A Great Deliverance - By Elizabeth George Page 0,70

from her brow. Her fingers left a misty streak on her skin. She rubbed it off impatiently. "It happened quite slowly, Inspector. First she was just filled out - chubby, I suppose. Then she was...what you saw today."

The shudder that passed through her body spoke volumes. And as if she realised what her reaction implied, she went on. "That's horrible of me, isn't it? I have rather a despicable aversion to ugliness. Frankly, I don't much like that about myself."

"But you didn't answer me."

"I didn't? What did you ask?"

"How you knew I'd seen Roberta."

A dull flash crept into Stepha's cheeks. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other and looked so ill-at-ease that Lynley was sorry he had pressed her.

"It doesn't matter," he said.

"It's just that...you look a bit different than you did this morning. More weighted down.

And there are lines at the corners of your mouth." The flush deepened on her beautiful skin.

"They weren't there before."

"I see."

"So I wondered if you'd seen her."

"But you knew without asking."

"Yes, I suppose I did. And I wondered how you can bear to look at the ugliness of other people's lives as you do."

"I've done it for some years. One gets used to it, Stepha." The big man strangled as he sat at his desk, the dirty girl dead with the needle in her arm, the savage mutilation of a young man's corpse. Did one ever really get used to man's dark side?

Her eyes met his with surprising directness. "But surely it must be like looking at hell."

"A bit."

"Then have you never wanted to run from it? Run away madly in the other direction?

Never? Not once?"

"One can't run forever."

She turned from him, moving her eyes back to the window. "I can," she murmured.

A sharp rap on the door caused Barbara to stub out her third cigarette. She looked around in a panic, opened the window, and rushed to the lavatory, where she flushed the incriminating evidence down the toilet. A second rap and Lynley's voice called her name.

She went to the door. He hesitated, glancing over her shoulder curiously before he spoke.

"Ah, Havers," he said. "Apparently Miss Odell has seen fit to find us a more edible repast this evening. She's booked us into Keldale Hall." He consulted his watch. "In an hour."

"What?" Barbara cried out in involuntary horror. "I haven't...I can't...I don't think..."

Lynley raised an eyebrow. "Please don't go all Helen on me and say you've nothing to wear, Havers."

"But I haven't!" she protested. "You go alone. I'll get something at the Dove and Whistle."

"Considering your reaction to last night's fare, do you think that's wise?"

A blow below the belt. Blast him. "I don't care much for chicken. I never have."

"Wonderful. I understand the cook at the hall is a bit of a gourmet. I doubt if anything with feathers will even put in an appearance. Unless, of course, Hannah's waiting on tables."

"But I simply can't - "

"It's an order, Havers. In an hour." He turned on his heel.

Damn him! She slammed the door loud enough to signal her displeasure. Wonderful!

What an evening to look forward to: fumbling aimlessly with sixteen pieces of silverware; wineglasses everywhere; waiters and waitresses removing knives and forks before one even had a chance to decide what to do with them. Chicken and peas at the Dove and Whistle sounded like heaven compared to that.

She stomped to the wardrobe and yanked it open. Divine. Now what shall it be for an evening of mingling elegantly with society? The brown tweed skirt and matching pullover? The jeans and hiking boots? What about the blue suit, to remind him of Helen? Ha! Who could ever remind him of Helen, with her impeccable wardrobe, her well-cut hair, her manicured hands, her lyrical voice?

She yanked a white wool shirtwaist from the wardrobe and tossed it onto the rumpled bed. It really was almost amusing. Would people actually think she was his date? Apollo taking Medusa to dine? How would he handle the stares and the gibes?

One hour later, as good as his word, he knocked on her door. She looked in the mirror, her stomach churning. Oh God, the dress was awful. She resembled a white-garbed barrel with legs. She jerked open the door and glared at him furiously. He was dressed to the absolute teeth.

"Do you always carry clothes like that around with you?" she demanded, incredulous.

"Just like the Boy Scouts." He smiled. "Shall we go?"

He escorted her gallantly down the stairs and into the night, where he