A Traitor to Memory

Richard wasn't answering. Jill said, “Richard, I don't understand. How did they connect you with Eugenie? I realise she must have kept your surname, but Davies isn't so uncommon that one would make the leap that you and she had once been married.”


“One of the police on the scene,” Richard said. “He knew who she was. Because of the case …” He aimlessly shifted the copy of Radio Times so that the one beneath it was on top. This one pictured Jill herself in modern garb among the costumed cast of her triumphant production of Desperate Remedies, filmed within weeks of Jill's final breakup with Jonathon Stewart, whose passionate vows to leave his wife “once our Steph has finished up at Oxford, darling” had proved to be just about as steadfast as his performance in bed had been reliable. Two weeks after “our Steph” had her diploma in her grubby little grasp, Jonathon was making another excuse which involved settling the wretched girl “in her new digs up in Lancaster, darling.” Three days later Jill had pulled the plug on their relationship and buried herself in Desperate Remedies, whose title couldn't have been more appropriate to her emotional state at the time.

Jill said, “The case?” and a moment later realised what case he was speaking about. The case, of course, the only one that mattered. The case that had broken his heart, destroyed his marriage, and coloured the last two decades of his life. She said, “Yes, I suppose the police might remember.”

“He was involved. One of the detectives. So when he saw her name on her driving licence, he tracked me down.”

“Yes. I see.” She half-rolled into a kneeling position from which she was able to touch his curved shoulder. “Let me make you something. Tea, coffee.”

“I could do with a brandy.”

She lifted an eyebrow, although since he was looking at the magazine cover and not at her, he didn't see the action. She wanted to say, At this hour? Surely not, darling. But she heaved herself to her feet and went to the kitchen, where she took a bottle of Courvoisier from one of the sleek cupboards and poured him an exact two tablespoons, which seemed an adequate amount to restore him.

He joined her in the kitchen and took the glass without comment. He drank a sip and swirled the remaining liquid in the glass. He said, “I can't get the sight of her out of my mind.”

This seemed too much to Jill. All right, the woman was dead. And yes, she'd died in a dreadful way, with much to be pitied. Indeed, it was a grim affair, having to look upon her broken body. But Richard hadn't had a single word from his former wife in nearly two decades, so why would he be so distraught at her death? Unless he was still carrying a torch for her … Unless, perhaps, he'd not been quite truthful about the death of their marriage and what he'd done with the corpse.

Jill said with care and placing a loving hand on his forearm, “I know this must be a terrible time for you. But you've not actually … seen her in all these years, have you?”

A flicker in his eyes. Of their own accord, her fingers tightened. Don't make this into a Jonathon situation, she told him silently. Lie to me now, and I will end this, Richard. I will not live in a fantasy again.

He said, “No, I've not seen her. But I've spoken to her recently. A number of times in the last month or so.” He seemed to feel the shield she put up to protect her heart from damage at this piece of news, because he went on hastily. “She phoned me because of Gideon. She'd read about what happened at Wigmore Hall. When he didn't recover from that … situation … quickly, she phoned to ask me about him. I haven't told you because … I don't actually know why I haven't told you. It didn't seem very important at the time. And beyond that, I didn't want anything to upset you in these final weeks … the baby. It hardly seemed fair to you.”

“That's completely outrageous.” Jill felt a swelling of righteous anger.

Richard said, “I'm sorry. We spoke for only five minutes … ten minutes at the most each time she phoned. I didn't consider—”

“I don't mean that,” Jill interrupted. “I don't mean it's outrageous that you didn't tell me. But that she phoned you at all. That she had the audacity to phone you, Richard. That she could walk out of your life—out of Gideon's life, for God's sake—and then phone up when she reads about him because she's curious that he's had a bit of trouble at a performance. My God, what cheek.”