Betrayal (30 page)

The era of extended lunches and early weekends might have died with the eighties, but at four on a Friday afternoon it was still hard to find a lawyer at his desk. Moncrieff’s assistant told me that he was at a meeting out of town, while the rest of the legal team were tied up elsewhere and weren’t due back in the office until Monday. I called Julia and asked her to reach Moncrieff at home that evening and set up a meeting for the next day.

‘And if he can’t do Saturday?’

‘Sunday, then. And I want a meeting with Howard and the Cumberland people on Monday.’

‘Something’s happened?’ Julia asked.

‘Not if I can help it.’

With the decision to leave for London hot in my mind, I stuffed my papers into my briefcase and, amid memories of happier departures, unhooked my coat from the ancient coat stand that had stood sentry since my father’s day, and hurried out into the passage.

The traffic was slow. I tried to call ahead to Furze Lodge to warn Ginny to start packing, but the line was engaged. I also tried to contact Tingwall, but I wasn’t too sorry when the receptionist said he wouldn’t be back that day. It gave me the excuse not to tell him what I was doing until later, when it would be too late for him to try and talk me out of it.

Mary appeared at the door as I drew up.

‘How were the bankers?’ she called brightly.

‘Oh, grey suits. Vapid. Banker-ish.’

‘What did they come up with?’

We went into the house. ‘Not a lot. Nothing so risky as a commitment anyway. Mary – we’ll be leaving tonight. I want to thank you for everything. For putting up with us all this time.’

Surprise passed over her face, then doubt, and finally a sudden effusive delight. ‘They’ve said you can go?’

‘No, but I’m going anyway.’

Her expression fell away. ‘But do you have to go tonight? You couldn’t leave it till morning?’ She was trying to tell me something. ‘It’s Ginny,’ she admitted at last.

Instinctively I glanced towards the stairs. ‘What’s the matter with her?’

‘Nothing serious. David’s given her something.’

‘She’s ill?’

Mary raised an eyebrow and gave me a look that contained a trace of disapproval. ‘She hasn’t been eating. She’s been spending most of the day in bed. David thinks it’s stress.’

Bemused, I cast back over the last few days. I hadn’t noticed Ginny failing to eat, not when we’d been together in the evenings anyway. And days in bed – nobody had mentioned anything about that to me, certainly not Ginny. None of this prevented me from feeling an immediate responsibility; where Ginny was concerned my guilt had no end.

‘If that’s the case, all the more reason to get home,’ I told Mary as I made for the stairs.

Ginny was lying propped up in bed, her eyes closed, a magazine open on her lap. As I came in she twisted her head on the pillow and, murmuring a hasty greeting, sat up on one elbow.

I came round the bed and said, ‘I thought we’d go back to London.’

She asked no questions. She simply said, ‘Are we leaving now?’

‘If you’re up to it.’

She nodded and rubbed her eyes before throwing back the covers and getting up.

‘Mary says you haven’t been eating.’

She made a dismissive gesture. ‘Mary doesn’t know everything.’ She went into the bathroom and began running some water.

‘You are happy to go back tonight?’ I called. ‘You would tell me if you weren’t?’

She reappeared. ‘Whatever you want.’ But she spoke carelessly, and I wondered what sort of tablets David had given her, whether they were addling her brain.

‘We’ll have a holiday once this is over,’ I said lightly. ‘Somewhere wonderful, like Barbados.’

She lifted her head and considered this. ‘That would be nice,’ she said and went back into the bathroom.

Following uncertainly, I found her in front of the mirror, smoothing the skin beneath her eyes. Still staring at her reflection, she dropped her hands and asked contemplatively, ‘Do you love me? I mean, just a little?’

I made a sound that came out all wrong, an exclamation that was almost a snort. ‘Of course I do. More than a little, Ginny. A
lot
!’

‘I couldn’t bear it if you didn’t love me at all. If you hated me.’

I came up behind her and put my arms around her. ‘Ginny, I love you very much. I couldn’t have managed anything without you.’

‘I’ve got things wrong a lot of the time, haven’t I?’

‘Nonsense!’

‘Oh, I have. I know I have. Things haven’t worked out the way you’d hoped, have they? Our life has been –
different
. But if I’ve tried too hard – oh, you don’t have to say anything, I know I’ve tried too hard – it was only because I loved you.’

‘Ginny!’ The snort again, as though I couldn’t think of what to say. ‘You mustn’t blame yourself for anything! You’ve been wonderful. Everything I could have asked for.’

‘Not everything,’ she corrected me gravely, frowning at her hands. ‘Not everything . . .’ Her eyes found mine again. ‘But it hasn’t been so terrible either, has it? Not so bad?’

I turned her towards me and hugged her. When I drew back I gave a shaky smile. ‘I do love you.’

‘I’m just sorry,’ she breathed. ‘Sorry . . .’ And she might have been apologising for the entire world.

‘Let’s go home,’ I said.

We packed steadily. Ginny finished before me and went and stood at the window, looking out into the dusk.

From the front of the house came the distant crunch of wheels on gravel. Something about the sound made me glance up. Ginny had heard it too. She stared at me, her face blanched of colour. For an instant neither of us moved, then I strode out onto the landing and across to a front window that looked down onto the drive.

Two cars, several uniforms, Henderson getting out.

The scene lurched, my stomach jolted, and I had the sensation of losing my balance. I made my way blindly back to the bedroom.

‘It’s them! It’s the police, for Christ’s sake!’ Fury had me charging rapidly towards the stairs, ready for blood or battle.

‘Hugh!’

But I didn’t stop and I didn’t look back. The doorbell rang through the house. At the bottom of the stairs I met Mary coming from the kitchen.

‘Shall I call the solicitors?’ she offered in a worried voice.

I shook my head as I went to the front door and wrenched it open.

Henderson stood before me with Phipps and Reith, and in the rearguard four uniformed officers, two of them women.

Henderson gave me a lugubrious nod. ‘Mr Wellesley. Perhaps we could come in?’

‘Just get on with it, Inspector,’ I said, my throat tight with indignation. ‘Just say what you’ve got to say! But I warn you, you’d better be exceedingly sure of your ground.’ I could feel myself trembling, and there was a heat in my face.

Henderson hesitated and looked past me into the hall.

‘Just get on with it!’

His gaze fastened itself on a point over my left shoulder.

With a half-glance I saw Ginny moving up beside me.

‘Mrs Wellesley,’ Henderson said, and it sounded more like a statement than a greeting. His eyes still fixed on her, he turned to face her more fully and for some wild unaccountable reason I suddenly realised what was coming, and even as he opened his mouth, I cried, ‘No—’

‘Mrs Virginia Wellesley, I’m arresting you on suspicion of the murder of Sylvie Mathieson—’

‘
No!
’

‘You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence—’

‘Don’t be bloody ridiculous!’ I protested. ‘This is absolutely crazy!’ Phipps moved forward and placed his body halfway between mine and Henderson’s, forcing me to step back.

‘. . . something which you later rely on in court . . .’

I stared at Ginny. She was very still, her eyes lowered.

‘. . . Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’

‘This is mad!
Mad!
’

But Henderson’s voice was grinding on. Then, reaching the end of his chant, he was asking Ginny if she understood and she was giving the shadow of a nod. Then everyone was in motion. The policewomen were coming forward and beginning to usher Ginny outside, the detectives were moving out toward the cars. Only Henderson remained.

‘For Christ’s sake!’ I cried furiously.

Henderson said to me, ‘Perhaps you’d like to pack up a few things for your wife, Mr Wellesley. Or . . .’ he glanced towards Mary ‘. . . whoever.’

But I could only repeat, ‘You’re mad! She knows nothing! She wasn’t anywhere near the river!’

‘Mr Wellesley, we’ll be leaving shortly. I do recommend you pack a few things for your wife.’

But my brain was bursting, I couldn’t hear.

Mary’s voice said, ‘I’ll go.’

Henderson began to turn away but I grabbed his arm. ‘Just tell me,’ I pleaded. ‘Just
tell
me –
why?
What has she done? What could she possibly have done?’

Henderson made a doubtful face, then, taking a quick glance over his shoulder as if to make sure no one was within earshot, said in a low murmur, ‘There is a substantial case to answer, Mr Wellesley.’

‘Like what?’ I gasped.

He spread his hands, gesturing impossibilities. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Like
what?
’

But he had turned away. Unable to grasp the full enormity of what was happening, or unwilling to, I followed him numbly to the car where Ginny was already sitting between the two female officers. I was about to call to her when Mary’s voice came from behind: ‘Which one, Hugh? Which case?
Hugh?
’

Turning, it took me a moment to understand that she was referring to our suitcases which she had brought down from our room. I fetched Ginny’s case and handed it to a constable.

Engines were being started. I remembered Ginny’s inhaler. I just had time to race up and fetch her handbag and hand it in through the car window before the final door slammed and the cars sped away.

Watching the last car disappear into the lane I felt Mary’s arm around me, and realised that the angry gasps I could hear were the sounds of my own despair.

‘W
HAT REALLY
worries me,’ I said, hearing the emotion that was never far from my voice, ‘is that she won’t survive in that place. It’ll make her ill. I mean, worse than she is already. The dirt, the conditions, the filthy sanitary arrangements. No
lavatories
, for God’s sake. It’ll kill her. Just kill her.’

‘I appreciate your concerns, Hugh,’ Tingwall ventured gently. ‘But I did make full representations. I sent in the doctor’s letter. I checked with the medical staff and they’re fully aware of her condition. She’s under permanent supervision.’ He added in a transparent attempt at cheerfulness, ‘And she seemed okay when I last saw her. She said her room was all right. She said they were looking after her.’

The fact that Ginny had talked to Tingwall when, on both of my visits, she had hardly spoken a word to me shouldn’t have bothered me quite as much as it did, yet I couldn’t shake off the feeling that she was excluding me on purpose. ‘We have to get her out of there,’ I insisted unreasonably.

‘We’ll do our best, Hugh.’

We had only just begun our meeting yet already I was facing the wall of helplessness that seemed to dominate all my recent discussions with Tingwall. ‘I’m sure you’ll try your best but, if you don’t mind my saying so, it seems to me that precious little progress is actually being made.’

Tingwall frowned at the surface of his desk. ‘Hugh, I realise that the whole thing must be very difficult for you. I realise how anxious you are. However, we’re faced with these procedures, and we have to follow them, with no guarantee of the outcome.’

I held up a hand. ‘Hang on. What are you saying exactly? Are you saying’ – and my voice hit a warning note – ‘that we might not get bail?’

‘I’m not saying that, Hugh, not at all. But bail is very much the exception in a case like this. We’ll have to show good cause, we’ll have to argue it carefully.’

‘So?’ I made a gesture of bafflement. ‘If anyone has good cause it must be Ginny, surely.’

‘We can certainly set out a case—’

‘What about getting a QC? Surely we should have a QC on this?’

‘We can certainly approach Counsel—’

‘Charles – let’s just hire the best man there is. Tomorrow. The
best
.’ I was steamrollering him, I knew I was, but the law, with its nonchalance and mind-bending complexities, was testing my patience.

We were sitting in Tingwall’s office, a tall room at the front of a converted Georgian house on a noisy road near the centre of Exeter. This was my third visit in a week; my third visit since Ginny had been formally charged late on Saturday night; a week in which I had seen her brought to court and remanded in custody, in which I had twice made desperate ineffectual attempts at conversation in the bleak visiting room at the prison near Bristol; a week in which I had gone through every shade of disbelief and despair, during which I had attempted to apply logic and reason and emotion to what had happened and found nothing but incomprehension and dread. My thoughts went round and round and came out nowhere. My nights were riddled with nightmares and sudden panics. Confusion and doubt had wrenched my anchors away; I drifted back and forth on the tide of my uncertainties, ready to believe anything and nothing, to fight on and give in, to challenge everything and question nothing.

‘I’m not saying we won’t get bail,’ Tingwall was saying. ‘Not by any means. But I don’t want to raise your hopes too far either.’

‘But what could be the problem?’ I asked, trying to hit a conciliatory note. ‘What reason could they have for refusing?’

Tingwall interlaced his bony fingers. ‘Obviously there’s no suggestion that Ginny—’ He caught my glance. ‘You don’t mind? She asked me to call her that.’

‘No. Of course.’

‘There’s no suggestion that she’s about to abscond or reoffend – that’s hardly an issue. But with a murder charge the magistrates are bound to consider other factors, like the medical report.’

‘Well, that’ll be devastating, surely. She’s already had two bad attacks. What more do they want? Her asthma’s triggered by stress and dirt and damp.’

Tingwall gave a slow nod, like a bow. ‘We’ll certainly cite that, yes. I’ve already written to Ginny’s specialist asking for a letter. But the court will also have the psychiatric assessment to consider—’