Without his wife's knowledge, he'd offered Nicola a special deal. He would pay to keep her—and pay her, more than she'd ever dreamed of being paid—in whatever situation she fancied for herself: a flat, a house, a hotel suite, a country cottage. He didn't care, just so long as she promised him that her time would be kept open solely for him. “I claimed that I didn't want to stand in a queue or book an appointment any longer,” Beattie explained. “But if I wanted her available to me at any hour, I had to place her in a position where she was free.”
The maisonette in Fulham gave her that position. And since Nicola always came to Sir Adrian and not the reverse, it was of little account to him that she asked to be allowed a flatmate as company for the periods of time when he didn't want her services. “That was fine with me,” he told them. “All I wanted was her to be available whenever I phoned. And for the first month that's what she was. Five or six days a week. Sometimes twice a day. She'd arrive within an hour of being paged. She'd stay as long as I wanted her to be here. The arrangement worked well.”
“But then she returned to Derbyshire. Why?”
“She claimed that she needed to honour a commitment to work for a solicitor up there, that she'd be gone only for the summer. I was a fool in love, but not so much of a fool as to believe that. I told her I wouldn't go on paying for the Fulham place if she wasn't going to be in town for me.”
“But she went anyway. She was willing to risk losing what she had from you. What does that suggest?”
“The obvious. I knew that if she was returning to Derbyshire despite what I was paying her—and providing her—to be here in London, there had to be a reason and the reason was money. Someone there was paying her more than I was. Which meant, of course, another man.”
“The solicitor.”
“I accused her. She denied it. And I have to admit that an ordinary solicitor couldn't have afforded her, not without an independent source of income. So it was someone else. But she wouldn't name him no matter what I threatened. ‘It's only for the summer,’ she kept saying. And I kept bellowing, ‘I don't bloody care.’”
“You quarreled.”
“Bitterly. I withdrew my support. I knew she'd have to go back to the escort service—or perhaps even to the street—if she wanted to keep the maisonette when she returned to London, and I was betting that she wouldn't want to do that. But I bet wrong. She left me anyway. And I lasted four days before I was on the phone, ready to give her anything to return to me. More money. A house. God, even my name.”
“But she wouldn't return.”
“She didn't mind being on the street, she said. Casually, this was. As if I'd asked her how she was finding Derbyshire. ‘We've got cards printed and Vi's are already out there,’ she said. ‘Mine'll be out there as well when I get back to town. I have no hard feelings about what's happened between you and me, Ady. And anyway, Vi says the phone's ringing day and night, so we'll be fine.’”
“Did you believe her?”
“I accused her of trying to drive me mad. I railed. Then I apologised. Then she played up to me on the phone. Then I wanted her desperately and couldn't bear to think of what she was giving him, whoever he was. Then I railed at her again. Stupid. Bloody stupid. But I was desperate to have her back. I would have done anything—” He stopped, seeming to realise how his words could be interpreted.
Lynley said, “On Tuesday night, Sir Adrian?”
“Inspector, I didn't kill Nikki. I couldn't have harmed her. I haven't even seen her since June. I'd hardly be standing here telling you all this if I'd … I couldn't have hurt her.”
“Your club's name?”
“Brooks s. I met a colleague there for dinner on Tuesday. He'll confirm, I dare say. But, my God, you won't tell him that I … No one knows, Inspector. It's something that's between Chloe and me.”
And anyone Nicola Maiden chose to tell, Lynley thought. What would it mean to Sir Adrian Beattie to have his most closely guarded secret held over his head like Damocles’ sword? What would he do if threatened with exposure?
“Did Nicola ever introduce you to her flatmate?”
“Once, yes. When I gave her the keys to the maisonette.”
“So Vi Nevin, the flatmate, knew about the arrangement?”
“Perhaps. I don't know.”
But why even take the risk of someone knowing? Lynley wondered. Why allow a flatmate into the mix and face the dangers inherent in an outsider's having knowledge of a sexual proclivity that could cause such humiliation to a man in Beattie's position?
Beattie himself seemed to read the questions in Lynley's eyes. He said, “Do you know what it feels like to be that desperate for a woman? So desperate that you'll agree to anything, do anything to have her? That's what it was like.”
“What about Terry Cole? How did he fit in?”
“I don't know a Terry Cole.”
Lynley tried to gauge the level of veracity in the statement. He couldn't do so. Beattie was too good at maintaining his expression of guilelessness. But that alone increased Lynley's suspicion.