There’s no need whatsoever for you to leave,’ said Alice firmly. ‘And I hope you won’t think of doing so. In any case, from what I understand you’ve been as much involved in this as anyone, so you deserve to hear the explanations and the truth.’ She studied Francesca for a moment, and then nodded slightly as if pleased with what she was seeing. ‘Most families are usually better for a little leaven, and I think you’d be a very nice leaven in this family tonight, my dear. In fact you’d be—’

She broke off, and turned her head, and Lucy caught the sound of a car drawing up. Was this something else about Edmund? A jab of panic spiked into her. But Alice was saying with perfect equanimity that it would be her other guest arriving. ‘Michael, be a dear and let him in.’

‘Other guest?’ said Lucy as Michael went out.

‘Yes. After Michael telephoned me this morning – he was in a shocking panic, the dear boy, in case Edmund Fane came out here. As if,’ said Lucretia von Wolff in parenthesis, ‘I couldn’t deal with Crispin Fane’s son. Well, anyway I came to a decision about something, and so I telephoned—’

‘She telephoned me,’ said a voice, and Lucy turned sharply to see Liam Devlin standing in the doorway, looking as dishevelled as if he, and not Michael, had been the subject of yesterday’s murderous attack.



The ridiculous thing was that for several minutes Lucy was so extremely pleased to see Liam that she very nearly forgot everything else.

He appeared totally unruffled at finding himself confronted with a roomful of people, and he merely looked round like a cat surveying a new territory. But when his eyes lit on Alice he smiled at her. ‘Baroness,’ he said softly, and crossed the room to take her hand.

Alice regarded him approvingly, but said, ‘So you’ve realized who I am at last, have you?’

‘I have. But it wasn’t until I saw the film of Alraune that I did realize it,’ said Liam. ‘It’s a very remarkable film, of course, and Lucretia von Wolff was a very remarkable lady. But once I had seen her, I couldn’t mistake the resemblance. It’s the eyes and the bones of the face.’

‘The silver tongue of the Irish,’ said Alice, but Lucy thought she was secretly pleased. ‘And you’re here in time for supper, I’m so pleased about that. Come along into the dining-room as soon as you’re all ready. Some of the story I’ll have to tell you is tragic, and some of it is scandalous,’ she said. ‘And I think most of it had better be forgotten after today. But scandal always seems gentler when there’s food to flavour it, and tragedy’s easier to take with wine to smooth the rough edges.’ She considered this, and then added, ‘Someone once said that to me, but I forget precisely who he was. It’s so infuriating to forget things – I know we all have to get old, but you’d think that by now evolution could have worked out a way for us to keep our memories intact—’

‘There’s nothing wrong with your memory, Alice,’ said Michael.

‘I know there isn’t.’



Supper was an easy, uncluttered affair of salad, thin slices of smoked salmon with lemon wedges, a platter of cheeses, and crusty bread, warm from the oven.

‘It’s quite a plain meal,’ said Alice, surveying the table. ‘Because there wasn’t much time. But perfectly substantial, I hope.’

The food, in fact, was very substantial indeed, and Lucy realized with surprise that she was ravenously hungry. She was just wondering who had prepared everything, when Alice said, ‘I’m no longer as domestic as I used to be, Lucy, but fortunately there are two very nice girls in the village who come in a couple of times a week to deal with cleaning and cooking. So after Michael made his second phone call to say he was bringing you and Francesca here, I rang one of them. Do all help yourselves to whatever you want, won’t you. Don’t wait to be offered anything, it’s so stultifying to have to wait to be offered things.’

Lucy thought: she has dined with crowned heads and exiled royalty and she has entertained the rich and the famous and the fabulous. And she probably half starved inside Auschwitz along with goodness knows how many other poor wretches. But now she’s presiding over this quite ordinary table with us. And then she looked at Alice again, and knew nothing she did would ever be entirely ordinary.

‘Michael, I don’t suppose your injured hand will allow you to brandish a corkscrew or deal with a champagne cork, will it? No, I thought not. Then, Mr Devlin, could I impose on you for that small service, please.’

‘Baroness, if you are serving us Clicquot, I will open an entire cellarful of bottles for you,’ said Liam, and Lucy saw that three bottles of an honourable champagne were standing in a silver cooler but that there was mineral water and fruit juice as well. Style, she thought. That’s what she’s got, and that’s what she’s always had. She’s over ninety years old, but she’ll have style until she dies. If this really is a dream I don’t want ever to wake up.