Part 26 (1/2)

'I'm guessing now,' continued Morse, 'but I should think Yvonne put you on to a job - let's say a job in a West End store. The school-leavers hadn't crowded the market yet, and it was fairly easy for you. You'd need a testimonial or a reference, I realize that. But you rang Phillipson and told him the position, and he took care of that. It was your first job. No bother. No employment cards, or stamps or anything. So that was that.'

Morse turned and looked again at the chic, sophisticated creature beside him. They wouldn't recognize her back in Kidlington now, would they? They'd remember only the young schoolgirl in her red socks and her white blouse. They would always attract the men, these two - mother and daughter alike. Somehow they shared the same intangible yet pervasive sensuality, and the Lord had fas.h.i.+oned them so very fair.

'Is that the finish?' she asked quietly.

Morse's reply was brusque. 'No, it's not. Where were you last Monday night?'

'Last Monday night? What's that got to do with you?'

'What train did you catch the night that Baines was killed?'

She looked at him in utter astonishment now. 'What train are you talking about? I haven't-'

'Didn't you go there that night?'

'Go where?'

”You know where. You probably caught the 8.15 from Paddington and arrived in Oxford at about 9.30.'

'You must be mad, I was in Hammersmith last Monday night.'

'Were you?'

”Yes, I was. I always go to Hammersmith on Monday nights.'

'Go on.'

'You really want to know?' Her eyes grew softer again, and she shook her head sadly. 'If you must know there's a sort of ... sort of party we have there every Monday.'

'What time?'

'Starts about nine.'

'And you were there last Monday?'

She nodded, almost fiercely.

'You go every Monday, you say?'

'Yes.'

'Why aren't you there tonight?'

'I ... well, I just thought... when you rang ...' She looked at him with doleful eyes. 'I didn't think it was going to be like this.'

'What time do these parties finish?'

'They don't.'

'You stay all night, you mean.'

She nodded.

's.e.x parties?'

'In a way.'

'What the h.e.l.l's that supposed to mean?'

'You know. The visual sort of thing: films to start with...'

'Blue films?'

Again she nodded.

'And then?'

'Oh G.o.d! Come off it. Are you trying to torture yourself, or something?'

She was far too near the truth, and Morse felt miserably embarra.s.sed. He got to his feet and looked round f.e.c.klessly for his coat. 'You'll have to give me the address, you realize that.'

'But I can't. I'd-'

'Don't worry,' said Morse wearily. 'I shan't pry any more than I have to.'

He looked once more around the expensive flat. She must earn a lot of money, somehow; and he wondered if it was all much compensation for the heartache and the jealousy that she must know as well as he. Or perhaps we weren't all the same. Perhaps it wasn't possible to live as she had done and keep alive the finer, tenderer compa.s.sions.

He looked across at her as she sat at a small bureau, writing something down: doubtless the address of the bawdy house in Hammersmith. He had to have that, whatever happened. But did it matter all that much? He knew instinctively that she was there that night, among the wealthy, lecherous old men who gloated over p.o.r.nographic films, and pawed and fondled the figures of the high-cla.s.s prost.i.tutes who sat upon their knees unfastening their flies. So what? He was a lecherous old man too, wasn't he?

Very nearly, anyway. Just a sediment of sensitivity still. Just a little. Just a little.

She came over to him, and for a moment she was very beautiful again. 'I've been very patient with you, Inspector, don't you think?'

'I suppose so, yes. Patient, if not particularly cooperative.'

'Can I ask you a question?'

'Of course.'

'Do you want to sleep with me tonight?'

The back of Morse's throat felt suddenly very dry. 'No.'

”You really mean that?'

'Yes.'