Midnight at Marble Arch - By Anne Perry Page 0,124

to.” Bower looked genuinely distressed.

“I understand,” Quixwood said softly. “If you please, let us get it over with. Allow me to answer the question you are leading toward too delicately.” He straightened his shoulders with an effort. “Yes, looking back with hindsight, it is perfectly possible that my wife was having an affair with Alban Hythe. He is a charming man and has many interests Catherine shared—interests I myself had not time to indulge in. She may have hungered for someone with whom to discuss them. It never occurred to me at the time. I trusted her absolutely. She had the freedom to come and go as she wished. We—we did not have children, and I asked no social duties of her except the occasional dinner party.”

Vespasia could feel a wave of sympathy for him emanating in the courtroom. The jury was all but overcome by emotion.

Quixwood took a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. “Perhaps I should have asked more of her; then she would not have …” He was unable to complete the thought aloud.

Bower did not press him.

“We have heard that you were attending a function at the Spanish Embassy when the police informed you of Mrs. Quixwood’s death,” Bower continued.

“Yes,” Quixwood agreed. “At the Spanish Embassy. I was in conversation with Lord Narraway when I was told … told that Catherine had been … attacked.”

There was a shudder of horror in the gallery, a sigh. Two or three women let out little moans of pity and grief.

“Quite so.” Bower nodded. “I regret raising the question, had you noticed any change in Mrs. Quixwood’s behavior over the last few months before the incident? Was she absentminded? Did she wear any very attractive new clothes? Did she seem to take more than the usual care over her appearance? Was she evasive about where she had been or whom she had met?”

Quixwood smiled bleakly and the pain in his face was evident.

“You are asking me if she was having a love affair. The answer is that I noticed nothing at the time. Perhaps I should have, but I deal in major finance, enormous sums of money, all of which belong to other people. It is a great responsibility. I paid her too little attention.” He blinked several times and took a moment to regain control of his grief.

Quixwood had said nothing against Hythe whatever, and yet at this moment Vespasia knew the jury would have convicted him without even retiring to debate the issue. The anger and the pain in their faces testified to it more vividly than words. Symington would have to be more than a genius, he would need to be a magician to turn this tide.

“Mr. Quixwood, I will not harrow you by asking you to describe for us your feelings as you traveled back home, or when you saw your wife’s body broken and bleeding on the floor, hideously violated,” Bower said gravely.

“Please tell the jury, Mr. Quixwood—briefly, if it is easier for you—what you yourself did after that terrible night, in order to assist the investigation. As much as you can recall. I am sure the Court appreciates that it has been a nightmare for you, one in which your memory may be imperfect.”

Vespasia was aware of the skill of the question, the careful making of room for error. It would be almost impossible now for Symington, who was furiously scribbling notes to himself, to trip him up. Was that on purpose because Bower feared Quixwood would make errors? Or was it a usual precaution he would have taken with anyone?

Quixwood hesitated, as if arranging his thoughts, then began. His voice was low and very clear, his eyes downcast. He looked like a man controlling terrible pain.

“That night, as I recall, I asked Lord Narraway to give me any help he could personally. He was very gracious, and seemed to me to care deeply, both for justice in general, and in this case in particular. I knew of him, of course, when he was head of Special Branch, but I found him in this instance a man of remarkable compassion. He seemed genuinely appalled at the savagery of the crime, and moved to do whatever he could to find out who was guilty. I’m not sure if I ever told him how much his support meant to me.”

There was another murmur of approval around the gallery and a few of the jurors smiled.

Vespasia felt the bitterness of the irony, that Quixwood