‘Oh, God!’ Rhia gazed at her sister in growing contempt. ‘I thought you said you panicked.’
‘I did. I did.’ Valentina’s chest was heaving. ‘Rhia, you don’t know what I felt like, sitting there, in the dark, knowing Glyn could be dead!’
Rhia expelled her breath weakly. ‘You realise you could be guilty of manslaughter, don’t you?’ she cried. ‘Oh, Val, how could you? How could you?’
Valentina thrust her hands into the pockets of her anorak, and looked about her a little sullenly now. ‘It’s all right for you to talk,’ she muttered. ‘You don’t ever have these kind of problems. Your life is so—so dull! My God, Rhia, there are times when I wonder if you’ve ever even made it with anyone! Not Simon, I’m sure. Supercilious prig!’
‘Val!’ Rhia’s hand on her arm silenced her sister, but she still looked mutinous. ‘You’re not going to gain my sympathy by insulting Simon Travis. He’s been a good friend to me, and—and I’m very fond of him. I’m just wondering how he’d react to all this.’
‘You won’t tell him?’ For a moment, Valentina’s face was anxious, but then, recognising the impatience in her sister’s eyes, she relaxed again. ‘Fond,’ she muttered, as if by speaking about Rhia’s relationships, she could eliminate her own. ‘What a god-awful word to use about the man in your life!’
Rhia ignored this, concentrating on what Valentina had just told her. At least her sister had not been joking. This was more serious than any scrape Val had got herself into before. And the awful thing was, Rhia didn’t honestly know how to advise her. Oh, it was a simple enough choice between what was right and what was wrong; but as the minutes passed and logic took the place of emotion, Rhia acknowledged her own uncertainty in the face of subsequent events. What good would it do to make Val confess? Would it help Glyn’s recovery? The answer was evidently, no, and while allowing her sister to escape the justice of her culpability was wrong, if Glyn recovered, her conviction could injure both of them.
Rhia knew she was acting as devil’s advocate, that nothing could alter the fact that Val had driven Glyn’s car both illegally and carelessly; and that, if he died, she was responsible. But if he didn’t die, if he lived, what possible good could be gained from exposing her sister to the process of law? Valentina was irresponsible and reckless, but surely the experience alone would serve as sufficient punishment, and teach her never to do such a crazy thing again.
‘Do you want another drink?’
Valentina was watching her from beneath lowered lids, and Rhia shook her head. ‘No, thanks,’ she said, steadying herself for what she had to say. ‘I’ve got to be leaving soon.’
Valentina nodded, then she clutched her sister’s sleeve. ‘Rhia?’
‘How do you know Glyn’s still unconscious? Did you phone the hospital?’
‘No.’ Valentina gave a negative reply. ‘They phoned me.’
‘They phoned you?’ Rhia’s brows arched. ‘But——’
Valentina hunched her shoulders. ‘It was my handbag. I—I left my handbag in the car.’
‘Val!’
Valentina sniffed. ‘That’s why I had to see you, don’t you see? I—I want you to tell them that I spent the night at the flat.’
Rhia gulped. ‘But—why?’ She looked blank. ‘What good will that do?’
‘Glyn’s flat isn’t far from the hospital. Like I said before, he could have dropped me and been on his way back to his flat.’
‘Dropped you—at the flat?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why? Why not at the hospital?’
Valentina sighed impatiently. ‘Rhia, I’ve got to have an alibi, don’t you see? I told you what happened. I—I walked the streets for hours. I didn’t go back to the hostel until this morning. That’s when I discovered they’d been—trying to find me.’
Now Rhia understood everything. Valentina hadn’t wanted to confide in her. On the contrary, had she not made the mistake of leaving her handbag in the car, she, Rhia, might never have learned of Val’s part in the affair. But now she was cornered and, as usual, she expected Rhia to provide a solution.
‘So what did you say?’ Rhia asked now, her voice cooler than before.
‘I told them I’d been with you,’ cried Valentina fiercely. ‘What else could I say?’
Rhia was angry. ‘So all this is just academic. You’re not really asking for my help, you’re telling me I’ve got to give it.’
‘Rhia, it’s not like that.’
‘Then what is it like?’
‘Rhia, you have no idea how I felt. I had to think of something, some reason why I hadn’t spent the night at the nurses’ home. I couldn’t tell them the truth, could I?’
Rhia was appalled. ‘There are times, Val——’
‘I know, I know.’ Valentina was sulky. ‘For heaven’s sake, it’s only a little thing.’
‘A little thing?’ Rhia clenched her fists. ‘If Glyn dies, you’ll have made me an accessory to manslaughter!’
‘He won’t die——’
‘I hope not.’ Rhia took a deep breath. ‘Because if he does, Val, I have no intention of standing by and letting you get away scot-free!’
Back at her desk that afternoon, Rhia found it incredibly difficult to concentrate. Her mind buzzed with the things Valentina had told her. She could hardly believe her sister could have got herself into such a mess, and the implications were all bad. At times like this, she wondered how she and Val could have the same parents and yet be so different. It made her doubt her own assessment of her sister, and she realised that since Val left school, a gulf had opened between them that she could never bridge.
Her immediate boss, George Wyatt, was not particularly sympathetic to his secretary’s loss of concentration. He was a man in late middle age, with all the accompanying afflictions of the successful business-man: a short temper, an expanding girth, and an ulcer. Generally, he and Rhia worked together very well, she competent and independent, well able to handle clients alone, if necessary, and adept at anticipating her employer’s every whim. She attended to his engagements, pacified his wife on occasion, and handed him his tablets when his ulcer was playing up; but this afternoon she was self-absorbed and absentminded, and Mr Wyatt lost no time in giving her the edge of his impatience.
‘Rhia, are you deliberately trying to annoy me?’ he demanded, pointing to the tray on his desk. ‘I’ve asked you twice to hand me the Macdonald file, and you’ve simple ignored me!’
‘I’m sorry, Mr Wyatt.’ Rhia was flushed and apologetic. ‘I’m afraid—I—er—I’ve got a bit of a headache, that’s all.’
‘I wish that was all I had,’ retorted George Wyatt shortly. ‘This
