he?’ Alex was curt. He didn’t much care what George thought. The fact was, his brother found it a damn sight easier being tough with a woman than he ever did with a man. ‘Well, if you’ve heard that she and I exchanged a few words at the college a week ago, forget it. We both said a lot of things we probably shouldn’t have. And, if she is Tony’s wife—widow—–’
‘Dad says the marriage certificate is authentic.’
‘—then I guess I have to find out what she intends to do, don’t I?’
Nick nodded again. ‘I guess so.’
‘And—whether she had any idea what Tony—–’
Nick shrugged. ‘Do you think she’d tell you? Even if she knew?’
‘She has to talk to someone,’ said Alex flatly, as the image of a slim, startlingly beautiful woman, with silvery blonde hair, flashed across his mind. ‘Come on, Nico, do you know where she’s gone or don’t you?’
‘They might know,’ answered Nick obliquely, gesturing towards a group of young people who were just dispersing from the graveside. ‘They’re students—from the university. They all came down from Yorkshire this morning.’
Alex brought the Mercedes to a halt at the kerb, but although he switched off the engine he didn’t immediately get out of the car. He was tired, he thought wearily, gazing at the lace-curtained windows of the small semi. Bone-tired, and in no mood to conduct any kind of interview. But it had to be done. From what he could gather, Linda was planning on going back to the university in a couple of days. To take her exams, if the students he had spoken to could be believed. How she could think of taking exams in the present circumstances was beyond his comprehension. But if that was what she intended to do, the sooner he spoke to her the better, before time, and his resentment, got in the way.
Not that that was the only reason he had come here tonight, he conceded, hunching his shoulders against an unwilling tide of emotion. He hadn’t left his brother to make his excuses to the rest of the family just because he needed to speak to his daughter-in-law. It was the woman who had accompanied her he needed to see. Forgive me, Tony, he prayed, but his confrontation with Elizabeth Ryan was long overdue.
He glanced at his watch. It was nearly half-past six, but he was surprised to find it was still so early. A whole lifetime seemed to have passed since he’d seen her in the churchyard earlier that afternoon. Since then, he had had only one objective. To see her, and tell her what he thought of her.
He knew his family and friends, his business acquaintances, and the members of his household staff, all thought grief was responsible for the unnatural air of optimism he had adopted throughout the reception that had followed the burial. And perhaps it was. Conversely, during the past week, he had thought of little else but Tony, and the guilt he felt at not being there when his son might have needed him most. He had gone around in a daze, hardly aware of what he was doing. All through the police enquiries, and the inquest that followed, he had felt as if he was living some awful nightmare. Only when he’d spoken to Linda had he let his feelings show.
But now his mind felt active again. Ever since he’d seen Elizabeth Ryan in the churchyard, it had had a new focus. For a period, at least, he could use his anger towards her to blot out the pain of his son’s death. Thinking of her could keep him sane; give his mind time to heal.
Pulling the keys out of the ignition, he thrust open his door and got out of the car. He was still wearing the dark suit and black tie he had worn to the funeral, and his sombre clothes stood out in the quiet street, where most men were in their shirt-sleeves. The warm day had given way to an even warmer evening, and the usual activities of trimming hedges and mowing lawns were much in evidence here.
But not at Number Seventeen, he noticed, locking the car, and approaching the gate. Apart from an upstairs window being open, and a curtain billowing in the gap, the house looked deserted. They were probably all in the back, he decided. Linda, her parents, and—Elizabeth Ryan.
There was no bell, so he knocked on the panels, which were interleaved with strips of fluted glass. An encouragement for thieves, he thought, imagining how easy it would be to break the glass and unlock the door. Would he go that far, if they refused to speak to him?
Deciding his mind was wandering again, he rested one hand against the wall beside the door and knocked again. He should have let Spiro come with him, as George had wanted him to do, he thought. His burly chauffeur could be relied upon to handle most situations. It was only because he hadn’t wanted to intimidate the girl that he had insisted on coming here alone.
At last, when he was seriously considering all alternatives, he heard someone coming along the hall to the door. He could see a shadow through the glass panels, and his stomach clenched in sudden anticipation. What if it was Elizabeth Ryan? he thought, aware that he was not as in control as he’d imagined. God, why did the woman do this to him? He was as apprehensive now as he had been on his first date.
A key turned, the door opened—and his daughter-in-law was standing there, looking at him. ‘Why—Mr Thiarchos!’ she exclaimed, briefly too shocked to show any hostility. And then, less hospitably, ‘What do you want?’
She had been crying, Alex noticed. Her eyes were red, the lids white and puffy. In normal circumstances, he supposed she was a pretty girl. Attractive, anyway, with her wide, mobile mouth, and short brown curly hair. She wasn’t tall, and she was inclined to carry a little weight, but in something other than an oversized T-shirt and worn jeans he guessed she could look quite presentable.
‘I—we need to talk,’ Alex replied at last, looking beyond her into the narrow hall of the house. ‘May I come in?’
Her breath escaped in a rush. ‘Why?’
‘Because I’d prefer not to discuss my private affairs on the doorstep,’ declared Alex evenly, and she raised a protesting hand.
‘No, I don’t mean that. I mean—why do you want to talk to me? I—I don’t think we have anything to say to one another.’
‘Don’t you?’ Alex endeavoured to hold on to his patience. He had to remember that this had to have been almost as hard for her as it had been for him, and he couldn’t rush her. ‘Well, trust me, we do.’
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