Cambridge Blue - Alison Bruce [55]
The door swung wide, and it was Richard himself who held it open. Today he wore a suit. White cuffs, collar, and a small triangle behind his tie were all that showed of his shirt. It looked cleaner and better pressed than any new shirt Goodhew had ever seen.
Goodhew imagined Moran making meticulous efforts with his appearance, perhaps now determined to keep control of the façade he put up between himself and the world. Did he know he’d failed? And failed dismally, at that. He looked brittle, like he was suffering the human equivalent of metal fatigue, and the next breath of bad news would make him crumble. He’d certainly been crying, and not sleeping much.
Richard mumbled something about an office, then headed upstairs and Goodhew assumed he was supposed to follow. Neither of them spoke until Richard opened the door to a room at the rear of the second floor and motioned for Goodhew to go in.
‘Have a seat,’ he said flatly.
The room was large and square, and the most true-to-life depiction of the Cluedo library that he could imagine. Bookshelves ran along two facing walls, packed mostly with sets of matching leather-bound volumes. The major item of furniture was a large oak desk positioned ninety degrees to the window. Its surface was bare, apart from an ornate letter opener lying near one edge. Goodhew didn’t bother trying to spot the lead pipe, but thought he’d keep one ear open for revolving bookcases and secret panels, just in case.
Richard sat down at his desk, leaving Goodhew to occupy a low-slung Chesterfield-style armchair on the other side of it. Goodhew’s line of vision was now somewhere level with the middle of Richard’s chest, therefore not ideal for questioning; it made Goodhew feel he was supposed to raise a hand and wait for permission to speak, but he left his hands where they were and waded in regardless.
‘Does the name Emma mean anything to you?’
Richard was leaning forward with his weight resting on his elbows and his hands interlaced at the fingers. He stared into his palms. ‘Because of that writing?’ He shook his head. ‘No.’ There was no sign he wasn’t telling the truth but he still looked nervous.
‘She never mentioned anyone with a similar name? Maybe Emily or Gemma?’
‘No, never.’
‘And there’s no one connected with yourself and not Lorna, a patient perhaps?’
‘I’ve already been asked about all this, and I’ve been right through my files. There’s nothing. I asked Alice, too, but her friends and contacts are mostly the same as mine, so she couldn’t suggest anything either.’
Goodhew changed tack. ‘Has your sister ever been married?’
‘No.’ Richard unclasped his fingers and leant back in his chair, a gesture perhaps designed to exude relaxation. Perhaps he didn’t realize that the fingers of his right hand were now tightly gripping the edge of the desk, as if to stop it sliding away from him. ‘If she had ever been serious about anyone, she’d still be with them; that’s the sort of woman she is. I remember my father describing her first encounter as an aberration, and that was soon the end of that.’ He raised his head, jutting his chin out, as if daring Goodhew to comment. Goodhew, however, said nothing, and one corner of Moran’s mouth began to tremble.
‘Parental pressure,’ Richard added, as though just those two words provided a fully comprehensive explanation for all such failed relationships in the Moran family.
‘What sort of pressure?’
Richard blinked twice. ‘The same sort I’d have been under when I was seeing Lorna, if they’d been alive.’
‘Which is?’
Richard was gripping the desk with both hands now. ‘It doesn’t really matter now, does it?’
‘I’d still like to know.’
‘My father decided Alice was precocious, and so he kept us isolated from other families. Their rules seem ineffectual now, but when you’re a child,