“Which was?”
“To separate them. To keep her from destroying the cottage or attacking him.” She leaned on her shovel and looked north, in the direction of the orchards, as if reliving her initial proposal to Santo Kerne and what that proposal had ultimately brought about. She said, as if she’d only just thought of the matter, “It was not supposed to be such a drama. When it became one, I had to rethink my own involvement with Santo.”
“Did you give him the old heave-ho as well?” Havers asked. “Not wanting big drama in your life.”
“I intended to, but?”
“I doubt he would have liked that much,” Havers said. “What bloke would? Finding himself out of two dolly birds in one fell swoop instead of just one. Being reduced to what…wanking in the shower?…when before he was getting it on all sides. I’ll wager he would’ve fought you on that one. Maybe even told you he could make things a bit tough on you, a bit embarrassing, if you tried to break it off.”
“Indeed,” she said, without a pause in her labours. “Had we got to that point, he might have done and said all of that. As it was, we never got to that point. I did have to rethink my involvement with him, and I decided that we could continue as long as he understood the rules.”
“Which were?”
“More caution and a very clear understanding about the present and the future.”
“Meaning?”
“The obvious. About the present, I wasn’t going to change my ways to suit him. About the future, there wasn’t one. And that was perfectly fine with him. Santo lived largely for the moment.”
“What was second of all?” Bea asked.
Aldara looked at her blankly. “Sorry?”
“You said ‘first of all’ before you launched into your lack of concern over what other people think. I’m wondering what ‘second of all’ consisted of?”
“Ah. It consisted of my other lover,” Aldara said. “As I said earlier, the secrecy of an affair with Santo appealed to me. The affair charged things and I like to have them charged. Actually, I need to have them charged. When they aren’t…” She shrugged. “For me, the fire simply goes out. The brain, as perhaps you’ve discovered for yourself, habituates to anything over time. When the brain habituates to a lover, as the brain will do, the lover becomes less a lover and more…” She seemed to consider an appropriate term and she chose, “More an inconvenience. When that occurs, one disposes of him or one thinks of a way to bring the fire back to the sex.”
“I see. Santo Kerne was doing duty as the fire,” Bea said.
“My other lover was a very good man, and I quite enjoyed him. In all respects. His company in and out of bed was good, and I didn’t wish to lose it. But for me to continue to be with him?to please him sexually and to be pleased by him in turn?I needed a second lover, a secret lover. Santo was that.”
“Do all these lovers of yours know about each other?” Havers asked.
“They would hardly be secret if they did.” Aldara moved from the shovel to the rake. Her boots, Bea saw, were becoming encrusted with manure. They looked expensive and would bear the scent of animal faeces for months. She wondered the other woman didn’t care about that. “Santo knew, naturally. He had to know in order to understand the…I suppose I could call them the rules. But the other…No. It was essential that the other never know.”
“Because he wouldn’t have liked it?”
“Oh that, of course. But more than that, because secrecy is the key to excitement and excitement is the key to fire.”
“I notice you’ve been referring to the other bloke in the past tense. Was not is. Why would that be?”
Here Aldara hesitated, as if she realised what her answer was going to connote to the police.
Bea said, “May we assume the past is just that?”
“Finito,” Havers added in case Aldara didn’t get the meaning.