Embankment a block away. The usual roar of passing cars was considerably muted, and the occasional horn, honking in a burst of temper, explained why.
Joseph Cotter, who played the unusual dual role of manservant and father-in-law in St. James' life, answered the door to Barbara's knock. He was, she guessed, no older than fifty, a balding man of short, solid physique, so physically unlike his willowy daughter that for some time after she had first met Deborah St. James, Barbara had had no idea that she was even related to this man. He was carrying a coffee service on a silver tray and doing his best to avoid trampling a small, long-haired dachshund and a plump grey cat who were vying for attention at his feet. All of them threw grotesquely shaped shadows against the dark panelling on the wall.
"Off wi' you, Peach! Alaska!" he said, before he turned his ruddy face to greet Barbara. The animals retreated a respectable six inches. "Come in, Miss...Sergeant. Mr. St. James is in the study." He looked Barbara over critically. "'Ave you eaten yet, young lady? Those two 'ave only finished just now. Let me get you a bite in a tick, shall I?"
"Thank you, Mr. Cotter. I could do with something. I haven't had a thing since this morning, I'm afraid."
Cotter shook his head. "Police," he said, in brief and eloquent disapproval. "You just wait in 'ere, miss. I'll fix you up something nice."
He knocked once on the door at the foot of the stairs and without waiting for a response, swung it open. Barbara followed him into St. James' study, a room of tall, crowded bookshelves, scores of photographs, and intellectual jumble, one of the most pleasant locations in the Cheyne Row house.
A fire had been lit, and the room's mixed odours of leather and brandy formed a comfortable redolence, not unlike that one might find in a gentleman's club. St. James occupied a chair by the hearth, his bad leg resting upon a worn ottoman, while across from him, Lady Helen Clyde was curled into a corner of the couch. They were sitting quietly, in the manner of an old married couple or of friends too close to need the bridge of conversation.
"'Ere's the sergeant now, Mr. St. James," Cotter said, bustling forward with the coffee, which he set down on a low table in front of the fire. Flames there cast a glow against the porcelain, flickered like moving gold in a refl ection on the tray. "An' she's not 'ad a bite to eat, so I'll see to that at once if you'll do the coffee on your own."
"I think we can manage that without disgracing you more than two or three times, Cotter. And if there's any chocolate cake left, would you cut another piece for Lady Helen? She's longing to have one, but you know how she is. Far too well bred to ask for more."
"He's lying as usual," Lady Helen interjected. "It's for himself but he knows how you'll disapprove."
Cotter looked from one to the other, undeceived by their exchange. "Two pieces of chocolate cake," he said meaningfully. "An' a meal for the sergeant as well." Flicking at the arm of his black jacket, he left the room.
"You look about done in," St. James said to Barbara when Cotter was gone.
"We all look done in," Lady Helen added. "Coffee, Barbara?"
"At least ten cups," she replied. She tugged off her coat and knit cap, tossed them down on the couch, and walked to the fire to thaw out her numb fingers. "It's snowing."
Lady Helen shuddered. "After this past weekend, those are the last two words I look forward to hearing." She handed St. James a cup of coffee and poured out two more. "I do hope your day was more productive than mine, Barbara. After spending five hours exploring Geoffrey Rintoul's past, I've begun to feel as though I'm working for one of those committees in the Vatican who recommend candidates for canonisation." She smiled at St. James. "Can you bear to hear it all again?"
"I long to," he replied. "It allows me to examine my own disreputable past and feel suitable guilt over it."
"As well you should." Lady Helen returned to the couch, shaking back a few feathery strands of hair that fell against her cheek. She slipped off her shoes, curled her legs underneath her, and sipped her coffee.
Even in exhaustion, she was graceful, Barbara noticed. Utterly confi dent. Completely at ease. Being in