The whisky in his glass was just about finished when his phone rang. He checked his watch. After midnight. Thinking it might be Brian returning his call after the concert, he picked up his mobile. He didn’t recognise the number, but he answered it anyway.
‘I’m sorry to be calling you so late,’ the familiar voice said, ‘but you did give me your card and said to call any time if I had something to tell you. I hope I didn’t wake you.’
‘You didn’t,’ said Banks, almost adding that it was nice to hear Oriana’s voice again, perhaps because Carice van Houten was singing ‘You. Me. Bed. Now.’ at the time. But something in her tone warned him this was not a social call, as if it ever could be. ‘Is something wrong?’
‘Yes,’ said Oriana. ‘Something is very wrong. It’s Ronnie. There’s been an accident.’
Chapter 12
The little coffee shop on Market Street wasn’t part of a chain, and Banks had always enjoyed the care and dedication the owners put into the brews and blends they made. He arrived a little early on Wednesday morning, and as he had been at the office already for an hour and a half reviewing the paperwork on the Miller case, drinking coffee from the machine, he decided on green tea instead.
He had gathered from Oriana the previous evening that Lady Chalmers had been driving home from Anthony Litton’s house near Buxton. It was Oliver’s birthday. Ronnie knew he was spending it with his father on his way back to London from some meetings in Manchester, and she had decided to go and pay him a surprise visit. Everyone told her she shouldn’t have been driving. The weather was terrible. Apparently, Anthony Litton had told her she should stop over, but she wanted to come home. She was driving back through the Peaks when her car went through a fence and off the road beside a swollen, fast-flowing river. She would have been washed away if the car wheels hadn’t got stuck in the deep mud on the riverbank.
Paramedics had attended her at the scene, and then she had been examined briefly at the nearest hospital. Her injuries weren’t serious, Oriana had said, just a few cuts and bruises, but mostly shock. She had insisted on going home. The doctors had no objection, and the local police all loved Oliver Litton, so it wasn’t hard to find a volunteer to drive her. The car would be towed back later.
Banks was sipping the slightly bitter but aromatic tea when the bell over the door pinged and Oriana walked in. She looked frazzled and drawn, which was only to be expected, given that she had probably had little or no sleep. The owner’s wife, Sandy, came over to ask if she wanted anything, and she ordered a latte. The place wasn’t too busy, and they had Classic FM playing quietly in the background.
Once Oriana had sat down and removed her tan jacket, she seemed to be a little shy and uncomfortable to find herself alone with Banks in a café, even though they had already had lunch together. She was casually but stylishly dressed in jeans and russet-coloured top, with a dark green silk scarf around her neck. Banks could hear Sandy making the latte, the violent grinding of the espresso machine and the hissing of steam heating milk. It all sounded rather like someone sucking the dregs of a soft drink through a straw. ‘How is Lady Chalmers?’ he asked.
Oriana kept her eyes down and stared at the tablecloth the whole time she talked. ‘She’s fine. Well, you know, still a bit dazed, but that’s mostly from the sedative. The doctor’s been, and she says she’ll have a few nasty bruises but no permanent disfigurement or anything like that. He says she had a lucky escape. It was also fortunate that she wasn’t driving too fast, she was wearing a seatbelt, and that the fence slowed her down even more. A little more momentum, and that would have been it.’
‘It’s not that often you can call crashing through a fence and getting stuck in the mud lucky.’
Oriana glanced up at him and smiled. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m sorry about phoning you so late last night. It’s just so... embarrassing. I panicked. I didn’t know where to turn. What can I say?’
‘You don’t have to apologise,’ Banks told her. ‘I’m just glad to hear that she’s on the mend. Sir Jeremy got back all right?’
‘About half-past one, yes. He’s exhausted, too.’
‘I’m not surprised.’ Sandy delivered Oriana’s latte. ‘You were clearly worried about more than just Lady Chalmers’ immediate injuries last night. You said she was frightened?’
Oriana nodded. ‘That’s what worried me the most.’
‘You’ve said this before, that since Gavin Miller’s murder she’s been edgy and nervous.’
‘Yes. It’s true.’
‘But she hasn’t told you why?’
‘No. I’ve asked her once or twice. Indirectly, I suppose, you know, if anything was bothering her, but she always said no. One time she just smiled and said it was nothing I should worry about. That was as far as I could get with her.’
It was about as far as Sir Jeremy had got, too, Banks remembered. ‘Does she usually confide in you? I mean, are you close friends?’
‘I like to think so, yes. I know there’s an age difference, but I think of her more as a big sister than a mother figure. Believe me, if you met my mother, you’d soon realise how little I need a mother figure.’
‘And your father?’
Oriana blushed. ‘My father’s a sweet man. I adore him.’
‘Tell me about what happened last night.’
‘I already told you. It was just as I said on the telephone. Ronnie rang me from the hospital, told me she’d had an accident, but assured me she was all right and the police were bringing her home.’
‘What time was this?
‘About half-past nine.’
‘So she wasn’t stopping at her brother-in-law’s for very long?’
‘No. She drove down about four o’clock. They were to have an early dinner, just Ronnie, Tony and Oliver. Oliver’s wife and children were in London, and Fran, Tony’s wife, died a couple of years ago.’
‘Yes, I know,’ said Banks.
Oriana raised an eyebrow, then went on. ‘After dinner, Oliver had to leave for London immediately. His driver was waiting. It was dark, of course, and raining very hard. I don’t know if you know that part of the country, but there are a lot of minor roads, many unlit. It’s also quite hilly. It can be very treacherous.’
‘I know a little about the Peak District,’ Banks said. ‘I’ve been there once or twice for days out, many years ago.’
‘With your wife and children? Brian and...?’
‘Tracy. Yes. Have you ever been there, to Anthony Litton’s house?’