Midnight at Marble Arch - By Anne Perry Page 0,116
cut across him, quite aware of what he was doing. He was past caring for the niceties.
“Slandering Neville Forsbrook’s name will not help.” The Home Secretary was growing angrier as the exchange slipped out of his control. “One injustice does not help another. And if you imagine it will, you are the wrong man to have replaced Narraway. I didn’t like the man, but by God, he had better judgment than this!”
“Actually, sir, my inquiries about Neville Forsbrook’s past behavior had nothing whatever to do with the death of Angeles Castelbranco,” Pitt said very carefully, measuring every word. “The Portuguese ambassador will become aware of it only in the future, if it should prove relevant. Which is why I considered it prudent, as well as morally right, to inquire now.”
The Home Secretary glared at him. “What the devil do you mean? Explain yourself,” he demanded.
“Another young woman was raped, and survived the assault, although she was injured,” Pitt replied, fixing his gaze on the Home Secretary’s eyes. “The family does not wish to make a complaint, for the girl’s sake. She is only seventeen. It would ruin her socially, prevent her from making a fortunate marriage, and ensure that for the rest of her life this repulsive violation follows her everywhere.”
The Home Secretary stared at him, aghast. “And what has this to do with Forsbrook?” It was clear in his face that he knew what Pitt was going to say. He had tensed, as if anticipating a physical blow.
“She named Neville Forsbrook as her rapist,” Pitt said. “She described the circumstances, the time, and the place. Naturally I had it looked into. She refused to tell me the house in which it happened, but it was very easy to find out. There were not so many balls held in London that night. Her attendance was not secret, nor was that of Forsbrook. The rooms, the paintings, the other details were simple to ascertain.”
The Home Secretary let out his breath slowly.
“I see. And what is it you imagine this will accomplish? Let alone what it has to do with Special Branch?” he asked.
Pitt raised his eyebrows. “I would like to find out if Neville Forsbrook raped Angeles Castelbranco and thus brought about her death. I think that is the concern of Special Branch, but if you think the Foreign Office better equipped to handle the investigation, I shall be delighted to turn over all the facts that I have so far obtained.”
“Don’t be so damned impertinent, sir!” the Home Secretary snapped. Then he leaned back in his chair and stared at Pitt, still standing on the carpet in front of the desk, towering over him. “Be careful! Pelham Forsbrook is a very powerful man indeed. If you malign his son and you cannot prove it, he’ll have your job, and I can’t save you. Not that I shall try.”
Pitt felt the cold seep through him as if he were sinking into icy water. “I shall be very careful, sir,” he said in little more than a whisper. “But the man has to be stopped. The next victim could be your daughter.”
“Granddaughter,” the Home Secretary corrected him bitterly. “Again, be careful!”
“Yes, sir.”
LATE IN THE AFTERNOON Pitt went again to the Portuguese Embassy. He must see Castelbranco and tell him the latest news, as he had promised he would.
When he reached the embassy, Rafael received him immediately in the quiet study. Pitt had considered what he was going to say, and knew perfectly well what it might cost him, but he had no doubt as to what it would cost him if he did not.
“You have news,” Castelbranco said softly. “I can see it in your face. What has happened?” There was anxiety in his voice and his eyes looked Pitt up and down.
His gentle tone stiffened Pitt’s resolve. He had gained a profound regard for the Portuguese ambassador over the last weeks, even a kind of affection. In many people grief shows more vividly their weaknesses; it shakes the fault lines in their character. In Castelbranco, though, it had marked more profoundly his strengths. There was a fortitude in him that was rare.
“It is good of you to come,” the ambassador said quietly. “May I offer you some refreshment? I have whisky, if you wish it, but in view of the pleasantness of the weather, you might prefer something lighter? I have been drinking a concoction my wife enjoys, a mixture of fruit juices.” He stood still, waiting for Pitt’s answer.