Fallen Angel. Andrew Taylor

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      ‘Man or woman?’

      ‘He couldn’t tell.’ Michael turned his back on his godfather and touched Sally’s cheek. ‘Shall we go?’

      Sally allowed him to lead her into the little vestry, where there were mousetraps on the floor and dust on the table, and out by the side door into the alley beyond. Michael was saying something, but she neither knew nor cared what. In her mind she was concentrating on the shapeless figure in the long coat: sexless, of medium height, and possibly completely unconnected with the package in the vestry. But even a possibility was better than nothing: it was something to focus on, something to hate. May God damn you and yours. The words set up echoes in her memory. Audrey Oliphant had used them when she cursed her, Sally, in St George’s: only three months ago, and already so remote that it might have happened to someone else.

      May God damn you and yours.

      ‘Steady,’ David said behind her.

      Michael slipped his hand under her elbow. ‘Are you all right?’

      She stared blankly at him. Why did people keep asking if she was all right? She was all wrong.

      Maxham was waiting for them at the end of the alley, leaning against the tall spiked gate that separated it from Beauclerk Place. ‘There’s a car here for you. You’re going back to Hercules Road?’

      ‘Yes.’ When Michael was level with Maxham, he stopped. ‘This person the landlord saw. Which way down the street was he coming?’

      Maxham hesitated long enough to show that he was seriously considering refusing to answer. ‘From the north.’

      ‘Fitzroy Square? Euston Road?’

      ‘Maybe.’

      ‘When?’

      ‘Between eleven-forty-five and midnight. That’s all we know, Sergeant. OK? And there may not even be a connection.’

      The two men stared at each other. Antagonism flickered between them. Sally tugged at Michael’s arm. He allowed her to pull him away.

      They were to travel back to the flat in the car which had brought Sally. Sergeant Carlow was leaning against the wing, smoking. Yvonne Saunders raised her hand a few inches, a token wave, and opened one of the back doors.

      ‘You go on without me,’ David said.

      Michael glanced back. ‘You’re very welcome. We’d like you to come.’

      ‘I know.’ The old man stopped and folded his arms. ‘And I shall, later, if Sally doesn’t mind.’

      ‘But where will you go?’ In other circumstances Michael’s surprise would have been comical.

      ‘Oh, don’t worry about me. I shall go to church.’

      As soon as the car turned into Hercules Road, it was obvious that news of the discovery at St Michael’s had gone before them. There were more cars, more reporters and men with cameras. A uniformed policeman stood at the entrance to the Appleyards’ block of flats.

      ‘Drive on,’ Michael said to Carlow. ‘Drive past the house and out the other end of the road.’

      Carlow accelerated. ‘Where do you want to go? A hotel?’

      Sally touched Michael’s sleeve. ‘But what happens if Lucy tries to –’

      ‘Maxham has someone in the flat round the clock, hasn’t he?’

      Carlow nodded. As they passed the house, a reporter recognized someone in the car, probably Sally. She saw him pointing, his mouth opening in a soundless shout. The group on the pavement fragmented into scurrying individuals. Two men started to run after the car but gave up after a few yards.

      Sally said, ‘But we’d need clothes and things.’

      Yvonne glanced back from the front passenger seat. ‘If you give me a list I can fetch what you need and bring it to the hotel.’

      ‘Don’t forget your mobile,’ Michael said. ‘Which hotel?’

      Sally folded her arms. ‘I don’t want to go to a hotel.’

      ‘As you like.’ Michael twisted his lips. ‘Well, where then?’

      ‘I don’t know.’

      The car turned out of Hercules Road and nosed into a stream of traffic. A horn sounded behind them. For a moment no one spoke.

      Michael looked at Sally. ‘What about David? We’ll need to find somewhere for him.’

      ‘I don’t see why.’

      ‘Because he asked if I’d like him to stay and I said yes. I thought we’d be at the flat –’

      ‘At the flat? So where was he going to sleep?’

      ‘He could have –’ Michael stopped.

      ‘No,’ Sally said. ‘We couldn’t have put him in Lucy’s room, could we?’

      ‘Maybe not.’

      ‘No.’

      They were back in West End Lane now. Sergeant Carlow pulled over to the kerb.

      ‘Where to, then? Have you decided?’

      Michael glanced at Sally. ‘Christ knows.’

      In the end they went to stay with Oliver Rickford. It was Sally’s idea. She thought it would be better for Michael and better for her. Besides, Oliver had invited them. Michael was not enthusiastic, but on this occasion she was prepared to be more obstinate than he was.

      ‘If that’s what you want,’ he said a mild voice, ‘that’s what we’ll do.’

      Michael’s habits were cracking and dissolving like ice in a thaw. Sally knew that he hated asking favours; he preferred to keep his family separate from his friendships; he hated betraying signs of personal weakness, and since Lucy had gone his behaviour had been one long confession of inadequacy.

      Oliver lived in Hornsey, about half a mile south of Alexandra Park. There was little traffic and Sergeant Carlow drove fast, a man anxious to be rid of his awkward passengers. He took them south round the Heath and then north on Junction Road.

      At first no one talked. Carlow and Yvonne, models of discretion, stared through the windscreen. Sally rested her hand on the back seat between her and Michael, but he appeared not to notice.

      At last, as they were approaching Archway, she put her hand back on her knee and said: ‘There’s no real need for David to come to Oliver’s too.’

      ‘Why shouldn’t he?’ Michael turned and stared at her. ‘He’s expecting to stay with us.’

      ‘Couldn’t we find him a hotel or a bed-and-breakfast? I’m sure he’d be far more comfortable.’

      Michael СКАЧАТЬ