‘Yes.’
‘He was quite handsome when he was younger.’
Banks re-examined the image, taken from the group photo outside a college building twenty-five years ago. She was right. Miller had been quite good-looking as a young man. Again, that set his mind wandering back to the University of Essex in the early seventies, when Miller and the lovely young Ronnie Bellamy had been students at the same time. ‘Did Lady Chalmers ever talk about her student days?’ he asked.
Oriana thought for a moment, then said, ‘Just sometimes, years ago, when I was still at university myself.’
‘What did she say?’
Oriana was silent for a few moments, then she said, ‘Mostly she used to complain what a drab and self-centred lot we students were these days, only interested in getting our degrees so we could get good jobs and earn a lot of money. She talked about the “old days” like you people do, as if they were some sort of Golden Age. The revolution. You were children of the revolution. Always fighting for the cause. Always altruistic, never self-interested.’ She laughed at Banks’s expression. ‘What? Am I not telling the truth?’
‘I suppose there is a certain amount of nostalgia for the old days,’ Banks admitted. ‘But it did seem real enough at the time. It seemed within our power to change things. Make a better world.’
‘Is that what you wanted to do? Is that why you joined the police?’
‘I suppose it is, in an odd sort of way. It seemed better than throwing ball bearings under the feet of police horses in Grosvenor Square.’
‘Then you grew older, yes, and you no longer wanted to change things. And just look at the world now.’
‘Well, someone said that if you’re not a communist when you’re twenty, you’ve got no heart, and if you’re not a conservative when you’re forty, you’ve got no brain.’
Oriana laughed at that. ‘So true.’
‘So Lady Chalmers was a left-wing firebrand at university, was she?’
‘So it seems. She went on demonstrations against the government, against wars and dictatorships, that sort of thing. Yes. And I don’t think I’m giving away any secrets to say that I think she also needed to rebel against her family, against the privilege in which she had been brought up. The grand mansion. The servants. And there was the way they earned their fortune. I’m not entirely clear about it, but I think much of the family fortune came from colonialism, perhaps even the slave trade, or at least from the exploitation of native populations. That wouldn’t sit well with Ronnie’s Marxist ideals at the time. She made none of the choices her parents would have wanted her to make. She is very independent-minded and strong-willed. Stubborn and hard-headed, too, sometimes, Jem says. I have to confess that I wasn’t very political at university. Perhaps I spent too much time on my studies and not enough out on the picket lines, though I don’t remember any picket lines.’
‘Margaret Thatcher got rid of them all. How do you get along with Sir Jeremy?’
‘Jem? Fine,’ said Oriana. ‘He’s kind, considerate, intelligent. And he knows so much about theatre, its history, characters. He has such wonderful stories to tell. Funny, too. It’s just a pity he’s away so much.’
‘His work demands it?’
‘Yes. If he’s not abroad somewhere, he’s down in London at the offices. Mind you, Ronnie’s also away a fair bit, especially when there’s a new book out. Me, too.’
‘How do he and Lady Chalmers get along?’
Oriana narrowed her eyes. ‘I told you. No family tales. They get along fine.’
Was there a hidden message there, Banks wondered, or was Oriana merely being discreet? So what if there was a little turbulence. Most marriages suffer turbulence every now and then, as Banks well remembered. ‘The girls?’
‘Hardly girls any more. Well, Sam’s still at university — St Andrews, studying Drama. She likes to come down for the weekend when she can get away. She hasn’t decided yet whether she wants to be a rock star like your son or a famous actress. Those are the best times, when the family’s all at Brierley. Angelina’s “in between” at the moment. She got a decent enough degree at St Hilda’s, in Oxford, and I’m sure she’ll find a job eventually, but right now she’s enjoying her horses.’
‘What line of work is she interested in?’
‘Well, her degree is in History, but she’s horse crazy. Who knows which direction she’ll go in? Right now, it wouldn’t surprise me if she took a job as a stable “lad” just to get a foot on the rung. They’re wonderful girls. My “little sisters”.’
Banks took another photograph out of his briefcase, one he had examined in great detail through a magnifying glass the previous evening. It showed a large group of students marching, carrying banners in favour of the miners. Banks pointed to one blurry figure, clearly a young blonde woman, her head just visible between two other burlier figures. ‘Is that her?’ he asked. ‘Is that Lady Chalmers?’
Oriana peered at the photograph then gave a dismissive pout. ‘It could be,’ she said. ‘But perhaps not. It is hard to tell.’
‘Lady Chalmers went to the same university at the same time as the man who got killed, you know, the man who phoned her.’
‘That doesn’t mean she knew him. He’s not in the photograph, too, is he?’
‘Not that one, no,’ said Banks. ‘But if he did know her, and if he was in trouble or something, and for some reason he called her...’
‘Then she would be lying about the reason for the telephone call.’
‘About its content, yes.’ Banks didn’t like the way this was going; he thought he was losing Oriana. At that moment, the waiter came by to take away their plates and ask if they wanted anything else. They both ordered coffee; Oriana’s an espresso. She swirled what was left of her wine in the glass then set it aside. Banks finished his off.
When they had their coffees, Oriana leaned forward towards Banks, resting her hands on the white tablecloth. Her fingers were long and tapered; she wore no rings. He could just see the tempting line of olive cleavage below the neckline of her top. ‘Look,’ she said, ‘you probably know this already, but the only reason I’m talking to you is because I’ve been worried about Ronnie. She’s been distracted since that day. Very jumpy. I didn’t know it was the telephone call that upset her because I didn’t know about it until you came, but now I think it is. The timing is right, and I can think of nothing else to explain her behaviour. Now, all this week, she has seemed distant and has been very quiet. Whether this has anything to do with what you’ve been asking questions about, I don’t know, only that she hasn’t been herself, and I’ve been worried about her.’
‘So you’re willing to admit that she might be lying about the call?’
‘If she is, it’s for a good reason.’
‘I’m afraid that doesn’t help me. Have you tried talking to her?’
‘I’ve asked her several times if there’s anything wrong, but she won’t say. Something is bothering her, though. I can tell.’
‘But you couldn’t even make a wild guess at what it is?’
‘No. I do know that she can’t have harmed anyone. Ronnie is a kind and gentle person. She wouldn’t hurt a soul.’
‘In what way was she distracted? Would you say she was anxious, sad, angry, or upset?’
Oriana considered this for a moment, then said, ‘Mostly depressed and worried, I would say. Perhaps anxious, also. It’s as if she has a great weight on her mind. Not angry or sad or upset or anything.’
‘Guilt?’
‘I don’t think so.’
‘But you’ve no idea what she’s depressed or worried about?’
‘No.’
‘And she was like this even before Gavin Miller was murdered?’