Roots of Evil(42)

‘It must be very rewarding indeed.’

‘There’s a high percentage of failures. Some of them inevitably revert to type. Sleeping rough, dealing in drugs.’

‘We get the drug problem at my school sometimes – I don’t suppose there are many schools that escape that, though. And we get the usual quota of difficult teenagers, of course. It’s not always easy to know how best to cope with them. They’re so defensive.’

‘Everybody’s defensive sometimes,’ said Michael, and Francesca felt, as if it was a tangible presence, the barrier of reserve click back into place.





CHAPTER TWELVE




Liam Devlin’s office in Ashwood was on the first floor of a beautiful old building that might once have been the town house of an Elizabethan merchant. His room was disgracefully untidy, but Francesca thought it was the kind of untidiness you would rather enjoy working amidst. She glanced at Michael and had the impression that he thought so, as well. There were masses of books and documents, and ancient Ordnance Survey maps, and several nice old prints on the walls. The jutting bow window apparently overlooked the main street, but it was difficult to see out of it because a large black cat composedly occupied most of it.

‘You do realize,’ said Liam, having let them in and introduced himself, ‘that this appointment is wholly out of character for a man of the legal profession. It’s six o’clock on a Friday evening, and everyone else has gone home. In fact the conventions require me to have left the place about three and headed for a golf course, or the local Conservative Club, or a mistress’s bed.’

He did not look as if he ever did anything as conventional as play golf, and the only political organizations he might be likely to support would be ones with romantic or rebellious aims, on the lines of restoring an exiled monarch or fighting for downtrodden serfs. On the other hand, Francesca could easily believe in the mistress’s bed. She said, ‘It’s very good of you to meet us so late.’

‘It is, isn’t it? Sit down while I get the keys – the chairs are cleaner than they look.’

The chairs were perfectly clean, although it was necessary to remove various files from two of them before they could be sat on. The desk was just as littered, but it was still possible to see that it was at least a hundred years old and that it had a master craftsman’s graceful lines. Fran glanced at Michael, who was inspecting two framed caricatures of legal scenes which hung near the door.

‘Hogarth originals?’ he said when Liam returned with the keys.

‘Yes. How did you know?’

‘Something in the quality.’

‘I like having the real thing,’ said Liam carelessly. ‘You never know when you might need to sell something to stave off the creditors. Shall we go? We’ll take my car, if you like. It’s not very far, but since I know the way—’

‘All right.’

‘So now,’ said Liam, as they set off, ‘we’re looking for the elusive Ms Smith, is that right?’


‘Well, we’re trying to find clues as to her whereabouts,’ said Francesca from the back seat, which was strewn with cassettes and files and two or three battered paperbacks. The cassettes were a mixture of Gregorian plainchant, Bach cantata, and what Fran, from daily exposure to classrooms of teenagers, recognized as very goth, very aggressive, hard rock. The paperbacks were Mansfield Park, Kazuo Ishiguro’s The Remains of the Day, and the latest Harry Potter.

‘She was certainly a memorable lady,’ said Liam, driving too fast along Ashwood’s main street, and turning on to an open stretch of road. ‘So I shouldn’t think you’d have much trouble in picking up her trail. Is she given to disappearing for several days, do you know?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Ah well, life’s full of these surprises that jump out at you, flexing claws and teeth, and people are full of surprises as well.’ He swung the car into a narrow rutted lane with overgrown hedges on each side. ‘This is the lane leading to Ashwood’s site. Shockingly overgrown, isn’t it? But one day it’ll be bought by a rich consortium, I expect, and they’ll bulldoze it to the ground and build neat little boxes for people to live in, and there’ll be a proper road here instead of a tanglewood lane that might lead to a sleeping-beauty castle, complete with moss and bats. And once that’s happened,’ said Mr Devlin, who appeared to possess his fair share of Irish eloquence, ‘the von Wolff legend will dissolve like a cobweb over a candle-flame and be lost for ever. And that’d be a pity, wouldn’t you agree, Mrs Holland?’

‘I would. Uh – it’s Francesca, by the way. Or Fran, for speed.’

‘Well then, Francesca, I hope you’ve got weatherproof shoes on, because once we get to the gates and I’ve found a bit of terra firma to park on, we have to get out and walk.’

‘Will we be able to see anything?’ asked Michael.

‘Not very much, for it’s as dark as a—’ The car’s headlights cut through the darkness as Liam swung round to park, and the analogy, whatever it might have been, was never uttered. Fran said, sharply, ‘What is it? What’s wrong?’

‘Over there,’ said Liam, and his voice was so different to his previous offhand tones that Fran felt a stab of fear. Something’s wrong. And then she saw where Liam was indicating, and the fear came surging up more strongly.