Gowrie relaxed and smiled. ‘Oh, give them time – they haven’t been married a year yet!’
He got another sharp, narrow glance. ‘She’s happy, though, isn’t she? That fellow’s kind to her? He’s old enough to be her father, that’s what worries me.’
‘He worships the ground she walks on; you don’t need to worry about Paul.’
‘Hmm. I hope you’re right.’ His voice dropped almost to a whisper. ‘Is he OK financially? I mean, he’s not in any trouble with his companies? The other day I heard he sailed pretty close to the wind, was over-borrowed and under-assetted. Was that just hooey or is there some truth in it?’
‘Hooey, pure hooey,’ said Gowrie, mentally crossing his fingers. He knew so little about his son-in-law. When Cathy got engaged to Paul he had tried to run a thorough check on him and his finances but he had found out very little. Paul’s secrets – if he had any – were well protected. Maybe it was time to try again? He had heard whispers himself. He would get on to it.
Watching him with those shrewd, disturbingly clever eyes, Ed Ramsey drawled, ‘Glad to hear it. Hope you’re right, boy. And I’m glad you’re taking Elly with you.’
Don Gowrie met his father-in-law’s eyes. For a while his wife had lived with her parents in Maryland while Don was in Washington. When she became ill, his life there had not suited her, he had been so busy. He had to work a twelve-hour day and then he was out almost every evening because it was vital to see and be seen at parties, receptions, charity functions, dinner parties, balls. It was the way Washington life worked; as much business was done over the card table, or in discreet back rooms at social events, as was done in working hours in offices.
Eleanor was better off in the peace and quiet of Easton, with the sea and the gentle landscape around her family home, with her dogs and horses. After her mother’s death, though, Don had taken Elly back home with him because he could see that the strain of having her with him was too much for the old man now he was alone, and, anyway, it looked better. People were too curious about why his wife lived with her parents instead of with him. He had floated the story that she was at Easton to be with her mother during a long illness, but she couldn’t stay on once her mother was dead. His public image demanded his wife should be seen with him, even if she rarely opened her mouth.
‘Cathy asked me to bring her. She hasn’t seen her mother since the funeral.’
Ed Ramsey sighed. Any reminder of his dead wife made him melancholy. He had married his first cousin and lived happily with her throughout their long lives; he missed her badly, thought of her every day, looking out at the cool morning sky at Easton, remembering how she had loved mornings, winter and summer alike, the glory of pink and gold sunrises in summer, the clear, translucent colours of winter.
‘She’s a good girl. Well, I’ll see Elly tomorrow morning before I fly back. Better have a late breakfast; not used to late nights any more. Shall need my sleep. Say ten o’clock?’
‘She’ll be very happy to see you.’
If she knows what’s going on and recognises you, Don thought. If she isn’t out of her tree, poor Elly. It came and went, her fragile sanity; sometimes she was so normal he felt he imagined those other times, those darker moments. He wished to God he did. She had turned dangerous lately; out of control she was capable of doing things he preferred to forget and would never want his father-in-law to know about. It would destroy Eddie Ramsey.
Steve had only just walked into his hotel room when the phone began to ring. Sophie! he thought at once, leaping to answer it, his heart in his mouth.
‘Steve? It’s Lilli. I’ve been burgled. The whole place has been turned over. They did a real job on Sophie’s room, threw her books all over the floor. Half her stuff has been taken, even her family photos have gone.’
Steve hadn’t expected it, yet he wasn’t surprised. He should have guessed that would come next. Of course they would go through her room. He bet they had taken every scrap of paper they found. Letters, there would be letters – however careful they tried to be, lovers always wrote letters, they had to put it on paper, and the very risk they were running made their fever run higher.
A diary? Oh, yes, she had the look of someone who confided her thoughts and feelings, everything that happened to her, to a diary. Photos? She might even have had a photo or two of them together. In the first driven days of a love-affair a sensible man could lose all sense of caution. Love turned the head, addled the brains.
Had she been in love with Gowrie, though? Or had it all been on his side? Had he pursued her, pestered her? How had they met? How long had it gone on? Steve had so many questions and no answers at all yet. He had to persuade her to talk.
‘Have you rung the police?’
‘Not yet. I rang you first, you said to let you know. You guessed this would happen?’
‘I guessed something would.’ He had been sure they had not finished with Sophie; having failed to kill her they were bound to try again. ‘Wait there, don’t ring the police yet. I’m coming over.’
Lilli hadn’t exaggerated; the apartment was in total chaos. Cupboards had been ransacked, their contents tipped out, shelves of books had been toppled on to the floor, a glass vase of chrysanthemums had been flung across the room, the glass had smashed and glittering shards lay in a pool of russet and yellow petals on the wet carpet.
‘What a mess,’ Steve said, staring around. ‘Much missing?’
‘A clock, a radio. I didn’t have anything else worth taking.’
Steve stared thoughtfully at the TV which still stood where it had when he was in the apartment earlier.
‘How come they didn’t take that, I wonder?’
Lilli glanced at it, grimaced. ‘I wouldn’t bother, if I was a burglar. The damn thing works in fits and starts, but then I don’t watch much TV. I’m too busy.’
‘How did they get in?’
‘Through the door, I guess; there’s no sign of damage to the lock. Burglars carry skeleton keys, don’
t they? I don’t know how else they got in.’