Believing the Lie - Elizabeth George [291]
He looked at Barbara and his eyes were so pained that Barbara couldn’t hold his gaze. She said uselessly, “No, no. That’s not how it is.”
But he put his forehead against his upraised fists and he hit himself. Once, twice, and Barbara grabbed his arm. She said, “Don’t. We’ll find her. I swear we’ll find her. I’m going to phone now. I’m ringing some people. There are ways. There are means. She’s not lost to you and you must believe that. Will you believe it? Will you hang on?”
“I’ve nothing to hang on to,” he told her, “and I’ve less to hang on for.”
CHALK FARM
LONDON
Who could she blame? Barbara asked herself. Who on God’s bloody earth could she possibly blame? She had to blame someone because if she could not find a person to wear the mantle of guilt, she was going to have to blame herself. For being seduced, for being awed, for being stupid, for being—
It all came down to Isabelle Ardery, she decided. If the bloody superintendent hadn’t ordered, insisted, recommended strongly that Barbara alter her appearance, none of this would have happened because Barbara wouldn’t have come to know Angelina Upman in the first place so she would have maintained a distance from her that might have allowed her to see and to understand… But what, really, did that matter because Angelina had intended to take her daughter away from the very first, hadn’t she, and that had been the argument Barbara had heard that day between Angelina and Azhar. It had been her threat and his reaction to her threat. Azhar had lost his temper, as any father might, in the face of her declaration that she would take away his child. But when Angelina had explained the cause of the argument to Barbara, Barbara had stood there in her little shop of deceit, and she’d bought up her lies, every one of them.
She didn’t want to leave Azhar alone, but she had no choice once she decided to make her phone call. She didn’t want to do it in his presence because she wasn’t sure of the outcome despite her words of assurance to the man. She said, “I want you to lie down, Azhar. I want you to try to rest. I’ll be back. I promise you. You wait here. I’ll be gone a little while because I have some phone calls to make and when I return, I’ll have a plan. But in the meantime I have to phone… Azhar, are you listening? Can you hear me?” She wanted to ring someone to come to him and to comfort him in some way, but she knew there was no one other than herself. All she could do was get him into his bedroom, cover him with a blanket, and promise she would return as soon as she could.
She hurried to her bungalow to place the call. There was only one person she could think of who might be of help, who would be able to think clearly in this situation, and she rang his mobile.
Lynley said, “Yes? Barbara? Is that you?” over a tremendous roaring of noise and music in the background. Barbara felt a surge of gratitude and she said, “Sir, sir, yes. I need— ”
He said, “Barbara, I can’t actually hear you. I’m going to have to— ”
His voice was overwhelmed by the cheers of a crowd. Where in God’s name was he? she wondered. At a football game?
He said as if in answer, “I’m at the exhibition centre. Earl’s Court…” More cheers and roaring and Lynley saying to someone, “Charlie, has she gone out of bounds? My God, the woman’s aggressive. Can you tell what’s happened?” Someone said something in reply and this was followed by Lynley’s laughter. Lynley laughing, Barbara realised, as she’d not heard him laugh since before last February, when it had seemed his laughter had died forever. He said into his mobile, “Roller derby, Barbara,” and she could barely hear him over the background noise although she managed to catch “…that woman from Cornwall” and she thought, Is he on a date? With a woman from Cornwall? What woman from Cornwall? And what is roller derby? And who is Charlie? Someone otherwise called Charlotte? He couldn’t mean Charlie Denton, could he? What on earth would Lynley be doing out and about with Charlie Denton?
She said, “Sir, sir…,” but it was hopeless.
Another roar from the