No Graves as Yet_ A Novel - Anne Perry [78]
“Of course he did!” Orla responded. “But he came back.”
“Do you think Father would have seen him again? Recently? In the last week or so before he died?”
Orla looked surprised.
Corcoran understood immediately. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “It’s possible.”
Orla had no such hesitation. “Of course it’s possible. I know Ivor is at home because he lives in Haslingfield, and I saw him only a couple of weeks ago. I’m sure if your father visited him, he’d be happy to tell you about it.”
Corcoran looked at her, then at Matthew, uncertain.
Matthew could not afford to care about old quarrels. High in his mind was the possibility that Ivor Chetwin could be the man behind the conspiracy John Reavley discovered. It was suddenly very important to know if they had met, but he would have to be extremely careful. Whoever it was did not hesitate to kill. Again he was overwhelmed with anger for his father for having been so naive as to trust someone, to think the best of them when it so agonizingly was not true.
“Matthew . . . ,” Corcoran began, his face earnest, the lamplight now accentuating the warmth in his features.
“Yes!” Matthew said instantly. “I shall be extremely careful. Father and I are quite different. I trust no one.” He wanted to explain to them what he intended to do. However, he did not know yet, and he needed the freedom to change his mind. But above all, he did not want his father’s friend watching over his shoulder to see his weaknesses, or his pain if what he found was sad and vulnerable—and private.
“That’s not what I was going to say,” Corcoran declared. “Ivor Chetwin was a decent man when I knew him. But I doubt your father would have confided anything in him before telling you. Have you considered that this issue your father was so concerned about may have been a piece of politicking that he felt was dishonorable, rather than anything you or I would consider a conspiracy? He was a little . . . idealistic.”
“Conspiracy?” Orla looked from Matthew to her husband and back again.
“Probably nothing.” Corcoran smiled very slightly. “I daresay he would have found that out if he had had the chance.”
Matthew wanted to argue, but he had no weapons. He could not defend his father; he had nothing but remembered words, which he had repeated so often he was hearing his own voice saying them now. There was nothing tangible except death, the awful absence of those he loved, the jolting surprise of the empty rooms, the telephone call no one would answer from the study.
“Of course,” he said, not meaning it, nor looking at Corcoran’s face. He was agreeing for Orla’s sake, so as not to alarm her. Then he changed the subject. “I wish I didn’t have to go back to London so soon. It is so timelessly peaceful here.”
“Have a glass of port?” Corcoran offered. “I have some real vintage stuff.”
Matthew hesitated.
“Oh, it’s excellent!” Corcoran assured him. “No cork in it, no crust or sediment, I promise.”
Matthew acceded gracefully.
The butler was sent for and dispatched to fetch one of the best bottles. He returned with it cradled in a napkin.
“Right!” Corcoran said enthusiastically. “I’ll open this myself! Make sure it’s perfect. Thank you, Truscott.”
“Yes, sir.” The butler handed it over with resignation.
“Really . . . ,” Orla protested, but without any belief she would make a difference. “Sorry,” she said ruefully to Matthew. “He’s rather proud of this.”
Matthew smiled. It was obviously a ritual that mattered to Corcoran, and he was happy to observe as Corcoran led them to the kitchen, heated the tongs in the kitchen stove, then grasped the bottle with them, closing them around its neck. Truscott handed him a goose feather and held out a dish of ice. Corcoran passed the feather through the ice, then carefully around the neck of the port.
“There!” he said triumphantly as the glass cracked in a perfect circle, cutting the corked top off cleanly. “You see?”
“Bravo!” Matthew laughed.
Corcoran was grinning widely, his face alight with triumph. “There you are, Truscott! Now you can decant it and bring it to