London Calling - James Craig [111]
She suddenly stopped.
Carlyle managed to re-establish lines of communications between his brain and his vocal cords, but he still couldn’t bring himself to ask about the kid.
‘So … when Robert dies …?’
She slowly met his gaze. ‘So, when he threw himself off that balcony, it was a hell of a shock, yes.’ She put her empty wine glass back on the floor and stood up.
‘Did you make another complaint after his death?’ Carlyle asked, trying to move the narrative along.
‘I made as much fuss as I could, but I was in a bit of a state.’
‘Not surprising.’
‘And then I thought to hell with it. One morning, I just got up, packed my bag and left Cambridge. It took me a while to get my act together, but the baby helped. After our son was born, I was able to move forward. Eventually, I went back to university.’
‘To Cambridge?’
‘No, I couldn’t face going back there, so I ended up studying Law at UCL. Being in London was a lot easier, and I was able to get on with my life.’
‘And now?’
‘And now,’ she smiled, ‘I have a very boring life.’
‘And your son?’ Carlyle asked casually.
‘Travelling.’ She eyed him carefully.
‘Where?’
She smiled. ‘Right this moment, I’m not exactly sure. Somewhere in Thailand, I expect.’
Another Trustafarian waster, no doubt, Carlyle thought. He changed tack. ‘Do you have any photos of Robert?’
‘Just the one. I keep it upstairs in my bedroom.’
‘Can I see it?’
‘Of course.’
What she handed him a couple of minutes later was a slightly faded photograph in a simple oak frame. It showed a younger, slimmer Susy Ahl sitting outside a café with Robert Ashton, his pretty-boy good looks preserved there for all time. She had one arm round his shoulders and they were laughing in a way that didn’t look at all posed for the camera. It was clearly not the same photograph that had been left beside Nicholas Hogarth’s corpse.
‘That was the Easter before it all happened,’ she explained, as Carlyle handed the picture back to her. ‘We took a holiday in France, near Lake Annecy. It was incredibly beautiful and serene – the Venice of the Alps and all that. We had the most perfect time.’ She gave him a fleeting, fragile smile. ‘It was probably the happiest moment of my life, but I suppose you don’t realise things like that ’til much later, do you?’
‘No.’ Carlyle left her reflection on the transient nature of happiness hanging in the air for a few seconds. Now it was time for the sharp end of the conversation. ‘And, with what happened afterwards, the past is the past?’
‘The past is the past,’ she agreed.
‘And your son?’
Her eyes narrowed. ‘What about him?’
‘Does he know about what happened to his father?’
Susy Ahl blanched, but quickly composed herself. ‘He knows about Robert’s suicide, yes.’
‘And the rest?’
‘No,’ she said sharply, ‘absolutely not. What would be the point of that?’
‘I understand,’ Carlyle nodded.
‘That is the one thing I ask of you, Inspector,’ she said slowly. ‘He is a sensitive boy, like his father in many respects. I do not want him to have to face all that being dug up after all this time.’
‘I understand,’ Carlyle repeated. Good luck, he thought. ‘So what about the Merrion Club now?’ he asked, edging the conversation forward.
‘What about them?’
‘It’s the General Election tomorrow,’ Carlyle mused.
‘So?’
‘It must be galling to see Robert’s attackers having such power, sitting smugly there at the top of the tree.’
She grimaced. ‘Let them do what they like. The past always catches up with people, don’t you think?’
‘Do you want them dead?’ he asked quietly.
She stared at him quizzically. ‘Do you expect me to answer that?’
‘Yes,’ he said firmly, ‘I do.’
‘Am I a suspect?’
‘I should say so,’ Carlyle said gently. ‘You are connected to all the people involved, and you have a motive. A very good motive, if I may say so.’