Indian Summer (15 page)

Julia's head jerked up. ‘What? No! No, she . . .
of course
she didn't know. What are you suggesting?'

‘What time did Starr arrive here?'

‘Er . . . Saturday lunch time.'

‘And that was when?'

‘I . . . one, one thirty.' The sudden change in Connie's approach had thrown her. ‘I wasn't expecting her. I told you that. She had the kids' clothes and food with her; said she needed a couple of nights here to organize everything before going home to her mum. I didn't know what to say. They were all there on the doorstep, waiting to come in.'

‘And your husband was fortuitously away for the weekend.'

‘Yes. I thought . . . well, Bernard came to the door and, next minute, Prince was indoors with him. I thought she'd be on her way to the
UK
before Friedhelm arrived home, and there was no way I could refuse to help her, was there?'

‘What were those things she had to organize before going home? Did she tell you?'

‘No, but . . . I mean they were splitting up for good, weren't they? She would have to book flights, draw out enough cash. Things like that, of course.'

‘You had no impression that it had all been planned ahead?'

‘They'd had a terrible
row
. You don't plan
that
ahead, do you?' she cried showing some aggression.

Connie continued to push now annoyance had driven sentiment to the background. ‘You agreed to look after the children overnight, in the belief that Starr would return this morning. What did she have to organize that would take that long? Did she tell you, Julia?'

‘Of course. She was going to meet one of her brothers. They're both long distance lorry drivers on the European run. Chas had a two-night stopover before the return run, and Starr wanted his advice and help. They've always been close, meeting up when either of them travels near enough to the base. I understood that she wanted some support from him in her situation, but I thought he might take it into his head to sort it by taking Flip apart piece . . . by piece,' she finished slowly. Her hand went to her mouth. ‘Dear God, you don't think . . .'

Max's intention had been to interview the Veterinary Officer who looked after the horses, the police dogs and any other animals owned by military personnel, but he instead drove past the office block housing this man and out through the main gate. His determination to immerse himself in the mystery of Keane's death was being undermined by something he needed to get out of his system without delay.

In his apartment he exchanged his white shirt, sober tie, dark grey jacket and trousers for a navy T-shirt and tracksuit, carelessly flinging the discarded garments down as the need for physical release grew ever more demanding.

Returning to his car, trainers, water bottle and sweat towel in his hands, he was soon heading for the quiet solitude of his regular running circuit. It was fortunate there was no German police patrol in that area, because he exceeded all speed limits in his urgency to reach his destination and punish his body by pushing it to its limits, and beyond.

For the first half hour he ran fast, vaulting stiles and leaping narrow streams in the drive to keep going. When his heartbeat became thunderous and the pressure in his skull mounted, he slowed to his normal pace and took regular swigs of the glucose drink in the bottle swinging from a cord around his neck.

When he reached the end of his usual circuit the anger, the sense of inadequacy, the revived pain of Susan's and the unborn Alexander's death beside another man had not been banished, so he ignored his car and started round again. Halfway along the way he had to acknowledge to himself that it was impossible to run away from this second act of betrayal because he would always return to where he had started.

He sat for a long time behind the wheel, staring into a darkness scattered with brilliant stars, totally drained of energy and emotion, until there was no alternative but to go back. That was it. His plans for a wife, a family and a real home, at last, had been so much moonshine. He would never see or speak to her again; never hear her call him Steve in that husky, intimate tone. It had been unreal. Goodbye, Livya!

Entering his apartment Max saw, with vague dismay, his smart working clothes scattered over the bed and floor. By nature and by his regimented upbringing he was a tidy person who loathed living in a mess. But his priority was a long, hot shower. He stood beneath the fierce, pummelling water until his aching legs threatened to buckle under him, then he towelled off and donned his bathrobe before padding barefoot to the kitchen for a can of beer. That should put the finishing touch to his physical exhaustion and knock him out cold when his head hit the pillow.

Taking a can from the fridge he became aware of music. A piano was being played in the connecting room, yet he knew there was no piano there. Was he imagining things? Can in hand he took the key from the table where Clare had left it, and unlocked the door. The large room was bathed in subdued lighting from wall sconces, and Clare was sitting at a handsome upright piano playing a haunting, cascading piece Max did not recognize. She became aware of him and swung round on the stool.

‘Sorry. I thought you were out.' Then she got to her feet and walked across to him. ‘You look terrible.'

In his mentally befuddled state he waved the can in the direction of the piano. ‘Where did
that
come from?'

‘I should have asked you before I installed it, but . . .' Taking the can from his hand she drew him to the long sofa. ‘It's a lengthy story, and I owe you a glass or two of wine while I tell it.' Pushing him down on to the pale leather, she fetched a glass from the cabinet and collected a half-empty one from on top of the piano before bringing them to the low table where a bottle stood. From it she filled a glass to give him, and topped up her own.

‘As a good neighbour I should have asked your permission before bringing anything into this shared room,' she said, sinking beside him, ‘but I had to make a snap decision. Drink up!'

He did as he was told because he had no strength to argue. The wine was chilled, sharp and slid down his throat very satisfyingly. He drank it all, and watched, bemused and utterly weary, as she refilled the glass.

‘The Chelsea apartment is owned by my husband's stinkingly rich family. The furniture, ornaments, paintings, the lot! Apart from my clothes and personal things the only item in it that belonged to me was my piano. James always scoffed because it wasn't a baby grand, but it's valuable and prized by me for its history.'

‘Oh?' he murmured, wondering what she was hinting at and attacking the second glass of wine in the same way as the first.

‘My grandparents in Liverpool put their valuables in store at the outbreak of war, but their home remained intact and the store was hit by a bomb dropped by an aircraft damaged en route to the target. Amazingly, the dear old piano stood untouched amid the wreckage. My mother inherited it and taught me to play the classics while Dad was away on racing circuits all over the world. It means a lot to me, so my parents gave it to us as a wedding present.'

‘Oh,' Max said again, because he thought she expected some kind of comment and what else could he say? Wedding presents were not his scene.

‘My in-laws were loftily amused. Amongst the silver, the porcelain and the objets d'art such a gift had to be put in a distant alcove well away from the glittering array on view for the guests.
They
gave us a Merc and a yacht. For James, of course.'

‘Of
course
,' echoed Max, starting on his third glass of wine, finding her matter-of-fact tones undemanding.

‘When we split up, the piano had to stay put because I was in mess accommodation. Coming to this apartment gives me the first opportunity to move it from Chelsea. James has been entertaining his popsies and other dissolute friends there, and I had fears of cigarettes being stubbed out on my precious instrument, and rings from wet glasses marring its lovingly preserved gloss. That would be a disaster.'

‘
Absolutely
,' he agreed solemnly, attempting to nod his head.

‘As I said, I would naturally have discussed it with you first, but my divorce should be finalized in a week or so and James emailed me on Friday notifying me that he'd arranged for Pickfords to collect the piano the following morning, and asking for the address it should be delivered to. You were in the
UK
, so I took a chance on your approval. It turned up just an hour ago.' Topping up their glasses again, Clare said softly, ‘I'll only play when I know you're out, so it won't disturb you.'

‘S'alright, won't disturb me,' he muttered. ‘Like it. The tinkly thing you were playing. Liked it.'

‘You mean this?'

She left his side and crossed to the gleaming piano. The cascading notes were very soothing. So was the wine.

Max awoke to find himself on the sofa, a pillow beneath his head and his own duvet covering him. The sun was just rising.

Tuesday morning and it was unusually quiet in the Black house. Much as he loved his children Tom welcomed this second day of the school week, because the girls had been picked up early by the wife of one of the Corps' dog handlers and driven to the base to check on a litter of puppies before attending school. This was the third week this had happened and their parents knew why and braced themselves for the inevitable plea.

One of the sniffer dogs had become mysteriously pregnant and produced five pups. Her handler swore she had never broken loose from the compound to spend a night on the tiles. His mates caustically reminded him that it took two minutes, not an entire night, so where had he been while the rape was carried out? The fact that the bitch was also recorded as having been spayed added further speculation about the arrival of three bitches and two dog pups during a night a month ago.

Nora voiced her suspicions as she sat with Tom, who was enjoying a rare leisurely breakfast. ‘D'you think they'll ask us tonight or wait until the creatures are old enough to leave their mother?'

‘Beth will air her passionate knowledge of animals and advise waiting until they're weaned, but Gina won't be able to stand the suspense any longer. Have your answer ready.'

She gave him a sharp look across the breakfast bar. ‘Is that your way of passing the buck, chum?'

He raised his hands in an innocent gesture. ‘Me? Would I do such a thing?'

‘Yes, you've been doing it since the night Maggie was born.'

Buttering another piece of toast, Tom said in oh-so-reasonable tones, ‘
You're
the one who'll have to clean it up when it poohs in the corner and wees over your slippers.
You'll
have to train it to obey commands.
SIT! STAY! COME!
Walkies
,' he ended on a feminine trill before biting into the toast.

‘Oh, very amusing! And who'll be hopping mad because it chews your boots, sheds hairs all over your best suit or refuses to allow you to enter the house when you roll up in the middle of the night, as you're so fond of doing? A dog needs a
master
. If you're not prepared to show it you're the boss, it'll regard you as a threat to me and the girls if you even attempt to touch us.'

He sighed. ‘Have a heart. I'm up to my eyes in a case . . .'

‘You always are.'

‘
OK
, so we tell them no.'

‘
You
tell them no, and
you
win the unpopularity vote of the year.'

He grabbed the cafètiere, saw it was almost empty, then put it down again. ‘Look, they haven't asked to have one yet.'

‘That's right, slither out of making a decision concerning them.'

It took him by surprise. ‘Are you spoiling for a fight? If so, let's go back upstairs and have a good old wrestling match.'

‘That's always your answer, isn't it?'

After a moment's thoughtful silence, Tom said, ‘Not always, no. The demands of my job and of three lively girls more often than not prevent close encounters of the sexual kind between us.' When she said nothing, he asked, ‘Is there something wrong? Something not linked to the adoption of a dog?'

She avoided his eyes. ‘I'm just pointing out that a dog will be one more responsibility. After the excitement's worn off it'll be me who remembers to feed it, brush its coat, get it registered and vaccinated, take it for walks, teach it road sense. I don't have much of a life of my own as it is. Taking on a dog . . .'

‘We're
not
taking on a dog,' Tom said firmly, ‘and
I
will tell them why.' Reaching for her hand across the pseudo-marble, he apologized. ‘I was only joshing you just now. I do appreciate how much you do for us all, and how little time you have for the dressmaking sideline you love doing. The last couple of days have been heavy going over the Keane case, but the kids are safe and Max is back, so we should soon be making headway. Once things quieten down I'll . . .'

‘Has he finally seen sense over that woman?' she asked, pulling her hand free and getting up to switch on the kettle.

‘I'm not sure
sense
is the right word.' He decided to go along with her abrupt change of subject. ‘He looks bloody tense; jaw working, hands never still. He's certainly seen
something
, and it's knocked him for six. I'm fairly sure the affair is irrevocably over. Don't know how much that'll affect his input. So far he's been convinced Keane was murdered by someone he double-crossed over a shady deal, then he changed that to some kind of kinky sex act that went wrong. The latest is suspicion of a military cover-up of an incident in Iraq.'

‘What's his theory on the jellyfish?' she asked, tipping dregs from the cafètiere and rinsing the container.

‘Oh, that's the kinky sex that went wrong.'