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terms. Now, however, the checks were off, the blinkers removed; since I had
seen him emerge from the dark doorway into the rainy street, the physical
awareness of his proximity and his being had hammered at me, unrelenting. When
he passed behind me, I had felt like the victim of a child s balloon game,
with static electricity causing the hairs on the arm to rise and follow the
balloon s path back and forth above the skin I had been almost painfully aware
of quivering receptors following him about the room.
The only way to stop it had been to savage him and drive him away. That had
bought me some breathing space, albeit brief and at a high price, but now I
had it, I could not think what to do. Something would have to be done, that
was obvious. I had not asked for this intolerable awareness, I did not want
it, and I should have given a great deal to have it taken from me, but it had
come, and I was in its grip.
I lay on the sofa long in what was left of the night, struggling with myself
and my options, and in the end, long before dawn, I took the only possible
action: I ran away.
I walked the streets until the sky was a fraction lighter than the rooftops,
then went, shivering and wet through, to the door of the ladies club that I
had joined the year before. It was a small establishment with the cheerless
and misleading name of the Vicissitude, but it did not allow its
right-thinking feminist policies to interfere with the amount of hot water in
its pipes or the quality of food that came from its kitchen. The old matron on
night duty greeted me with horror and bundled me off to a hot bath, brought me
a mug of something scalding and appallingly alcoholic, retrieved my stored
clothes, and found a bed for me. I did not sleep much, but it was nice to be
warm, and alone.
I was in the museum at the agreed time, ill-rested, unfed, and hastily
dressed. At 12:30, Veronica had still not appeared. I decided to give her
until one, and ten minutes before then, she came around the corner, as
carelessly dressed as I, but pale, red-eyed, and half-focused. I greeted her
with apprehension, wondering what new upheaval had tossed her here in this
condition, but she managed a distracted smile and seemed to be trying to pull
herself together.
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Mary, I m so sorry. Something happened this morning, and I totally forgot the
time until Margery reminded me that I had a luncheon date with you.
Yes, I can see something happened. Her stockings did not match, her hair was
perfunctorily combed, and she was wearing a dark green woollen dress with a
black coat, an infelicitous combination. You should have sent a message; I d
have understood. Was it something at the Temple?
No. Well, yes, in a way. Miles s sister died last night. She was a member.
You met her, in fact Iris. Tall, marcelled hair.
Cigarette holder, red fingernails, small opal ring on her right hand. She had
a terrible cold, I recalled. She had been one of those who had run a brief
and disbelieving eye across my clothing and returned, politely amused, to the
business at hand. Ronnie nodded.
What happened?
She was mur murdered. Her control slipped for an instant before it caught
again, and she drew a shaky breath. She left the meeting with the rest of us,
just after eleven, but she never made it home. A bobby found her in an
alleyway at four this morning, in the West End. She was& her throat& Oh God.
She gulped and put her hand to her mouth, and I grabbed her arm hard, putting
a sharp twist into it to distract her, and hustled her out the doors and into
the rain, down the steps, and through the gates. I kept pushing her until we
had our seats in the restaurant. The owner knew me well and responded with
alacrity to my demand for strong drink and food, and soon the greenish tones
had faded from her face and she could begin to tell me about it.
Iris s father telephoned me early this morning about seven, I think it
was wanting to know if I had any idea where Miles might be. I said no, and he
said if I heard from him that Miles should go home immediately. I started to
say that it was unlikely that I should see him, but he just rang off. After
I d had some coffee I realised that he d sounded terribly upset about
something, so I telephoned back it took the exchange an age to get through and
asked if there was anything wrong. That s when he told me Iris was& dead.
And Miles was I started, but she spoke over me.
We were never close, Iris and I. We were too different, I guess. But she was
devoted to Miles, and very involved in her Temple work it was through her that
I met Margery. We will all miss her so much.
Her eyes filled, and I downed a few hasty mouthfuls to silence my hardhearted
appetite before steering her with equal ruthlessness back from elegy to facts.
When you spoke with their father, Miles was missing?
She wiped her eyes. Yes, but that s hardly unusual. Iris told me he often
disappeared from his flat for several days at a time.
What else did he say? Mr Fitzwarren, that is.
Major. Just that she d been killed and that his wife Miles and Iris s
mother was under heavy sedation and wanted Miles. They had only the two, she
added, and sighed into her untouched salad.
Nothing else?
No. I told him I d call later today, but he said I ought to telephone first,
to see how Mrs Fitzwarren was feeling.
Then what did you do?
I dressed and went to the Temple. I thought Margery ought to know, and I& I
suppose I hoped she might tell me what to do. I wasn t thinking very clearly.
Did she?
She wasn t in when I first arrived, so I went into the chapel for some quiet.
She came in after a while, and I told her. She listened in that marvellous way
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