The Dark Room (21 page)

‘Presumably it was Russell who told you about it, not your father.’

‘Yes.’

‘Did he explain why your father wanted him to leave Oxford?’

‘To get him away from me.’

‘Then why did Russell marry you, Jinx? Why didn’t the blackmail hold good after he’d left? Presumably he was no keener to go to prison afterwards than he was
before.’

She gave a hollow laugh. ‘You sound as though you think I’m making this up.’

‘Not at all. I’m just trying to understand.’

Again, she didn’t believe him. ‘I’ve told you before, Dr Protheroe. We got married without my father’s knowledge. I persuaded Russell that Adam would back off
the minute I became Mrs Landy because, whatever he might want to do to Russell, Adam would never drag me in the mud. And I was right. He didn’t.’

Alan pondered over that for a moment, thinking that far from being passive, Jinx was describing herself as a consummate manipulator. ‘Didn’t it ever occur to you that
your father would react the way he did?’

She frowned, but didn’t say anything.

‘If my maths is correct, Russell was only twelve years his junior. Did you seriously think Adam would welcome him as a son-in-law?’

‘Of course not, but at the time Adam found out about us there was no question of my marrying Russell. Look, we were having a quiet little affair which was nobody’s
business but our own.’ She stared wretchedly at her hands.

‘Who told him?’

‘My brothers.’

‘And how did they know?’

She smoothed the sheet across her lap. ‘Russell used to write to me during vacations, and they opened one of his letters and showed it to Adam. I should have expected it,
really. They were always looking for my clay feet.’ She paused. ‘The irony is, my father’s hated them for it ever since. I think he knows that nothing would have come of the
affair if they hadn’t drawn it to his attention.’

‘Are you saying you wouldn’t have married Russell if you hadn’t felt guilty about what your father did?’

She gave her faint smile. ‘He was thoroughly miserable so, yes, Reader, I married him. Actually I was pretty miserable, too. I had another year at Oxford after he’d gone
and it was just a series of tearful phone calls. I thought we’d both be happier if we made the thing official.’

‘But you weren’t?’

She didn’t answer.

‘How long were you married?’ asked Protheroe.

She looked at him. ‘Three years.’

‘And you didn’t enjoy it?’ he persisted.

‘I found it very stifling. He was afraid I was going to leave him for a younger man, and became jealous of everyone.’ She seemed to think she was being disloyal.
‘Look, it wasn’t that bad. He was very funny when he was on form, and when I think of him now it’s with affection. On the whole, the good times far outweighed the bad.’

Quite unconsciously, Alan echoed Fraser’s thoughts of the day before. What a dismal epitaph on a dead husband. ‘When I think of him now it’s with affection.’
But how clear it was to Alan that she tried not to think of him at all.

‘As a matter of interest,’ he asked curiously, ‘did you approve of his smuggling?’

She picked at her fingernails. ‘I shared his views on the idiocy of criminalizing cannabis. Or any drugs in fact. Black markets always undermine social orders. But I thought he
was a fool to have done it. Someone was bound to find out about it sooner or later.’

‘What sort of a lover was he?’

She gave a snort of laughter. ‘I wondered when we’d get round to that. Sigmund Freud has a lot to answer for. Why do you give so much credence to the fantastic theories
of a cocaine addict? I’ve never understood that.’

He smiled. ‘I don’t think we do any more, or not to the extent you’re suggesting. Freud has his place in history.’ He leaned back in the chair and crossed his
legs, deliberately extending the space between them. ‘But wouldn’t you agree that the sexual relationship between a man and a woman is an integral part of the whole
relationship?’

‘No. I don’t have sex with Eric Clancey and I get on better with him than anyone else.’

‘He being your elderly neighbour?’ She nodded. ‘Yes, well, I was referring to relationships where there is a sexual content.’

‘And you’ve had my answer. In my experience the best relationships have no sexual content whatsoever.’ She reached for her cigarettes. ‘In fact, Russell was a
good lover. He knew which buttons to press – and when – and he was considerate and not overly demanding. Bed was one of the few places where we could communicate on a level playing
field because it was only there that Russell could put aside his jealousy.’ She lit a cigarette. ‘There was no telephone in our bedroom so Adam couldn’t reach me.’

Adam again.
‘Was there any basis for his jealousy? Were you attracted to other men?’

‘Of course,’ she said honestly. ‘In my shoes, so would you have been. The grass looked a great deal greener on the other side of the marital fence, but I never did
anything about it.’ She drew deeply on her cigarette. ‘It was my father he was really jealous of. He recognized that Adam was as possessive as he was, and it frightened him. He was sure
Adam would win in the end.’

‘You told me the other day that you loved your father. Was that true or were you telling me what you thought I wanted to hear?’

‘It was partly true.’ She eyed him with sudden amusement. ‘I never know whether I want to sit on his lap and be hugged by him, or dance a jig of freedom on his
grave. I expect Freud would have found me fascinating.’

‘Does he ever hug you?’

She shook her head. ‘He hates demonstrations of affection. I kiss him on the cheek sometimes if I catch him unawares, but most of the time he won’t even touch
me.’

‘Does he hug your stepmother?’

‘No.’

‘Your brothers?’

‘No.’

‘Do they hug their mother?’

‘No. We’re a very undemonstrative family.’

‘Is there any love at all in that house, Jinx?’

‘There’s passion,’ she said. ‘They all fight like cat and dog for Adam’s approval.’

‘But you don’t join in?’

‘I don’t need to,’ she said dismissively. ‘I already have it. Adam paid good money to transform his most intelligent child into something he could be proud
of. The fact that I am incapable of making sensible decisions about my personal life is a minor irritation.’ Angrily, she turned away from him, propping her chin on her hand and staring into
the mirror. ‘He made a lady out of me and he’s besotted with her.’

‘Is that why you call him Adam? To prove you aren’t a lady?’

‘I don’t follow.’

‘I assume it’s a statement of equality. “You and I are no different, Adam. If you can’t behave like a gentleman, then I can’t be a lady.”
Something like that?’

She continued to stare into the mirror. ‘You really do assume far too much, you know. In normal circumstances, I hardly think of Adam at all, and never in such analytical
terms.’

‘You said earlier that the best relationships were the ones without a sexual content,’ he reminded her, ‘yet you clearly don’t have a good relationship with
your father. Should I infer from that that you and he have had a sexual relationship?’

‘No,’ she said calmly, ‘you should not infer any such thing. I will not allow you to foist some tacky child abuse theory on to me because it happens to be in vogue
at the moment. Anyway, what would you know about any of this? I thought you said you weren’t a psychiatrist.’

He could feel her anger. ‘Why so defensive? Is it because you recognize that, but for his self-control, you and he might have had a sexual relationship? Perhaps the desire
wasn’t all one-sided.’

She closed her eyes suddenly. ‘I really do urge you to remember what my father does to people he doesn’t like, Dr Protheroe. You’d be quite mad to make an enemy of
him.’

Now why, he wondered, did he get the feeling she was talking about herself?

With an effort of concentration she remembered Dean Jarrett’s home telephone number. ‘Dean?’ she said when he picked up the receiver at the other end.
‘Look, I’m really sorry to bother you at home—’

‘Who is it?’

‘It’s Jinx.’

‘Oh, my God!’ screamed his well-remembered voice. She could picture him so clearly. The telephone was in the sitting room, an art deco excrescence, amongst all the other
art deco excrescences in his vibrant and colourful living space. He would be lying on the
chaise-longue
, she thought, his peroxided silver head propped against the ornate tracery at the end
of it, receiver in one hand, glass of champagne in the other. Dean performed even when he was alone, and she loved him for it because she couldn’t do it herself.

‘We’ve been worried sick,’ he rattled on. ‘I said to Angelica, Angelica sweetheart, supposing we’ve lost her? We didn’t know what to do. Face the
dread prospect of phoning that awful man who passes for your father and puts the fear of God into us, or sit tight and rely on you to come round eventually. You know he phoned and spoke to Angie,
and he was most fearfully rude, all but called her a nigger, but he wouldn’t say where you were. Just said you were unconscious in hospital and told us to get on with what we were paid to do.
Then the fuzz came rushing round asking questions, and we nearly
died
of shock.’ He floundered to a halt. ‘Business is fine,’ he went on more calmly after a moment.
‘Don’t you worry about the studio. Thank God, people have enough faith in yours truly to stay with us.’

She smiled. ‘I know, that’s why I haven’t been worried.’

‘You should have phoned,’ he said. ‘We’ve been that upset. We wanted to send you some flowers. Angelica’s been sobbing her heart out, said someone ought
to be visiting you.’

‘I’m sorry. The trouble is’ – she paused – ‘well, to be honest, I’m only firing on about half a cylinder at the moment. I gave myself a hell
of a crack on the head and ended up with galloping amnesia.’ She forced a laugh. ‘Can’t remember much about the last three or four weeks. Silly, isn’t it? Look, I’ll
give you the details of where I am, then you can get in touch when you want to.’ She gave him the address and telephone number of the clinic. ‘But I don’t intend to stay here much
longer,’ she went on. ‘As soon as I can find the energy, I’m hopping on the first train back to London.’

He clucked like a mother hen. ‘Stay as long as you need. No sense in coming back before you’re ready. Everything’s tickety-boo this end, or it will be when I pass
on the good news that I’ve spoken to you. Actually, my darling, you sound great even if the memory is a bit dicky. Is it worrying you?’

‘Yes.’ She took a deep breath. ‘Have I spoken to either of you between the fourth of June, when I left for Hampshire, and now? Can you remember? I mean, did I phone
you at all while I was with my parents or did I come in to work on the Monday after I got back? That would be the thirteenth.’

‘No,’ he said apologetically. ‘That’s what the police kept asking when they came to the studio. Had we seen you? Had we spoken to you? Did we know why
you’d gone back to Hampshire on the Monday? And we told them the truth. Not a cheep out of you since Friday the third. Angelica phoned over and over again on the thirteenth when you
didn’t come in to work, and all she got was your answerphone. We were girding our loins to contact Hell Hall on the Tuesday morning when the devil himself phoned with the awful news that you
were unconscious. Since which time we’ve been tearing our collective hair out.’ He was silent for a moment. ‘Do you really not remember anything since the fourth?’

She heard the note of concern in his voice. ‘No, but it’s all right,’ she said with a light laugh. ‘I’ve been told the important stuff, like the
wedding’s off, Leo’s scarpered with Meg, and I tried to kill myself. I just don’t remember any of it.’

‘Well, for what it’s worth, dear, neither of us believes the crash was deliberate. You were making it clear as crystal for a good week before you set off for the Hall
that you’d made up your mind not to go through with the wedding. Angie and I assumed you were going to break the news to the old devil then, and call the whole thing quits. It came as a bit
of a shock to find you hadn’t.’

She stared at her reflection. ‘Did I say I wasn’t going through with it?’

‘Not in so many words, but you were back to your old sunny self again, and I said to Angie, well, thank God for small mercies, she’s come to her senses and told Leo to
get stuffed, and Angie agreed with me. Well, you know we never liked him. He’s very pretty, of course, but he wasn’t for
you
, Jinx. Far too interested in number one, and you want
someone who cares for you, sweetheart. Let’s face it, we all do.’

She laughed. ‘How’s George?’

‘Unmentionable. He’s left me for a Filipino chef.’

‘I’m sorry. Are you surviving?’

‘Of course. Don’t I always? Now, tell me why you rang. I feel in my bones there was a reason, and it wasn’t just to hear my dulcet tones.’

She raised her knees and propped her elbows on them. ‘I want you to phone Leo’s parents and say you need to contact Leo or Meg Harris as a matter of urgency.’

‘With reference to what?’

Something terrible . . .
‘Can you invent an excuse? Say you’re an old school-friend of Leo’s, that you’re only in the country for a week and that you
want to meet up with him. He went to Eton if they ask. I just want you to try and find out where they are without letting on you know me. Is that OK with you? I want to be able to talk to them and
show there are no hard feelings. Could you do that for me?’

‘Sure. What’s his parents’ number?’

‘I don’t know, but you can get it through Directory Enquiries because I did it myself once. It’s A. Wallader, Downton Court, Ashwell, Guildford, and if
he
answers it’s Sir Anthony and if
she
answers it’s Lady Wallader. And Dean, whatever they say, you must ring me back tonight. Please. I don’t care what they tell you, you
must ring me back. OK?’

‘No problem,’ he said breezily.

The phone rang twenty minutes later. Jinx picked it up with trembling hands and cradled it against her face. ‘Jinx Kingsley.’