He didn't want to look at her. He heard it all in her voice, so he bloody well didn't want to see it in her face. But he had to look her in the eye for the simple reason that she was Gina, and not just anyone.
So he looked. He saw not fear but rather concern. It was for him and he knew it and knowing it made him weak and desperate. He said, "Yes."
"You went to Holland?"
"Yes."
"Then why didn't you just tell them? Why did you say ... ? You weren't at work, Gordon."
"Cliff'll say I was."
"He'll lie for you?"
"If I ask him, yes. He doesn't like coppers."
"But why would you ask him? Why not just tell them the truth? Gordon, has something ...Is something ... ?"
He wanted her to approach him as she'd done before, early in the morning, in bed and then in the shower because although it was sex and only sex, it meant more than sex, and that was what he needed. How odd that he'd understand in that moment what Jemima had wanted from him and from the act. A lifting up and a carrying off and an end to that which could never be ended because it was imprisoned within and no simple conjoining of bodies could free it.
He set down the brush. Obviously, the dog was not going to obey - even for a brushing - and he felt like a fool for waiting for her. He said, "Geen," and Gina said in return,
"Tell me the truth."
He said, "If I told them I was in Holland, they'd take it further."
"What do you mean?"
"They'd want me to prove it."
"Can't you? Why would you not be able to prove ... ? Did you not go to Holland, Gordon?"
"Of course I went. But I tossed the ticket."
"But there're records. All sorts of records. And there's the hotel. And whoever you saw ...the farmer ...whoever ...Who grows the reeds? He'll be able to say ...You can phone the police and just tell them the truth and that'll be the end ..."
"It's easier like this."
"How on earth can it be easier to ask Cliff to lie? Because if he lies and if they find out that he lied ... ?"
Now she did look frightened, but frightened was something that he could deal with.
Frightened was something he understood. He approached her the way he approached the ponies in the paddock, one hand out and the other visible: No surprises here, Gina, nothing to fear.
He said, "Can you trust me on this? Do you trust me?"
"Of course I trust you. Why shouldn't I trust you? But I don't understand ..."
He touched her bare shoulder. "You're here with me. You've been with me ...what? A month? Longer? Are you thinking I would've hurt Jemima? Gone up to London? Found her wherever she was and stabbed her to death? Is that how I seem to you? That sort of bloke? He goes to London, murders a woman for no real reason since she's already long gone out of his life, then comes home and makes love to this woman, this woman right here, the centre of his whole flaming world? Why? Why? "
"Let me look at your eyes." She reached up and took off his dark glasses, which he hadn't removed on coming into the barn. She set them on the brushing table and then she put her hand on his cheek. He met her gaze. She looked at him and he didn't flinch and finally her expression softened. She kissed his cheek and then his closed eyelids. Then she kissed his mouth.
Then her own mouth opened, and her hands went down to his arse and she pulled him close.
After a moment, breathless, she said, "Take me right here," and he did so.
THEY FOUND ROBBIE Hastings between Vinney Ridge and Anderwood, which were two stopping-off spots on the Lyndhurst Road between Burley and the A35. They had reached him on his mobile, from a number that Gordon Jossie had given them. "He'll doubtless tell you the worst about me," Jossie said abruptly.
It was no easy matter to locate Jemima Hastings' brother since so many roads in the New Forest had convenient names but no signs. They finally discovered exactly where he was by chance, having stopped at a cottage where the road they were taking made a dogleg, only to discover it was called Anderwood Cottage. By heading farther along the route, they were