100. George Hogg’s Philosophy of Insurance. Hogg spoke frequently about this theory, it was close to his heart. ‘To the Savage in the jungle,’ he would say, Ho our Savage Precursors, all life was a lottery. All his endeavours were hazardous in the extreme. His life was literally one big continuous gamble. But times have changed, civilization has arrived and society has developed, and as society develops and civilization marches forward this element of chance, of hazard, is steadily eliminated from the human condition.’ At this point he would pause, look around, and say, Anyone here foolish enough to believe that?… No, my friends, life is not made that way, life does not run smoothly along tracks that we have laid down. We all know, deep in the secret places of our souls, that our Savage Precursors had got it right. However much we seem to have it under control, to have every eventuality covered, all risks taken into account, life will come up with something that, as the good book says, “disturbs all anticipations”. And this is what we, the loss adjusters, embody. This is our vocation, our métier, our calling: we exist for one reason alone – to “disturb all anticipations”.’
The Book of Transfiguration
Lorimer’s mood was still dark and unsettled as he drove to Chalk Farm and parked his car not far from Flavia’s house. He felt a profound need to see her again, even clandestinely, the whole Dupree business reminding him of that first day, that first magical, dream-like glimpse. It was as if the sight of the flesh and blood Flavia would confirm his sanity somehow, reassure him that all was not skewed and awry in his increasingly demented existence.
He parked thirty yards down the street from her front door and settled down, with thudding heart, to wait. The street was avenued with lime trees and the ageing, flaking, psoriasistic stucco houses on either side were built on a grand scale, with large bow windows, porches and balustraded flights of steps up from the street, but were now all sub-divided into bedsits, flats or maisonettes, judging from the crowded ladders of bell-pushes ranked beside the doors.
The clouds had obliterated the morning’s fresh blue sky and now spots of rain began to tap against the windscreen as he hunched down in his seat, arms folded, and concentrated on feeling sorry for himself for a while. It was all getting out of hand: Torquil, the Rintoul attack, Hogg’s suspicions and now this hellish accusation from Mrs Vernon. Even when the coroner had returned her verdict, Lorimer thought he could detect a look of unpleasant doubt in her eye… And Flavia, what was going on – meeting him, flirting, kissing him? But that kiss outside the restaurant was different, of a different order, suggesting profounder change.
He saw her, an hour and a half later, coming up the hill from the tube station, an umbrella up, wearing a chocolate-brown fun fur, a plastic shopping bag in one hand. He let her pass by the car before stepping out and calling her name.
‘Flavia.’
She turned, surprised. ‘Lorimer, what’re you doing here?’
‘Sorry, I just had to see you. I’ve had the most shocking –’
‘You’ve got to go, you’ve got to go,’ she said in a panicky voice, glancing over her shoulder at the house. ‘He’s in there.’
‘Who?’
‘Gilbert, of course. If he sees you he’ll go berserk.’
‘Why? He seemed fine in the café.’
Flavia stepped behind a lime tree so she couldn’t be seen from the windows of her house. She made an apologetic face.
‘Because I told him something which, on sober reflection, I probably shouldn’t have.’
‘Like what?’
‘That we were having an affair.’
‘Jesus Christ.’
‘He found your number, on the scrap of paper. Rang it and got your answering machine. He’s a manically jealous sort of person.’
‘Why did you tell him, then? For God’s sake –’
‘Because I wanted to hurt him. He was being vile, cruel, and I just sort of blurted it out.’
She paused, her face shadowed, as if she’d never considered the full consequences of her daring lie.
‘I suppose it was a bit risky’ Then she smiled at him, radiantly. ‘Do you suppose it’s because I really do want to have an affair with you, Lorimer?’
He swallowed. He was breathing faster. He clenched and unclenched his fists – what did one say in response to that sort of remark?
‘Flavia – I love you.’ He did not know what made him utter the fateful words, make that timeless declaration