Seven Dials - Anne Perry [87]
“. . . misunderstanding of virtue,” the bishop was saying intently. “It is one of the curses of modern living that . . .”
Theloneus was sorely in need of rescue.
“Bishop, would you come to join us for champagne?” Vespasia said with a dazzling smile. “Or were you going to say that we drink too much of it? I daresay you are right, and of course you are bound in honor to set us all an example. So refreshing to have seen you here. Do enjoy the evening.” And she offered her hand to Theloneus, who took it immediately, trying hard to suppress his laughter.
VISITING SAVILLE RYERSON was altogether a more difficult matter to arrange, and in spite of the fact that she was genuinely concerned that Martin Garvie had met with some misfortune, regardless of Garrick’s statement that he was in the south of France with Garrick’s son, her fear for Ryerson was deeper. At best he was going to be disillusioned in a woman he loved, perhaps not wisely but certainly with all the power of his nature. To find yourself betrayed, not only in fact but in hope, to have your dreams stained beyond repair, was one of the hardest of all tests of the soul. And at worst he could find himself in the dock beside Ayesha Zakhari, and perhaps even on the gallows as well.
She did not bother to try the easy routes first. She could not afford the time taken by failure, nor perhaps the warning to others that she was so keenly interested she would call in old favors in order to see him.
Therefore she went straight to see the appropriate assistant commissioner of police. A long while ago, in their youth, there had been a time when he had courted her, and later, when they were both married, there had been a long weekend house party in one of the great stately homes of the duke of something-or-other. An afternoon in the yew walk sprung to mind particularly. She disliked calling on memories in such a fashion—it lacked grace—but it was extremely useful, and Ryerson’s need was too profound for such delicacies to stand in her way.
He received her without keeping her waiting. Time had been kind to him, but not as it had been to her. He was standing in the center of the floor of his office when she was shown in. He looked thinner than in the past, and his hair was very gray.
“My dear . . .” he began, and then was uncertain quite how to address her. It had been many years since they were on familiar terms.
She responded quickly, to save him embarrassment. “Arthur, how generous of you to see me so quickly, especially when you must be quite certain, when I have come in such indecent haste, that I am seeking a favor.” She was dressed in her customary pale colors of dove gray and ivory, pearls at her throat, gleaming to give light to her face. She had learned over the years exactly what became her best. Even the most beautiful of women, or the youngest, have colors and lines which do not flatter them.
“It is always a pleasure to see you, whatever the reason,” he replied, and if he was saying only what was expected of him, he did it with an air of sincerity one could not disbelieve. “Please . . .” He indicated the chair at one side of his desk, and waited until she was seated and her skirts arranged with a single flick, to fall richly and without creasing. “What may I do for you?” he asked.
She had debated for some time whether to be direct or indirect. Arthur had been somewhat unsophisticated in the past, but time might have altered that, and he was now no longer in love with her, which fact in itself would give him a better ability to judge. There was no romantic ardor to blunt his intellect. She decided on directness. To attempt to mislead him would be insulting. But then so would simple statements of need without at least lip service to the past, and the