Bones of the Buried (48 page)

‘And your mother?’ Edward asked, feeling sick in the stomach.

‘My mother? I went down to Godalming. I think I was still mad. I went into her room where she was sitting in her chair, in a filthy dressing-gown, dribbling. She didn’t recognise me,
of course. She hadn’t recognised me for years. I stood her up and held her in my arms and I saw she had wet the chair she had been sitting on. So I wiped her dry, laid her on the bed and set
her free.’

There was a silence, broken only by the chatter from nearby tables and the clink of glass. Edward saw the absolute hopelessness of Maurice’s position and dared not say a word. How could
he, with all his money, his servants, his grand houses, say a word against a man living on the edge of penury who had just lost the little money he had so dangerously accumulated? How could he
criticise him?

‘You “liberated” your mother?’ Hester said doubtfully.

‘I put a pillow over her face. She didn’t struggle. I honestly think she was grateful.’

‘Oh no! Maurice, I would never have believed you could kill your own . . . Didn’t the nurses see you?’

‘No, Hester, my dear,’ he said gently. ‘The place in which I had to leave my mother did not have many nurses. It didn’t have much of anything, except misery. It had a lot
of misery.’

‘But if you go back to England . . .?’ Edward began.

‘Oh, I’m never going back to England. I’m staying here with my friend Francisco.’ He put an arm round his shoulders and the boy smiled shyly, not understanding the
conversation except that they were talking about him. ‘He has a little money and we’re going to open a bar on the Gran Vía – for the journalists and the foreigners, you
know. They’ll like having someone who speaks English. We’ll make our fortune.’

They left the restaurant in a group. On the pavement, Edward turned to Sutton and said, ‘It was you who hit Verity on the head, wasn’t it?’

Sutton grinned. ‘Sorry about that, old man. I’m afraid I just saw red when I spotted Elizabeth’s ring on her finger. Naughty of me, I know.’

Edward stepped back a pace and punched him hard in the mouth. The blow sent him staggering into the gutter, blood dribbling from the corner of his mouth. The light from the restaurant windows
illuminated the scene like some Victorian melodrama. Sutton smiled crookedly at Edward but made no sign of retaliating. ‘So you care about the little cow, do you? Pity she doesn’t care
about you. She has
otros novios
.’

Edward punched him again, and this time, Sutton lay in the gutter too dazed to move. The wound in his shoulder ached pleasurably. One or two other people had come out of the restaurant and were
gazing at the scene with interest. Maurice went to help Sutton get to his feet. Hester took Edward’s arm and said softly, ‘That’s enough, now. He’s not worth it.’

Edward hesitated and then turned his back on Chicote’s and on two men who had got away with murder.

Edward and Hester spent two weeks driving across France. They stayed in small hotels, ate like princes and made love with the passionate energy of those who know they are soon
to part. The Alfonso attracted a succession of admirers and only broke down three times – not including punctures, of course.

‘To be honest, Hester,’ Edward said on the night before they parted – he to cross the Channel, she the Atlantic – ‘I’m rather dreading getting back to
London.’

They were sipping cognac in the empty dining-room of the Hotel Meurice in Calais. The waiters had finished clearing the other tables and were looking at their watches.

‘Well then, don’t go back. Come with me to New York. I guess from what you’ve told me you’ve been happy there.’

‘Yes, but one shouldn’t go back to places where one has been happy. In any case, I can’t run away. I have to tell Charles Thayer who killed his father. I promised him and I
promised my nephew I would.’

‘Then, do it. Tell the truth. Children are much tougher than you think. They can deal with the truth better than we can sometimes. If, in a few years the boy discovers you didn’t
tell him the truth – for whatever reason – he may not forgive you.’

‘You’re right, Hester. You’re a wise woman.’

‘I am and, after
that
dinner, I think there’s only one thing we can possibly do which will be better.’

The next morning, Hester drove him to the dock. She was not leaving until the following day. When it was time to say goodbye, Edward held her and kissed her. ‘What will you do with the
Alfonso?’ he said at last.

‘Sell it, before I go back to the States.’

‘That’ll be sad.’

‘Yes, but the past still remains with us. And I’m now your past.’

‘You won’t change your mind and come with me to London?’

‘No, honey. We’ve had a great time and I’ll think better of English lords after this, but it’s best we call it evens, don’t you think?’

‘Call it “quits”, Hester,’ he said with a grin. ‘I suppose so, but you saved my life – if not my life, my sanity.’

‘What did I do?’

‘Gave me faith in myself to start with. I mean, I made a mess of it all didn’t I? I thought I was looking for one murderer but really there were three and have I brought any of them
to justice? No! And, what’s more, I’ve seen the girl I love – you don’t mind me saying that? – go off with a man I detest and despise – a killer – to do a
job she shouldn’t be doing.’

‘Holy herrings, as you English say – that is what you say, isn’t it?’

‘Near enough!’

‘I didn’t figure on you turning out to be so passionate. I thought English lords were cold as . . .’

‘Marble?’

‘Ice – cold as ice!’

‘What do you mean? Of course I have feelings. I feel as strongly as the next man. I feel such sadness that Spain is drowning in violence and hatred. I thought for a moment there was a
“good” side to fight for, but I’m cured of that now. I feel for Charles Thayer and for his father who was once my friend. I feel for Maurice and Tilney and for little Oliver
– perhaps for him most of all. And I feel for myself – I thought I loved Elizabeth but that was just spring madness. And I love . . . oh well, enough of that.’

‘You poor boy,’ Hester said, stroking his face. They were standing on the dockside and the rain had begun to fall. She opened her umbrella and held it over them. It was scarcely big
enough and made it necessary for him to hold her more tightly. ‘And do you feel sorry for me?’

‘No, Hester! How could I dare to feel sorry for a woman as strong and generous as you. I just hope we meet again in happier times.’

‘The rain’s easing. You’d better be going or you’ll miss the boat.’

‘I’m good at that,’ he replied.

‘I’m glad you don’t feel sorry for me and you are to promise you won’t feel sorry for yourself. I’m certain there is a job out here – a job only you can do.
You have to keep faith and recognise it when it presents itself.’

A ship’s siren sounded the call to arms. He kissed her once again, picked up his suitcase and walked towards the gangway. He looked back and saw her, very much as he had first seen her, a
tall woman, standing immobile beside a car. When he was aboard he looked for her again but she was gone.

‘So there it is, Charles. I’m afraid I didn’t do very well, but I did discover the truth. I’m sorry you had to hear it but I knew you would have the
courage to face up to it.’

‘Yes, thank you, sir. It was very good of you to have taken so much trouble.’ The boy spoke formally, as if it mattered a lot to him not to cry. Frank went over to him and reached
out and took his friend’s hand in his but said nothing.

They were in Charles’s room in his house at Eton. The summer half was all but over. Around them was all the paraphernalia of boyhood: a photograph of his father on the mantelpiece, a
cricket bat in a corner, a few textbooks on a shelf, a chess set on the three-legged table. Edward stared out of the window but saw nothing. There was no easy way of telling a child so cruel a
tale.

Frank broke the silence. ‘Uncle Ned, it was a good thing you decided to tell us what really happened. I mean it was
right
of you. We can face up to the truth, however horrible, but
not knowing, that was what we couldn’t bear. Was it Verity’s idea to be honest with Charles? She seemed to me to have that sort of courage herself.’

‘No, Verity’s away fighting Fascists and trying to report the truth but it’s all such a muddle. It’s hard to know what the truth is.’

‘I don’t understand, Uncle. It seems quite clear to me.’

‘Yes, but . . .’ Edward began but then gave it up. ‘Oh, never mind.’

‘Verity’s not your girlfriend yet?’ his nephew said with a cheerful lack of tact.

‘No, she’s got other . . . other fish to fry.’

‘And Elizabeth? I liked her too . . . but not as much as Verity.’

‘She’s gone away as well . . . to Spain. She thinks they’ll need nurses there soon.’

‘Oh dear,’ said Frank, looking at Edward with mock dismay. ‘Everyone seems to be going to Spain except you. You’ve gone in the opposite direction.’

‘I don’t know which direction I’m going in. That’s the problem!’

‘Love’s labour’s lost?’

‘Cheeky monkey! Let’s go down to the Cockpit and gorge ourselves on scones and jam. Do you feel up to that, Charles?’

‘Poor Dad. I do miss him so much . . . but yes, I do feel hungry.’