He nodded. "Her job?" he prompted.
"She called herself a headhunter. Used to be with a big consultancy firm in the City, then set up on her own about five years ago." She spread her hand and made a rocking gesture with it. "But it wasn't going too well from what I could gather. People are scared to give notice because of the recession, and you can't hunt heads when there are no vacancies to fill."
"Any idea what her company is called?"
"No. We talked about Marmaduke and the milkman from time to time, but other than that"-she shrugged-"we were just neighbors. Nothing special. Nothing close. I'm sorry she's gone, though. She never gave us any trouble."
Fraser found himself dwelling on that last sentence as he walked the few yards to the DI's car. "She never gave us any trouble'' was the most depressing epitaph he had ever heard.
THE NIGHTINGALE CLINIC-4:00 P.M.
"What's the problem?" asked Alan Protheroe, reaching for Jinx's wrist and feeling for a pulse. He wondered who this man was and why he'd started so violently at the sound of the voice behind him.
"Well, look at her for God's sake," said Josh in desperation, laying her slack head on the pillow and lowering her gently onto the bed. "I think she's dying."
"No chance. Built like a tank, this one." He let the wrist go. "She's asleep." He looked at the man's pinched nostrils and frightened eyes. "You look in worse shape than she is."
"I thought she was dying." Josh leaned his hands on the side of the bed to steady himself. "Now I feel sick. Jesus, I'm not sure I can take much more of this. I haven't slept in days, not since Simon Harris phoned to say Jinx was dead."
"Why did he do that?"
"Because Betty Kingsley got rat-arsed and phoned Meg's mother. Told the poor woman her daughter was a murderer."
Alan gestured towards the terraced area beyond the windows. "Let's go and sit outside. I'm Dr. Protheroe." He took the man's arm and supported him.
"Josh Hennessey." He allowed Alan to lead him through the windows. "One minute she said she was fine, the next her eyes rolled up and-wham!" He slumped onto a wooden bench and buried his face in his hands. "I wish to hell she wouldn't keep pretending she's okay when she's not. She was the same when Russell was murdered. Kept saying, I'm fine, and then ended up in hospital."
"You've known her a long time?"
He nodded. "Twelve years. As long as I've known Meg. I'm Meg Harris's partner," he explained. "We run a recruitment consultancy." He bunched his fists angrily. "Or we did until she buggered off and left me high and dry with a bank manager baying for blood and work in progress with people I've never even heard of."
Alan could feel the stress flowing off him in waves of anger and nerves. "I see."
"Do you? I sure as hell don't. Presumably you know Meg's hijacked Jinx's fiance? I mean-have you any idea what that's doing to Meg's parents? First they get a phone call out of the blue to say Leo's jilted Jinx for her, then the next thing they hear is that Jinx has killed herself. Jesus! And on top of all that, I'm left in the bloody lurch, trying to run an office on my own while Meg's farting about in France with a prize bastard." His voice broke. "I don't know what the hell's going on." He rubbed his eyes. "I'm so fucking tired."
Alan watched him sympathetically for a moment or two. "If it makes you feel any better, I think you're worrying unnecessarily on Jinx's account. All things considered, she's doing well."
"Simon warned me she looked ill, but I wasn't expecting this." He jerked his head towards her room. "She's much worse than I thought she was going to be."
"She probably isn't, you know. Look, she took a heck of a crack on the head and she's forgotten a couple of weeks out of her life, but that's all. She's a tough lady. Give her another week or two and she'll be good as new. It's only a matter of time."
Josh stared at his hands. "You've probably never seen her with hair. She's a bit of a stunner. Very Italian-looking." He touched a hand to his shoulder. "Thick, black hair to here, and dark eyes. I've always thought it's crazy her being on the business end of the camera when she should have been in the frame." He fell silent.
"You sound fond of her."
"I am, but my timing's lousy. When I was free, she was married. When she was free, I was married." He looked away towards the trees bordering the lawn. "Then I got divorced and Leo muscled in on the act. Do you reckon she still loves him?"
"She says she doesn't."
Josh twisted his head to examine the older man's face. "Do you believe her?"
"I do, yes."
"Why?"
Alan shrugged. "She isn't angry enough with Meg." But you certainly are, he was thinking.
THE VICARAGE, LITTLETON MARY-4:00 P.M.
Charles Harris laid down his pen and folded his hands across the sermon he was writing. "This has to stop, Caroline. You're working yourself into hysterics over nothing. Meg will phone when she's ready. And let's face it," he added rather dryly, " 'when Meg is ready' are the operative words. Judging by the frequency of her calls and visits in the past, you and I could go to hell and back without her even being aware of it. She's always been far more interested in whichever man she has in tow than she's ever been in us."
Caroline looked at him with dislike. "That's what you hate, isn't it? The men."
"Don't be absurd," he snapped. There were times when he had to restrain himself from hitting her. "Must we go through this again?" he said, picking up his pen and returning to his sermon. "I do have work to do." He made a note in the margin.
"It shocked you to hear about her and Russell, didn't it?" she said spitefully.
"Yes, it did."
"Your little Meggy in the arms of a man old enough to be her father. She loved him, you know."
He kept his eyes on the page but found he couldn't write anything because his hand was shaking.
"Does it offend you to think of your daughter enjoying sex with old men when she can't even bear to be in the same house with you?"
"No," he said quietly, "what offends me is her shabbiness towards her best friend. Between us, you and I created a monster, Caroline."
*9*
SATURDAY, 25TH JUNE, THE NIGHTINGALE CLINIC, SALISBURY-6:00 P.M.
Jinx had resumed her vantage point under the beech tree, dark glasses firmly in place, anonymity restored. To observers, she was an object of curiosity, this thin, gaunt woman who sat alone and used the protective fronds of the hanging branches to hide behind. Almost, thought Alan Protheroe, watching her from the French window in his office, like a bird in a cage, for it was her loneliness that impressed him most. He wondered if it was advisable or possible to unlock the iron control that she exercised upon her emotions, for he was doubtful that happiness was a condition to which Jinx aspired. She couldn't bear to be so vulnerable.
"I'm relieved," she said when he asked her if she was happy that her bandages had been removed. "Only children know how to be happy."
"And were you happy as a child, Jinx?"
"I must have been. The smell of baking bread always puts me in a good mood." She smiled slightly at his frown of puzzlement. "My father wasn't always a rich man. I remember being a small child and living in a two-up, two-down in London somewhere. My mother did all her own cooking and baked all her own bread, and I can't smell warm bread now without wanting to turn somersaults."
"Which mother was that? Your real mother or your stepmother?"
She looked confused suddenly. "I suppose it was my stepmother. I was too young to remember anything my mother did."
"Not necessarily. We begin to store emotions at a very young age, so there's no reason why you shouldn't remember happiness from when you were a toddler, particularly if it was followed by a period of unhappiness."
She looked away. "Why should it have been?"
"Your mother died, Jinx. That must have been an unhappy time for you and your father."
She shrugged. "If it was, I don't remember it. Which is sad in itself. Death should make an impact, don't you think? It's awful how q
uickly we forget and move on to something new."
"But very important that we do," he replied. "Otherwise we become like Miss Havisham in Great Expectations and sit forever at an empty table."
She smiled. "If I remember my Dickens, poor old Miss Havisham was jilted by her fiance on her wedding day and spent the rest of her life in her bridal gown with the remains of the banquet all around her. Hardly the most tactful parallel you could have drawn. In the circumstances, wedding plans are not a subject I particularly want to dwell on."
"Then let's talk about something you would like to dwell on. What makes you feel alive?"
She shook her head. "Nothing. I prefer the peacefulness of feeling nothing. For every up there's a down and I hate the sadness of disappointment."
"Relationships don't have to be disappointing, Jinx. Far more often than not, they represent the sort of fulfillment most of us long for. Do you not think that's a goal worth pursuing?"
"Are we talking marriage and children, Dr. Protheroe?" she asked suspiciously. "Did Josh Hennessey tell you he fancied me?"
He chuckled. "Not in so many words, but he seems fond of you."
"He's far fonder of Meg than he is of me," she said dismissively. "Too fond, really. She treats him like a brother because business and pleasure don't mix, when all he wants to do is fuck her. Also, he was fond of his wife when he married her," she added tartly, "but he walked out on her four years later because he claimed she was boring. Is that the kind of fulfilling relationship you want me to have?"
"I doubt he'd find you boring, Jinx, but in any case, that's a side issue. What I think we're talking about is contentment."
She gave a low laugh. "Well, I'm a good photographer, and that makes me content. If I'm remembered for just one photograph, then that will be immortality enough. I don't need any other. It's a birth of sorts, you know. Your creation emerges from the darkness of the developing room with just the same sense of achievement as a baby emerging from the womb."
"Does it?"
She shrugged again. "I think so. Admittedly, the only birth I can compare it with was a rather messy business in the lavatory, but I imagine that going to term and producing a living child is somewhat more rewarding. Yes, I'd say the sense of achievement in those circumstances is not dissimilar." Her face was devoid of expression. "By the same token, I imagine there's the same sense of disappointment when the result of your hard work is less than you hoped for. Works of art, be they children or photographs, can never be perfect." She hesitated a moment. "I suppose if you're lucky, they might be interesting."
After that she had excused herself politely and walked outside, leaving Protheroe to wonder if she was talking about her own hopes of the child she had lost or her father's hopes of her. Although perhaps she was talking about neither. He reflected on the two unmarried brothers who still lived at home and who, if Jinx's closed expression when their names were mentioned was any guide, had little love for their intellectually gifted sister.
He was about to turn away from the French window and his contemplation of her seated, solitary figure when he noticed a man approaching across the lawn. Now where the hell had he come from? For no obvious reason, other than that he was responsible for Jinx's safety and she was clearly unaware that anyone was behind her, he felt a sense of imminent danger and, with a flick of his long fingers, turned the key in the lock and thrust the door wide. With farther to travel than the other, he raised his voice in a bluff bellow. "There you are, Jinx!" he called. "I've been looking for you."
Startled, she turned her head, saw her younger brother first, then looked beyond him to Protheroe. "God, you gave me a shock," she said accusingly as they both drew close. "Hello, Fergus." She nodded a welcome. "Have you two met? Fergus Kingsley, my brother-Dr. Alan Protheroe, my existentialist shrink. You're a very bad liar," she told Alan. "You've been watching me for the last ten minutes, so why the sudden panic?"
He shook Fergus by the hand. "Because I take my responsibilities seriously, Jinx, and for all I knew, your brother was a stranger to you." He folded his arms across his chest. "As a matter of interest," he said without hostility, "which way did you come in? It's a rule of the Nightingale Clinic that visitors seek permission at the front desk before approaching our guests. It's a simple courtesy but an important one, as I'm sure you'll agree."
Fergus reddened under the older man's stare. "I'm sorry." He looked very young. "I didn't realize." He gestured behind him to the other side of the lawn. "I parked by the gate at the bottom and walked up." He looked sullenly towards Jinx. "Actually, I was going to do the thing properly; then I saw you under the tree."
Jinx removed her dark glasses and squinted up at Protheroe with one blackened eye closed against the evening sunlight. "I don't recall my consent being sought before. It's a perverse rule that operates at the whim of the director."
He smiled affably. "But a rule, nevertheless. I shall have to make sure it's properly enforced in future." He nodded to them both. "Enjoy your visit. If you want some tea, your brother can order it from the desk and have it sent out." He raised a hand in farewell, then walked briskly back to his office.
Jinx stared after him. "I think he's madder than some of his patients," she said.
Fergus followed her gaze. "He fancies you," he said bluntly.
She gave a splutter of laughter. "Don't be an oaf! The man's not blind, and they do let me look in a mirror from time to time." She sobered suddenly and her eyes narrowed. "Actually, I hate the way he's always watching me. It makes me feel like a prisoner."
"Do you like him?"
"Yes."
"Is he married?"
"He's a widower." She frowned. "Why so interested?"
He shrugged. "You know what they say about psychiatrists and their patients. I was just wondering if he was going to be the next one in the Kingsley marriage stakes."
"Do me a favor, Fergus," she said crossly. "I don't intend to stay here long enough to develop anything more than a passing acquaintanceship with the man."
He leaned against the tree trunk. "So you're planning to come home."
"Go home," she corrected him. "Back to Richmond and back to the studio. Sitting around and doing nothing isn't what I'm best at."
"Is that supposed to be a dig at me?"
"No," she said mildly. "Oddly enough, Fergus, I am more interested in my own problems at the moment than I am in yours." She studied his sullen face, which was so like Miles's to look at but which lacked the charm that his older brother could switch on and off at will. "Did you have a reason for coming?"
He scuffed the grass with his foot. "I wondered how you were, that's all. Miles said you weren't too hot when he came, said you passed out when he was talking to you."
"It's just tiredness." She replaced her dark glasses so that he couldn't read the expression in her eyes. "Miles told me Adam made you cry. Is that true?"
He reddened again. "Miles is a bastard. He swore he wouldn't tell anyone. You know, sometimes I don't know who I hate more, him or Dad. They're such shits, both of them. I wish they'd drop dead. Everything would be okay if they were both dead."
It was the same childish cry she'd heard from him since he was five years old. Only the register of his voice was different. "Presumably Adam belted you again. So what did you do to make him angry?"
"It wasn't me who made him angry. It's you being in this place." He slid his back down the tree trunk to squat at the foot of it. "He just went overboard and started screaming and yelling at everyone. Miles cowered in the corner, as per bloody usual, and Mum sat and blubbered. Well, you know what it's like. You don't need me to tell you."
"But you must have done something," she said. "He might be angry about me and"-she gestured towards the building-"all this, but he's never belted you without good reason. So what did you do?"
"I borrowed twenty pounds," he muttered. "You'd think it was a hanging offense the way he carried on."
She sighed. "Who from this time?"
"D
oes it matter?" he said angrily. "You're as bad as bloody Dad. I was going to pay it back." His mouth thinned unattractively. "What nobody ever seems to recognize is that I wouldn't have to borrow money if Dad treated me like a human being instead of a slave. It's really degrading having to admit you're the son of Adam Kingsley when everyone knows you're earning peanuts. I keep telling him, if he'd only pay me a decent whack, I wouldn't have to resort to borrowing. I'm the boss's son. That should stand for something. Why do Miles and I have to start at the bottom?"
"You know," she said with sudden impatience, "if you called a spade a spade occasionally, you'd be halfway to earning Adam's respect. It's the lies that you and Miles tell that really fire him up. Can't you see that? You're a thief"-she fixed him with a scornful stare-"and everybody knows it, so why bother with this garbage about borrowing? Who did you steal from this time?"
"Jenkins," he muttered, "but I was going to pay him back."
"Then I'm not surprised Adam belted you," she said tiredly. "I wouldn't enjoy having to apologize to my gardener after my twenty-four-year-old son had stolen money from him. I suppose you thought Jenkins wouldn't have the nerve to say anything and you'd get away with it. That's almost worse than stealing from him in the first place."
"Oh, leave it out, Jinxy. I've had all this from Dad, and you're both wrong, anyway. I really was going to pay him back. If he'd had a word with me, I'd have sorted it out, but, oh no, he had to go running to the old man and make a bloody mountain out of a molehill."
Something fundamental snapped inside Jinx's head. She would always think of it afterwards as the blood bond which had tied her physically to a family that in any other circumstance she would have avoided like the plague. Suddenly, she found herself free to acknowledge that she didn't like them. More, she had only contempt for them. Ultimately, in fact, she agreed with what everyone knew Adam thought but had never put into words: Miles and Fergus were their mother's sons and, like Betty, saw Adam Kingsley only in terms of their meal ticket. She smiled savagely. "You know, I'm going to tell you things that I've never told a soul in my life. First, I despise your mother. I always have from the minute she came into our house. She's a fat drunk with an extraordinarily low IQ. Second, she married my father because she wanted to be a lady, and she had enough cunning to persuade him that while she could never fill my mother's shoes, she could at least be a comfortable slipper for him at the end of a long day. He was lonely and he fell for it, but what he actually saddled himself with was a vulgar, money-grubbing tart." She held up three fingers. "Third, it might not have been so bad if she hadn't lumbered him with you and Miles. Even your names are an embarrassment. Adam wanted to call you something straightforward like David or Michael, but Elizabeth wanted something befitting the sons of a rich lady."
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