Cambridge Blue - Alison Bruce [56]
‘This room was my father’s study. He was a well-known figure in his day, the umpteenth generation of Moran doctors, but the first to make his mark in treating the wealthy of Cambridge. He achieved success through his determination rather than by any exceptional medical skill. Not the type to take any prisoners, as they say. I found him a terrifying man, and if I’d done something wrong, he would summon me in here and I’d have to sit in your chair, right there, and wait silently until he was ready to speak to me. Now I’m the one behind the desk, fancy that.’
If Richard was enjoying his position on the throne, it didn’t show.
‘So you’ve lived here all your life?’
‘Yes. I even took my degree at Cambridge. We all grew up here and inherited the house last year when he died. Alice and I are very attached to the place.’
Goodhew empathized with the sentiment, although he wasn’t sure he’d want to live with his own sister – but then, he only had one bedroom.
‘Besides, I’m not . . .’ Richard stopped.
‘Go on.’
Whatever Moran had almost said was now firmly shut away again.
‘You were about to say something,’ Goodhew pushed.
‘It was nothing.’
‘It won’t hurt to say it anyway.’
‘No, I was just rambling – I keep doing that. Then, mid-sentence, I flash back to the way she looked at the hospital. Everything’s become so insignificant since she died. I feel so naïve, plodding along, thinking we were going somewhere together. I should have known.’
‘That she was going to die?’
‘That things would go wrong. Do you really think that anyone’s life progresses on the up and up?’ Richard finally released his double grip on the desk. ‘You’ll find out for yourself, just when you least expect it.’ He punched one fist into the other palm. ‘Fair enough, you don’t see it coming the first time, but once you realize that’s what life’s about, it’s naïve not to expect it.’
Goodhew raised his eyebrows. ‘That’s your philosophy on life then?’
‘Absolutely.’
‘Based on?’
‘Everything – from the first time I was stamped on in the playground onwards.’
Ah, the Chicken-Licken school of positive thinking. No wonder Richard was a nervous wreck.
Goodhew tried another change of direction. ‘Did Lorna have a dog?’
‘A dog?’ Richard repeated. His eyes flickered, his focus darting away and up, as if hunting for paw prints on the ceiling. ‘Maybe as a child, but I have no idea.’ He kept his voice level and dragged his attention back to Goodhew. ‘Why do you ask?’ He sounded genuinely baffled.
‘We have a possible lead; some dog hairs. They could be nothing, though.’ He managed to stop himself from punctuating the sentence with ‘Excuse the pun.’
‘Do you know any more? What colour of dog, or breed?’
‘At this stage we just need to know of any dogs she might have come into contact with.’
‘I certainly don’t know of any.’
‘Did she talk about anyone she knew owning a dog?’
‘Not that I remember.’
‘No one at the clinic?’
‘No. Still no.’ Now he was starting to sound irritated, but every time Goodhew had seen him, Richard had hovered permanently in the uneasy zone: uncomfortable, anxious or distressed. Goodhew couldn’t read him well enough to identify which behavioural signs counted for anything. Not yet, at least.
Deciding it was time to leave, he stood up and extended his hand. ‘I’m sorry if I seemed at all tactless when I visited you last night.’
They shook hands. Richard’s grip was firm. ‘Thank you.’
‘And I’m sorry for your loss.’
Richard managed a small smile. ‘I know. I can see you have compassion. But then you’re young – in fact, about the same age as Lorna. She knew all about compassion too.’
‘I didn’t know it was age-related.’
Richard half-turned towards the window. ‘Do you know which way this faces?’
Goodhew took a second to get his bearings. ‘North-west?’
‘It faces towards Shire Hall, and the site of the county jail. Between here and there is Castle Mound – you know it?’
Castle Mound was a large grass-covered hillock which had been part of the original city defences