Betrayal at Lisson Grove - Anne Perry [135]
‘Good idea,’ she agreed, turning back to watch the gulls circling over the white wake of the ship. The two of them stood side by side in silence, oddly comforted by the endless, rhythmic moving of the water and the pale wings of the birds echoing the curved line of it.
Narraway was connected with Vespasia immediately. Only when he heard the sound of her voice, which was thin and a little crackly over the line, did he realise how overwhelmingly glad he was to speak with her.
‘Victor! Where on earth are you?’ she demanded. Then the instant later: ‘No. Do not tell me. Are you safe? Is Charlotte safe?’
‘Yes, we are both safe,’ he answered her. She was the only woman since his childhood who had ever made him feel as if he were accountable to her. ‘We are not far away, but I thought it better to speak to you before coming the rest of the journey.’
‘Don’t,’ she said simply. ‘It would be far better if you were to find some suitable place, which we shall not name, and we shall meet there. A very great deal has happened since you left, but there is far more that is about to happen. I do not know what that is, except that it is of profound importance, and it may be tragically violent. But I dare say you have deduced that for yourself. I rather fear that your whole trip to Ireland was designed to take you away from London. Everything else was incidental.’
‘Who’s in charge now?’ he asked. A chill seeped into him, even though he was standing in a very comfortable hotel hallway, looking from left to right every few moments to make sure he was still alone and not overheard. ‘Charles Austwick?’
‘No,’ she answered, and there was a heaviness in her voice, even over the wires. ‘That was only temporary. Thomas is back from France. That trip was entirely abortive. He has replaced Austwick, and is now in your office, and hating it.’
Narraway was so stunned for a moment he could think of no words that were adequate to his emotions, certainly none that he could repeat in front of Vespasia, or Charlotte, were she close enough to hear.
‘Victor!’ Vespasia said sharply.
‘Yes . . . I’m here. What . . . what is going on?’
‘I don’t know,’ she admitted. ‘But I have a great fear that he has been placed there precisely because he cannot possibly cope with whatever atrocity is being planned. He has no experience in this kind of leadership. He has not the deviousness, nor the subtlety of judgement to make the necessary unpleasant decisions. And there is no one there whom he can trust, which at least he knows. I am afraid he is quite appallingly alone, exactly as someone has designed he should be. His remarkable record of success as a policeman, and as a solver of crimes within Special Branch jurisdiction, will justify his being placed in your position. No one will be held to blame for choosing him . . .’
‘You mean he’s there to take the blame when this storm breaks,’ Narraway said bitterly.
‘Precisely.’ Vespasia’s voice cracked a little. ‘Victor, we must beat this, and I have very little idea how. I don’t even know what it is they plan, but it is something very, very wrong indeed.’
She was brave; no one he knew had ever had more courage. She was clever and still beautiful; but she was also growing old and at times very much alone. Suddenly he was aware of her vulnerability: of the friends, and even the lovers she had cared for passionately, and lost. She was perhaps fifteen years older than he. Suddenly he thought of her not as a force of society, or of nature, but as a woman, as capable of loneliness as he was himself.
‘Do you remember the hostelry where we met Somerset Carlisle about eight years ago? We had the most excellent lobster for luncheon?’ he asked.
‘Yes,’ she said unhesitatingly.
‘We should meet there as soon as possible,’ he told her. ‘Bring Pitt . . . please.’
‘I shall be there by midnight,’ she replied.
He was startled. ‘Midnight?’
‘For heaven’s sake, Victor!’ she said tartly. ‘What do you want to do, wait until breakfast? Don’t be absurd.