The Bursar's Wife (24 page)

This presented my idea of Stubbing as the possible inside person at Parkside in a new light. Maybe it was Brampton who had recognised Quintin Boyd’s driver and alerted Boyd, or, more likely, Boyd had warned Brampton that his driver had known the woman, and perhaps fearing bad publicity by association, had asked her to make the photos disappear. To be honest it was difficult to imagine her jeopardising her career and risking prison for the sake of old friends – after all, the photos themselves were fairly innocuous.

I pulled up the second email from Jason with the tracker information attached and downloaded the file to my computer which, after dicking about with the cable, managed to connect to the printer.

When I eventually got the printer to start doing its thing the phone rang. I went to the hall and picked up.

“Hi, it’s me,” Sandra said. “Listen, Lucy’s telling me that they’ve got this alumni thing tomorrow at Morley and Quintin is going to be there.”

“And?”

“Well, he’s the main speaker isn’t he and she doesn’t want to see him, does she?”

“She was trying to get into his apartment last night, now she doesn’t want to see him? Besides she can stay in the house.”

She sighed as if dealing with a slow child. “It seems Quintin will be using the house as a base, so he’ll be in and out. I’ve told her she can stay with us until it’s all over. I’ve also told her you’d take her home to get some clothes and stuff.” There went my plans for a nap.

“Fine, I’ll take her, I want to have a word with her mother anyway. I’ll be there in twenty minutes.” I picked up my car keys then went back into the living room. The printer was still working its magic so I pocketed the disc I’d got from Quintin’s – maybe Jason could work out what was on it.

IT WAS NEARLY THREE WHEN I GOT BACK TO SANDRA
’
S. LUCY
, Ashley and Jason were laughing as they watched a DVD. None of them looked up when I put my head round the door. Lucy did not look ready to go; her bare feet were tucked under her skinny legs on the sofa between the boys and she was cradling a mug of tea from which she gave Jason a sip.

Sandra and I sat in the kitchen drinking tea and waiting for the film to end.

I told her about what I’d found on the photos.

“Are you going to tell Brampton you’ve got them?”

“I’m not sure yet. What if it’s Brampton who wanted them disappeared? I thought maybe it was Stubbing before but it’s Brampton who has a history with Boyd, not Stubbing. And now he’s connected to the dead woman through his driver.”

“Did we check Stubbing on the alumni website?”

“She’s too young to have been there when he was. Besides, Stubbing didn’t go to university.”

“How’d you know?”

“I just know.”

“OK, but it’s a big thing to do, make evidence disappear.”

“You’re right, it’s career-buggeringly big. Stubbing said something about the USB stick not getting straight to the techies. If Brampton got to it before it was handed in then it would be difficult to prove that there was anything on it in the first place. She could have just zapped it.”

“There must be more to it. I mean maybe the driver, what’s his name, Mark, was just one of her regular dogging buddies, if they have regulars. From what you describe the photos aren’t exactly incriminating, are they?”

I shook my head; I hadn’t even seen Mark having sex with Trisha.

“So there must be something more than what is in the photos.”

I’d thought all this on my way over, of course, and she was right.

“There’s certainly something else going on.” I thought of how Brampton had got into Quintin’s car like a trained dog. “Let’s suppose you are right, and Mark likes a bit of outdoor sex. That still doesn’t explain why Brampton would take a risk covering for him.”

Sandra shook her head and looked at me with her big brown eyes.

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

I was thinking that she was nice and easy to talk to. “I’m thinking that maybe Boyd has something on Brampton which makes her compliant.”

Before I had time to talk that through Lucy appeared in the kitchen and Sandra gave her a cloud-busting smile.

“Have you come to take me home?” Lucy asked.

“Yes, are you ready?”

She nodded. She started to thank Sandra for offering her a haven and while they hugged I went to find Jason. I handed him the disc.

“Can you see what’s on this for me, I can’t seem to read it on my computer.”

He took it between his thumb and little finger. “Yes, boss.”

“Be discreet, I don’t think it’s family viewing. Call me on the office mobile when you know.” I went back into the kitchen and Lucy went to say goodbye to the boys. Ashley ran in from the living room.

“Mummy, Mummy, Jason and Lucy are kissing!”

“Only on the cheek,” Lucy protested from the other room but her giggle was plain to hear.

“It’s good to hear that girl laugh,” Sandra said.

* * *

In the car I asked Lucy whether her mother knew where she’d been.

“No. I’m afraid I was a bit of a coward and I got Sandra to ring her last night to say I was safe, and to tell her that she was a friend of yours, but I told her not to tell her where I was. I haven’t spoken to her today and she doesn’t know I’m coming home to get some overnight things. It was great of Sandra to offer.”

“You don’t want your mother to know where you are?”

She shrugged. “It feels good to be somewhere she doesn’t know about, with people she doesn’t know.” She looked at me. “Do you understand?”

I nodded. It was probably why she spent secret time with Quintin Boyd, because she thought he was someone her mother hadn’t known about. I drove for a while, feeling sorry for Lucy, and turned onto the Huntingdon Road.

“I’m beginning to grow fond of this car,” Lucy said.

“It grows on you.”

She released a long breath as we pulled into Morley College, and I noticed that her hands were placed carefully on her thighs, as if consciously trying to relax.

* * *

I parked behind the Mini. Elliot’s Saab had gone. Lucy seemed reluctant to get out.

“You haven’t admired my Armani suit,” I said.

She smiled. “A bit short in the leg when you’re sitting down but otherwise absolutely fab, darling.”

The office mobile rang as soon as we got out.

“Can you talk, boss?”

“You go up. I’ll follow,” I said to Lucy. She hesitated and I gave her a firm wave. When she was up the stairs at the front door I put the phone back to my ear.

“What is it?”

“It’s the disc you gave me. It’s a DVD, that’s why your old computer drive couldn’t read it.” He paused.

“Come on, boy, spit it out.”

“It’s porn.”

“Well that’s no surprise. He’s got a collection of the stuff. It’s probably ripped.”

“This isn’t ripped. It’s home-made stuff and it’s got that woman in it. You know, the one we saw coming out of River Views.” The foul-mouthed woman I’d confronted outside her house in Waterbeach. She’d said something about Quintin getting his take, now I knew what she meant.

“It’s also got the driver in it, and the thin guy who broke my fingers. She gets quite pally with them. She’s done this before, I’d say, definitely.”

I looked up to the porch and saw that Sylvia had opened the door. I waved and she gave me a polite smile. Lucy went in and they immediately started arguing in the hall.

“Are you still there, boss?”

“What about Quintin, is he in it?”

“No, he doesn’t appear in the action, but he’s sometimes in shot. This stuff is all filmed from a fixed point of view, in HD. You can hear him giving instructions. But also, he occasionally appears in shot with the small camera I saw him buy in the shop, doing like close-ups? It’s all unedited, this stuff, so I’d say it’s possible the camera was recording straight onto DVD.” Quintin, it seemed, was an amateur pornographer.

“You’ve done well, Jason. Your mum didn’t know you were watching it, did she?”

“Don’t worry, boss, there are some things I can do in private.”

Sylvia was standing expectantly at the open door. I hung up and took the worn steps up towards her.

SYLVIA STOOD ASIDE AND I PASSED HER INTO HALL LARGE
enough for ballroom dancing. The ceiling went all the way to the top of the house, with a spiral staircase winding round the fuck-off chandelier I’d spotted before. Lucy had disappeared. According to the grandfather clock under the stairs it was just after four.

“I have to thank you, George, for rescuing Lucy yet again. It’s above and beyond the call of duty.” She moved from one small bare foot to the other. Despite the time of day she had on some sort of silk pyjama outfit with matching robe – perfectly respectable, but clingy at the same time. “We must seem dysfunctional to you, as a family.” I could smell gin on her breath and her jewelled eyes glistened like the crystals in the chandelier. This was not the Sylvia I had come to know.

“I’ve no yardstick by which to measure it. Besides, you’ve been through a lot,” I said.

She closed the front door.

“Come in and have a drink. I could make some tea,” she said, not disguising her ambivalence towards the idea.

“I’ll have whatever you’re having.” I followed her through one of the many doors off the hall into a large sitting room. The room looked over the back garden that I had trespassed; we must have been on the other side of the house where I’d found Elliot. There were numerous sofas and armchairs and pools of light were provided by black-shaded lamps. Sylvia closed the heavy door and moved to a large drinks cabinet, which held pretty much every drink I knew of except Quintin Boyd’s special bourbon.

“I’m drinking gin and tonic,” she said.

“Then perhaps a whisky.”

“I didn’t think you were a G and T man. Single malt OK?”

“That would be acceptable.” I felt self-conscious here, in Sylvia’s space, like the gardener who’s been asked into the house after only seeing it from the outside for years. She brought me a drink and appraised my Armani suit, although she had the grace not to comment.

“Let’s sit, George.” I followed her to a couple of large high-backed floral-patterned Chesterfields that faced each other across an antique coffee table. Her movements were looser, more relaxed than I’d been aware of before. Maybe it was the gin; maybe it was the fact that I was alone with her in silk pyjamas and subdued lighting and drinks in our hands. Maybe I was still recovering from a GHB-induced stupor. I reminded myself that she was a six-day-old widow on the verge of a possible breakdown. I sat opposite her and noticed that her hair hadn’t been styled, probably contributing to her more relaxed look. That and the gin; the gin had definitely softened her face. She put her feet under her thighs, just as her daughter had done at Sandra’s. I sipped my drink and tried to pull my trouser legs down over my socks then looked out at the dark garden. I could feel those eyes on me. I turned my gaze on her, studying her face.

“I met with Quintin Boyd last night,” I said.

She sipped her drink and blinked.

“Lucy went to see him, to confront him about something, probably about him knowing you and not telling her, but he wasn’t there.” She said nothing so I upped the stakes. “She says he’s been taking photos of her.”

It was as if I’d slapped her. She put her drink down on a coaster on the coffee table.

“What sort of photos?”

“Portraits, that sort of thing. Nothing untoward as far as I can gather.”

She shook her head and then put her hands to her face.

“He wouldn’t. Even
he
wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t what?”

She looked up, as if surprised I was there. She shook her head again.

“What wouldn’t he do?” I pushed. “He wouldn’t take pornographic pictures of her?”

“Why would he do that?” she said quickly.

“Because it’s what he does. He’s moved on since the Cambridge Blue Club. He makes pornographic films now, not just watches them, although he still does that as well.”

“You’re just trying to shock me,” she said.

“Yes I am,” I said harshly. “You haven’t told me the whole truth about Quintin, first pretending you didn’t know him, then when I caught you out about that, pretending you hadn’t seen him since university. You may have your reasons, I don’t know, but I don’t really know what you want from me any more. I know that Quintin is a nasty piece of work and that he has some hold on you. Perhaps you’re afraid of him.” I stood up. “I can’t help you any more, Sylvia. I can’t work for someone who constantly lies and withholds important information. Jason’s fingers were broken by Quintin’s sidekick because I took your case, and I’ve been stabbed and threatened.”

I was about to add ‘Good day’ and walk out when she covered her face with her hands and muttered something.

“Sorry, I didn’t catch that,” I said.

She shook her head, taking her hands from her face. Her cheeks were wet and she wouldn’t look at me. I looked round for tissues and found some on a dresser. They were disguised with a silver box with a slit in the top. I put it on the sofa beside her. She took one out and I took our glasses to the corner drinks cabinet to refresh them. There was a lot of nose blowing and pulling of tissues and by the time I got back with new drinks she’d regained some composure, but sat slumped and red-eyed on the sofa, barely acknowledging the drink that she took from me.

She took a deep breath and exhaled through dried lips.

“He hasn’t moved on,” she said, her voice dropping to a husky whisper.

“What do you mean?”

“He’s filmed before, when we were here as students.”

“You mean you weren’t watching films?”

“No, we watched the films, quite a big group of us did, but Quintin really wanted to make one.”

“So he did?”

She nodded, looking down, twirling the rings on her finger like they would make her disappear. I didn’t know how to ask the next question but I was guessing that she wanted me to ask it.

“And did you…?”

She nodded without looking up then hid her face with her hands.

“It was just the once, after one of his screenings,” she said from behind her fingers. I had to lean forward to hear her. “A few of us stayed behind. Things got out of hand, we’d had a lot to drink. I don’t even remember a lot of it, it was like a dream.”