admiring them.
She didn't sit but rather walked to the window overlooking the street. A table sat beneath its sill and this held several framed photographs, among them a wedding picture of Lynley and his wife. Isabelle picked this up and studied it. It was casual and spontaneous, the bride and groom laughing and glowing amid a crowd of well-wishers.
She'd been very attractive, Isabelle saw. Not beautiful, porcelain, classic, doll-like, or whatever else one wished to call a woman on her wedding day. She was no English rose either.
She'd been dark haired and dark eyed, with an oval face and an appealing smile. She'd been fashionably slender as well. But weren't they always? Isabelle thought.
"Superintendent Ardery?"
She turned, the picture still in her hands. She'd expected grey-faced grief - perhaps a smoking jacket, a pipe in hand, and slippers on his feet or something equally and ludicrously Edwardian - but Thomas Lynley was quite tanned, his hair was lightened to blond by exposure to the sun, and he wore blue jeans and a polo shirt with three buttons and a collar.
She'd forgotten his eyes were brown. They were watching her without speculation. He'd sounded surprised when he'd said her name, but whatever else he might be feeling, he didn't reveal it.
She said, "Acting superintendent only. I've not been given the position permanently. I'm auditioning for it, for want of a better word. Much like you did."
"Ah." He entered the room. He was one of those men who always managed to move with an air of assurance, looking as if they'd fit in anywhere. She reckoned it had to do with his breeding. "There would be something of a difference," he said as he joined her at the table. "I wasn't auditioning, just helping out. I didn't much want the position."
"I've heard that, but I've found it difficult to believe."
"Why? Climbing the greasy pole never interested me."
"Climbing the greasy pole interests everyone, Inspector."
"Not if they don't want the responsibility, and certainly not if they've a marked preference for woodwork."
"Woodwork? What woodwork?"
He smiled faintly. "The kind one can fade into."
He looked at her hands, and she realised she was still holding his wedding picture. She set it back on the table and said, "Your wife was lovely, Thomas. I'm sorry about her death."
"Thank you," he said. And then with a perfect frankness that startled Isabelle, so appealing was it, "We were completely wrong for each other, which ultimately made us right for each other. I quite adored her."
"How lucky to love so much," she said.
"Yes." Like Charlie Denton, he offered her a drink, and again she demurred. Also like Charlie Denton, he gestured towards a seating area, but this one not before the fireplace. Rather, he chose two chairs on either side of a chessboard where a game was in progress. He glanced at this, frowned, and after a moment made a move with his white knight that captured one of the two black bishops. "Charlie only appears to be showing mercy," Lynley noted. "That means he's got something up his sleeve. What can I do for you, Superintendent? I'd like to think this is a social call, but I'm fairly sure it's not."
"There's been a murder in Abney Park. Stoke Newington. It's a cemetery, actually."
"The young woman. Yes. I heard the report on the radio news. You're investigating?
What's wrong with having a local team?"
"Hillier pulled strings. There's also another cock-up with SO5. I think it's more of the former and less of the latter, though. He wants to see how I compare with you. And with John Stewart if it comes to it."
"I see you've pegged Hillier already."
"Not a difficult task."
"He wears a lot on his sleeve, doesn't he?" Lynley smiled again. Isabelle noted, however, that the smile was more form than feeling. He was well guarded, as she supposed anyone would be in the same situation. She had no real cause to call upon him. He knew it and was waiting to hear the reason for her visit.
She said, "I'd like you to join the investigation, Thomas."
"I'm on leave," he replied.
"I realise that. But I'm hoping to persuade you to take a leave from your leave. At least for a few weeks."
"You're working with the team I worked with, aren't you?"
"I am. Stewart, Hale, Nkata ..."
"Barbara Havers as well?"
"Oh yes. The redoubtable Sergeant Havers is among us. Aside from her deplorable fashion sense, I've a feeling she's a very good cop."
"She is." He steepled his fingers. His gaze went to the chessboard