The Murders of Richard III - Elizabeth Peters [91]
Her glasses fell off the end of her nose.
“Jacqueline!” Thomas exclaimed. “Darling!”
He rushed across the room and flung his arms around her.
“Hello, Thomas,” Jacqueline said. “Now, then, James, there is another point you—”
“You’re converted,” Thomas said. He held her at arms’ length, his hands on her shoulders, and beamed at her. “You’re one of us. By God, if nothing else had happened this weekend…”
Jacqueline squinted at him. The effect was rather charming.
“My glasses,” she said. “I don’t have my glasses on.”
“Here they are.” Thomas bent and picked them up. “Let’s go, love. There’s a train at eleven. Get packed. I’ll ask Wilkes to send the car around—”
“Oh,” Jacqueline said. “I am packed, Thomas. But I’m afraid I can’t go to London with you. James and I are going to York for a few days.”
“James—and—you—”
“Purely Ricardian, old boy,” said Strangways. Thomas turned to stare at him in outraged disbelief. Strangways winked.
“There’s the car, Jacqueline,” he said, straightening his tie. “Let’s be off.”
Thomas stood in silence. Strangways strolled across the room, exuding self-satisfaction. He took Jacqueline’s arm and led her to the door.
Jacqueline glanced back. “I’ll see you in London on Thursday, Thomas,” she said, and was gone.
Thomas stood unmoving. Car doors slammed and the faint sound of voices came to him through the open windows. The soft, expensive purr of the Rolls engine moved away into the distance.
The voices had not been mellifluous.
Gradually, unpredictably, a malicious smile transformed Thomas’s face.
Purely Ricardian. Strangways had spoken in jest, but Thomas had a feeling the joke was on Strangways. Never before had he seen Jacqueline’s glasses actually fall from her nose. He knew her well; she had a memory like an elephant and a passion for contrived revenge that would have suited a Borgia. He could see Strangways being whipped around York from Micklegate to the Minster, viewing the remaining memories of Richard the Third and reeling under the remorseless lash of Jacqueline’s voice.
A sigh of virtuous satisfaction escaped Thomas’s lips, and he went upstairs to pack.
Thursday in London, Jacqueline had said. Thomas had high hopes for Thursday.
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