A Suitable Vengeance - By Elizabeth George Page 0,76
Sidney laughing together over a remark Lady Augusta made about Lynley's childhood; the Plymouth MP and the Reverend Mrs. Sweeney wandering in a maze of confusion in which he discussed the need for economic development and she responded with a dreamy reverie about bringing the film industry to Cornwall apparently in order to feature herself in a starring role; Mr.
Sweeney - when his eyes were not feasting upon his spouse - murmuring vague responses to the MP's wife, who was speaking about each of her grandchildren in turn. Only Peter and Sasha kept their voices low, their heads together, their attention on each other. Thus the company moved smoothly towards the end of the meal. This was heralded by the presentation of the pudding, a flaming concoction that looked as if its intended purpose was to conclude the dinner by means of a conflagration. When it had been duly served and devoured, Lynley got to his feet. He brushed back his hair in a boyish gesture.
"You know this already," he said. "But I'd like to make it official tonight by saying that Deborah and I shall marry in December." He touched her bright hair lightly as a murmur of congratulations rose and fell. "What you don't know, however, because we only decided late this afternoon, is that we'll be coming home permanently to Cornwall then.
To make our life here - have our children grow up here - with you." It was an announcement which, considering the reaction, no one had been prepared to hear. Least of all had St. James expected it. He had an impression only of a general cry of surprise and then a series of images played quickly before him: Lady Asherton saying her son's name and nothing more; Trenarrow turning abruptly to Lynley's mother; Deborah pressing her cheek to Lynley's hand in a movement so quick it might have gone unnoticed; and then Cotter studying St. James with an expression whose meaning was unmistakable. He's expected this all along, St. James thought. There was no time to dwell upon what it would mean - how it would feel - to have Deborah nearly three hundred miles away from the home she'd known all her life. For champagne glasses had been distributed, and Mr. Sweeney was enthusiastically seizing the moment. He got to his feet, eager to be the first to embrace such welcome news. Only the Second Coming could have given him more pleasure. "Then I must say ..." Clumsily, he reached for his glass. "Do let me toast you both. To have you with us again, to have you home, to have you . . ."He relinquished the attempt to find an appropriate sentiment and merely raised his glass and burbled, "Simply wonderful," before he sat down. Other congratulations followed, and with them were voiced the inevitable questions about engagement and wedding and future life. The meal could have disintegrated at that point into one large display of bonhomie, but Peter Lynley put an end to the promise of that happening. He stood, holding his champagne glass at arm's length towards his brother. He waved it unevenly.
Only the shape of the glass prevented the wine from sloshing out.
"Then a toast," he said, drawing out the last word. He leaned one hand on Sasha's shoulder for support. She glanced furtively at Lynley and then said something in a low voice which Peter disregarded. "To the perfect brother," he announced. "Who has managed somehow after searching the world over - not to mention doing a fair degree of sampling the goods as he went. Right, Tommy? - to find the perfect woman with whom he can now have the perfect life. What a damned lucky fellow Lord Asherton is." He gulped his drink noisily and fell back into his chair. That cuts it, St. James thought. He looked to see how Lynley would handle the matter, but his eyes came to rest upon Deborah instead. Face pinched, she ducked her head. No matter that her humiliation was both unwarranted and unnecessary considering its source, the fact of it alone provided a spur. St. James pushed his own chair back and rose awkwardly. "The issue of perfection is always open to debate," he said. "I'm not eloquent enough to argue it here. I drink instead to Tommy - oldest of my friends - and to Deborah - dearest companion of my exile. My own life has been richer indeed for having had both of you part of it."