The Murder Room (28 page)

Dalgliesh said, “Mrs. Clutton told us that it was you who provided the can of petrol for the lawn-mower. When was that?”

“In September, about the time of the last grass-cutting. Ryan had run out of petrol and I said I'd bring in a can to save the cost of delivery. It was never used. The machine had been malfunctioning for some time and the boy had absolutely no skill in maintaining it, let alone repairing it. I came to the conclusion it had to be replaced. In the meantime Ryan used the manual lawn-mower. The can of petrol was left in the shed.”

“Who knew it was there?”

“Ryan obviously. Mrs. Clutton, who keeps her bicycle in the shed, and probably Miss Godby. I certainly told her that the old mower would have to be replaced. She was worried about the cost, but obviously there was no great hurry; the grass probably wouldn't need another cutting until the spring. Come to think of it, I must have told her about the petrol because she paid me the cost of it and I signed a chitty. The Dupaynes and Mr. Calder-Hale may have known. You'll have to ask them.”

Kate asked, “Didn't it occur to you that, since it was no longer needed, you could take the can home?”

Mrs. Faraday gave her a look which suggested that the question was hardly one which would occur to an intelligent inquirer. She replied, “No, it didn't. Should it have? I'd been paid for it.”

Kate, refusing to be intimidated, tried another tack. “You have been visiting the museum for twelve years. Would you describe it as a happy place? I mean, the people who work there.”

Mrs. Faraday took up the next pot, examined it critically, dipped it in disinfectant and up-ended it on the bench. She said, “I've really no way of knowing. None of the staff complained to me of unhappiness and had they done so I wouldn't have listened.”

As if fearing that her reply had been minatory, she added, “After the death of Max Dupayne there was a certain lack of overall control. Caroline Dupayne has been nominally in charge, but she has her own responsibilities at the school. As I said, Mr. Calder-Hale takes an interest in the voluntary workers and the boy does the garden—or at least makes some attempt at keeping it in shape. After Muriel Godby came, things improved. She's a capable woman and seems to relish responsibility.”

Dalgliesh wondered how he could introduce the complication of her daughter-in-law's relationship with Neville Dupayne. He needed to know if the affair was as secret as Angela Faraday had said; in particular he needed to know how much Mrs. Faraday might have guessed or been told.

He said, “We have already spoken to your daughter-in-law as Dr. Dupayne's personal secretary, and I understand she had general responsibility for his outpatient clinics. She's obviously a person whose opinion of his state of mind on that Friday is important.”

“And does his state of mind have any relevance to the fact that he was murdered? I take it you are not now suggesting that this could have been suicide?”

Dalgliesh said, “I have to decide what is relevant, Mrs. Faraday.”

“And was my daughter-in-law's relationship with Neville Dupayne relevant? She told you, of course? Well naturally she would. Love, the satisfaction of being wanted, is always something of a triumph. Very few people mind confessing that they have been desirable. Where sexual mores today are concerned, it isn't adultery that's contemptible.”

Dalgliesh said, “I think she found the affair more distressing than fulfilling, the need for secrecy, the worry that your son might find out and be hurt.”

“Yes,” she said with bitterness. “Angela's not without a conscience.”

It was Kate who asked the question. “Did he find out, Mrs. Faraday?”

There was a silence. Mrs. Faraday was too intelligent to miss the significance. It was a question, thought Kate, that she must have been expecting. In one sense she had invited it. It was she who had first mentioned her daughter-in-law's affair. Was this because she was convinced that the truth would eventually come out and that her silence would then need some explaining? She turned a scrubbed pot in her hands, scrutinizing it carefully, then bent and dipped it in the disinfectant. Dalgliesh and Kate waited. It wasn't until Mrs. Faraday had straightened up that she replied.

“No, he doesn't know, and it's my business to ensure that he never does. I hope I can rely on your co-operation, Commander. I take it that neither of you is in the business of deliberately inflicting pain.”

Dalgliesh heard Kate's quick intake of breath, as quickly disciplined. He said, “I'm in the business of investigating a murder, Mrs. Faraday. I can't give guarantees except to say that facts which aren't relevant won't unnecessarily be made public. I'm afraid a murder investigation always causes pain. I wish it were only to the guilty.” He paused, then added, “How did you come to know?”

“By seeing them together. It was three months ago when a minor Royal came to the hospital to open the new theatre complex. Neville Dupayne and Angela weren't officially together, nothing like that. He was on the list of consultants to be presented. She was helping with the arrangements, directing visitors, escorting VIPs, that kind of thing. But they met fortuitously and stood together for a couple of minutes. I saw her face, their hands quickly clasp and as quickly part. It was enough. You can't hide love, not if you're caught unawares.”

Kate said, “But if you saw it, why shouldn't others?”

“Perhaps some people who worked closely with them did. But Angela and Neville Dupayne kept their private lives separate. I doubt whether anyone would pass on the news to me or to my son even if they did suspect. It might be a cause of gossip among the hospital staff but not a reason for interference or making mischief. I saw them in an unguarded moment. I have no doubt they had learned how to dissemble.”

Dalgliesh said, “Your daughter-in-law told me that the affair was at an end. They had decided that the potential harm didn't justify its continuing.”

“And you believed her?”

“I saw no reason not to.”

“Well, she lied. They were planning on going away together next weekend. My son phoned to suggest that we spend the weekend together because Angela was visiting an old school friend in Norwich. She has never spoken of her school or of her friends. They were going away together for the first time.”

Kate said, “You can't be sure of that, Mrs. Faraday.”

“I can be sure.”

Again there was a silence. Mrs. Faraday continued with her task. Kate asked, “Were you happy about your son's marriage?”

“Very happy. I had to face it that it wouldn't be easy for him to find a wife. Plenty of women would be happy to sleep with him, but not to spend the rest of their lives with him. Angela seemed genuinely fond of him. I think she still is. They met at the museum, incidentally. It was one afternoon three years ago. Selwyn had a free afternoon and had come to help me with the garden. There was a meeting of the trustees after lunch and Neville Dupayne had forgotten his agenda and papers. He phoned the hospital and Angela brought them to him. Afterwards she came to see what we were planting and we spent some time chatting. That's when she and Selwyn met. I was happy and relieved when they began seeing each other and eventually got engaged. She seemed exactly the right wife for him, kind, sensible and maternal. Of course their joint incomes aren't great but I was able to buy them a small house and provide a car. It was obvious how much she meant to him—still means to him.”

Dalgliesh said, “I saw your son. He was in the waiting-room at St. Oswald's when I left after seeing your daughter-in-law.”

“And what impression did you gain, Commander?”

“I thought he had a remarkable face. He could be called beautiful.”

“So was my husband, but not egregiously so. Good-looking would perhaps be a more accurate description.” She seemed to be pondering for a moment, then her face broke into a reminiscent, transforming smile. “Very good-looking. Beautiful is an odd word to apply to a man.”

“It seems appropriate.”

The last of the pots had been inspected and doused. Now they were ranged in neat lines according to size. Regarding them with the satisfaction of completing a job well done, she said, “I think I had better explain to you about Selwyn. He is not intelligent. I would say that he has always had learning difficulties but that phrase diagnostically has become meaningless. He can survive in our remorseless society but he can't compete. He was educated with so-called normal children but didn't achieve any examination results, didn't indeed try for them except in two non-academic subjects. University was obviously out of the question, even one at the bottom of the league tables where they're so desperate to keep up the numbers that I'm told they'll take people who are barely literate. They wouldn't have taken Selwyn. His father was highly intelligent and Selwyn is our only child. Naturally his limitations as they became apparent were a disappointment to him—perhaps grief wouldn't be too strong a word. But he loved his son, as do I. What we have both wanted is for Selwyn to be happy and to find a job within his capabilities which would be useful to others and satisfying for him. The happiness was no problem. He was born with a capacity for joy. He works as a hospital porter at St. Agatha's. He likes the work and is good at it. One or two of the older porters take an interest in him, so he's not without friends. He also has a wife he loves. I intend that he shall continue to have a wife he loves.”

Dalgliesh asked quietly, “What were you doing, Mrs. Faraday, between the hours of half-past five and half-past six yesterday?”

The question was brutally stark, but it was one she must have been expecting. She had handed him a motive almost without prompting. Now would she be providing an alibi?

She said, “I realized when I heard that Neville Dupayne had died that you would be looking into his private life, that the relationship with my daughter-in-law would come to light sooner or later. Colleagues at the hospital wouldn't betray suspicions of the affair to me or her husband. Why should they? They'll take a very different attitude when it comes to murder. I realize too, of course, that I could be a suspect. Yesterday I planned to drive to the museum and be there when Neville Dupayne arrived. I knew, of course, that he came every Friday to collect his Jaguar. I imagine everyone at the museum knew that. It seemed the best chance of seeing him in absolute privacy. There wouldn't have been any sense in making an appointment at the hospital. He would always be able to make excuses on the grounds that he hadn't time. And then there was the complication of Angela being there. I wanted to see him alone to try to persuade him to end the affair.”

Kate said, “Had you any idea how you could do that—I mean, what arguments you could use other than the harm he was doing to your son?”

“No. I didn't have anything specific to threaten him with, if that's what you mean. Selwyn wasn't his patient, I don't think the General Medical Council would be interested. My only weapon, if one chooses to use that term, would be an appeal to his decency. After all, there was a chance he might be regretting the affair, wanting to get out. I left home at five o'clock precisely. I planned to be at the museum at half-past five or soon after in case he arrived early. It closes at five so the staff would be gone. Mrs. Clutton might see me but I thought it unlikely as her cottage is at the back of the house. In any case I had a right to be there.”

“And did you see Dr. Dupayne?”

“No, I gave up the attempt. The traffic was very heavy—it usually is on a Friday—and there were plenty of times when I wasn't moving apart from stops at traffic lights. I had time to think. It struck me that the enterprise was ill-conceived. Neville Dupayne would be looking forward to his weekend, anxious to get away. It would be the worst time to accost him. And I'd only have the one chance. If this failed I would be helpless. I told myself I'd have a better chance if I tackled Angela first. After all, I'd never spoken to her about the affair. She had no idea that I knew. The fact that I did might change everything for her. She's fond of my son. She's not a ruthless predator. I would probably have a better chance of succeeding with her than I would with Dupayne. My son would like a child. I have taken medical advice and there's no reason why his children shouldn't be normal. I rather think that my daughter-in-law would like a baby. She could hardly expect to have one with Dupayne. Of course, they would need some financial help. When I got as far as Hampstead Pond I decided to drive home. I didn't note the time, why should I? But I can tell you that I was back here by six-twenty and Perkins will confirm it.”

“And no one saw you? No one who could recognize you or the car?”

“Not as far as I know. And now, unless you have any other questions, I think I'll return to the house. Incidentally, Commander, I'll be grateful if you would not speak directly to my son. He was on duty at St. Agatha's when Dupayne was murdered. The hospital will be able to confirm that without the need to talk to Selwyn.”

The interview was over. And they had, thought Kate, got more than she had expected.

Mrs. Faraday didn't go with them to the front door but left Perkins, hovering in the conservatory, to let them out. At the door, Dalgliesh turned to him. “Could you let us know, please, the time at which Mrs. Faraday returned home yesterday evening?”

“It was six twenty-two, Commander. I happened to glance at the clock.”

He held open the door wide. It seemed less an invitation to leave than a command.

They were both silent on their way back to the car. Once strapped in her seat, Kate's irritation burst out. “Thank God she's not my mother-in-law! There's only one person she cares for and that's her precious son. You bet he wouldn't have married Angela if Mummy hadn't approved. It's Mummy who buys the house, provides the car. So he'd like to have a baby, would he? She'd buy that for him too. And if that means Angela giving up her job, then Mummy will subsidize the family. No suggestion that Angela might have a point of view, might not want a child—or not yet, might actually enjoy working at the hospital, might value her independence. That woman's utterly ruthless.”