A Great Deliverance - By Elizabeth George Page 0,93
sweethearts like me and the Bean, I'll bet. Remember it, Bean? A little you-know-what in the back of the Chevy. You got drive-in movies here?"
"I think that's a phenomenon endemic to your country," St. James replied.
"Say what?" Hank shrugged and fell back into his seat. Brandy splashed out onto his white trousers. He ignored it. "So you met in school?"
"No. We were formally introduced at my mother's house." St. James and Deborah exchanged innocent glances.
"Hey, she set you two up, I bet. The Bean and I met on a blind date, too! We got something in common, Si."
"Actually, I was born in his mother's house," Deborah added politely. "But I grew up mostly in Simon's house in London."
Hank's face fell. These are dangerous waters. "Did you catch that, Bean? You two related? Cousins or something?" Visions of haemophiliacs languishing behind closed doors clearly danced in his head.
"Not at all. My father is Simon's...well, what would you call Dad?" She turned to her husband. "Footman, servant, butler, valet?"
"Father-in-law," St. James replied.
"Did you catch that, Bean?" Hank said in awe. "This is some romance."
It was sudden, unexpected. She was trying to adjust. Lynley's was turning out to be such a multifaceted character, like a diamond cut by a master jeweller, that in every situation a new surface glittered that she had never seen before.
In love with Deborah. All right, certainly. That was understandable. But in love with the daughter of St. James's servant? Barbara struggled to assimilate the information. How had it ever happened to him? she wondered. He had always seemed to be in such complete control of his life and his destiny. How had he ever allowed it to happen?
She now saw his peculiar behaviour at St. James's wedding in an entirely new light. Not anxious to be rid of her as soon as he could, but anxious to be away from a source of considerable pain: the nuptial happiness of a woman he loved with another man.
At least she understood now why of the two men Deborah had chosen St. James.
Obviously, she'd never even been given a choice, for Lynley would never have allowed himself to speak to her of love. To do this would ultimately have led him to speak of marriage, and Lynley would never marry the daughter of a servant. It would shake his family tree to its very roots.
Yet he certainly must have wanted to make Deborah his wife, and how he must have suffered, watching St. James placidly break the ridiculous code of social behaviour that held Lynley immobilised.
What had St. James said?
Father-in-law. In four short syllables he had coolly wiped away every class distinction that might ever have separated him from his wife.
No wonder she loves him, Barbara realised suddenly.
She glanced warily at Lynley as they drove back to the lodge. What must it be like for him, knowing that he had lacked the courage to tell Deborah that he wanted her, knowing that he'd put his family and his title before his love? How he must hate himself! What regret he must feel! How horribly lonely he must really be!
He felt her looking at him. "You did nice work today, Sergeant. Especially at the hall.
Keeping Hank at bay for a quarter of an hour shall get you a citation, rest assured."
She felt absurdly warmed by the praise. "Thank you, sir. St. James agreed to help?"
"He did indeed."
He did indeed, Lynley thought. He let out his breath sharply in self-derision and tossed the file onto the bedside table. He dropped his spectacles on top of it, rubbed his eyes, and adjusted the pillows behind his back.
Deborah had spoken to her husband. Lynley could see that. They'd already discussed what his response would be when he was asked to assist. It was a simple one: "Of course, Tommy. What can I do?"
How like both of them! How like Deborah to have seen in their conversation that morning all of his concerns about the case. How like her to have paved the way for him to ask St.
James's help. And how like St. James to have agreed without hesitation, for any hesitation would have aroused the guilt that always lay like a dangerous, wounded tiger between them.
He leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes wearily, allowing his mind in its exhaustion to drift back to the past. He gave himself to the bewitching visions of a former happiness that remained unclouded by grief or pain.