house itself. But the illumination it provided was enough to highlight a chair, a chest of drawers, and a bed. Upon this bed, Isabelle Ardery sprawled. She was breathing deeply, in the manner of someone who hasn't had a good night's sleep in days. He was loath to awaken her, and he considered writing a note and leaving her in peace. But when he walked round the bed to ease open the window in order to give the poor woman a bit of fresh air, he saw the glint of a bottle on the floor, and he understood from this that she was not asleep at all as one would think of sleep. Rather, she was drunk.
"Christ," he muttered. "Damn fool woman." He sat on the bed. He heaved her upward.
She groaned. Her eyes fluttered open, then closed.
"Isabelle," he said. "Isabelle."
"How'd you ge' in, eh?" She squinted at him, then closed her eyes again. "Hey, 'm a po lice officer, you." Her head flopped against him. "I'll ring some ...someone ...I'll do ...'f you don't leave."
"Get up," Lynley told her. "Isabelle, get up. I must speak with you."
"Done speaking." Her hand reached up to pat his cheek although she didn't look at him, so she missed her mark and hit his ear instead. "Finished. He said anyways and ..." She seemed to fall back into a stupor.
Lynley blew out a breath. He tried to remember when he'd last seen anyone as drunk as this, but he couldn't. She needed a purgative of some sort, or a pot of coffee, or something. But first she needed to be conscious enough to swallow, and there seemed to be only one way to manage that.
He pulled her to her feet. It was impossible, he knew, for him to carry her from the room in the fashion of a cinematic hero. She was virtually his own size, she was dead weight, and there was not enough room to manoeuvre her into position anyway, even if he'd been able to load her fireman style over his shoulder. So he had to drag her ingloriously from the bed and just as ingloriously into the bathroom. There he found no tub but only a narrow stall shower, which was fine by him. He propped her into this fully clothed and turned on the water. Despite the age of the house, the water pressure was excellent and the spray hit Isabelle directly in the face.
She shrieked. She flailed her arms. "Wha' the hell ...," she cried out and then seemed to see him and recognise him for the first time. "My God!" She clutched her arms round her body as if in the expectation that she would find herself naked. Finding herself instead fully clothed - down to her shoes - she said, "Oh nooooo!"
"I see I have your attention at last," Lynley told her dryly. "Stay in here till you sober up sufficiently to speak in coherent sentences. I'm going to make some coffee."
He left her. He went back to the kitchen and began a search. He found a coffee press along with an electric kettle and everything else he needed. He spooned a copious amount of coffee into the press and filled the kettle with water. He plugged in its flex. By the time the coffee was ready and he'd put mugs, milk, and sugar on the table - along with two pieces of toast which he buttered and cut into neat triangles - Isabelle had emerged from the bathroom.
Her sodden clothing removed, she was wearing a toweling dressing gown, her feet were bare, and her hair clung wetly to her skull. She stood at the door to the kitchen and observed him.
"My shoes," she said, "are ruined."
"Hmm," he replied. "I daresay they are."
"My watch wasn't waterproof either, Thomas."
"An unfortunate oversight when it was purchased."
"How did you get in?"
"Your door was unlocked. Also an unfortunate oversight, by the way. Are you sober, Isabelle?"
"More or less."
"Coffee, then. And toast." He went to the doorway and took her arm.
She shook him off. "I can bloody walk," she snapped.
"We've made progress, then."
She moved with some care to the table, where she sat. He poured coffee into both the mugs and pushed hers towards her, along with the toast. She made a moue of distaste at the food and shook her head. He said, "Refusal is not an option. Consider it medicinal."
"I'll be sick." She was speaking with the same kind of care she'd used in moving from the doorway