Angels in the Gloom_ A Novel - Anne Perry [102]
“Is Iliffe brilliant as well?” he asked.
She looked at him quickly again, then back at the road. “You mean is he a fool over women? Probably, but I don’t know.”
“Do you know Ben Morven, too?” He thought of Hannah, but he would not ask Lizzie if she knew about the situation.
“Yes. He’s a bit naïve also, an idealist,” she replied. “But a nice one. Not as abrasive as Francis Iliffe.”
“What sort of idealist?”
“Social justice,” she answered. “He thinks education is the answer for everyone. He’s rather sweet, but very provincial.”
They were out on the Haslingfield road and drove in silence for a while. The western sky in front of them flamed with color, and faded as they headed toward Iliffe’s home. Joseph tried to prepare what he would say. It was late to call on anyone, and discourteous to do so without notice in advance, but urgency precluded such niceties.
Iliffe opened the door himself. He was in his early thirties, lean and dark-haired. At the moment he was wearing rather baggy trousers, a white shirt, and an old cricketing sweater against the evening chill. The lighted hallway behind him had the cleanliness of a house kept by a domestic servant, and the untidiness of one lived in by a young, single man who was interested in ideas and to whom physical surroundings were of little importance.
“Yes?” Iliffe looked at Joseph curiously, not immediately seeing Lizzie beyond the circle of the light.
Prepared explanations deserted Joseph and he was left with nothing but bare honesty, and his fear for Corcoran made anything else ridiculous.
“Good evening, Mr. Iliffe,” he said candidly. “My name is Joseph Reavley. Shanley Corcoran is a friend of mine; he has been for years. I’m deeply afraid for his safety, and that of anyone else working at the Establishment.”
A flicker of humor lit Iliffe’s thin, intelligent face. “Thanks for your concern. Did you come here to tell me that?” There was an understandable edge to his voice. “A letter would have sufficed.”
Joseph felt himself blushing. “Of course not. I’m on sick leave from Ypres, where I’m a chaplain.” He saw Iliffe’s expression change and knew he had redeemed at least something of the situation. “I know Inspector Perth from another case, before the war. I intend to help him, whether he likes it or not.”
Iliffe smiled and stepped back. “Come in.” Then he saw Lizzie and his eyes softened. “If you’re a friend of Lizzie’s, you can’t be as bad as you seem,” he added, leading them to a sitting room where books and papers were scattered on every surface. He tidied them, putting them in a pile on the desk, and offered his guests seats.
“It’s not secret stuff,” he said disparagingly, seeing Joseph’s surprise. “I’m designing a sailing boat, one of those to put on ponds? I want to be able to steer it from the shore.”
Joseph found himself smiling.
“So what do you want from me?” Iliffe asked with interest. “If I had any proof who it was I’d have done something about it myself.”
Joseph knew what he wanted to ask; what he did not know was how to measure the truth of the answers he received. “How brilliant was Theo Blaine?” he asked. He wished Lizzie were not there, but the advantage was that she was at least some measure for accuracy.
“The best,” Iliffe said frankly. His eyes went to Lizzie with a smile, then back to Joseph again.
“Can you finish without him?” Joseph continued.
Iliffe shrugged. “Touch and go. Not if some swine smashes the prototype again. It’s worth a try, but I’m not sure.”
“With Corcoran working on it personally?”
Iliffe looked unhappy.
Joseph waited. There was a keen edge of intelligence in Iliffe’s face. He understood the reasoning, and guessed the personal gain and loss.
“If Morven works on it, perhaps,” he answered. “Corcoran alone, no.” He offered no apology and no prevarication.
“What can you tell me about Morven?” Joseph asked.
“Intellectually? He’s outstanding. Almost in Blaine