"Where's the car?"
"Round the other side of the church."
They would be gone by now. Just the same Archery wished he were safely back at the Olive and Dove eating cold beef and salad. As they rounded the yew hedge a black car passed them. He forced himself to look towards the gate. The Primeros were still there, talking to the matron. His throat grew suddenly dry.
"Let's cut across the green," he said urgently.
"Mr. Kershaw happens to be waiting on this side."
They were now only a few yards from the Primeros. The matron shook hands and stepped into a hired limousine. Primero turned and his eyes met those of Charles. He grew first white, then a curious vinegary purple. Charles went on walking towards him and then Primero too began to move. They were approaching each other menacingly, ridiculously, like two gunmen in a Western.
"Mr. Bowman, of the Sunday Planet, I believe?"
Charles stopped and said coolly. "You can believe what you like."
She had been talking to the women in the car. Now she withdrew her head and the car began to move off. They were alone, the four of them, in the centre of the fifth prettiest village in England. She looked at Archery first with embarrassment, then with a warmth that conquered her awkwardness.
"Why, hallo, I..."
Primero snatched at her arm. "Recognise him? I shall need you for a witness, Imogen."
Charles glared. "You what?"
"Charles!" said Archery sharply.
"Do you deny that you made your way into my home under false pretences?"
"Roger, Roger..." She was still smiling, but her smile had grown stiff. "Don't you remember we met Mr. Archery at the dance? This is his son. He's a journalist, but he uses a pseudonym, that's all. They're here on holiday."
Charles said rigidly, "I'm afraid that isn't quite true, Mrs. Primero." She blinked, her lashes fluttering like wings, and her gaze came to rest softly on Archery's face. "My father and I came here with the express purpose of collecting certain information. That we have done. In order to do it we had to make our way into your confidence. Perhaps we have been unscrupulous, but we thought the end justified the means."
"I'm afraid I don't understand." Her eyes were still on Archery and he was unable to draw his own away. He knew that his face registered a tremendous plea for forgiveness, a disclaimer of Charles's statement, and also registered the agony of love. There was, however, no reason why she should read there anything but guilt. "I don't understand at all. What information?"
"I'll tell you..." Charles began, but Primero interrupted him.
"Since you're so frank, you won't have any objection to coming down to the police station right now and laying your 'information' before Chief Inspector Wexford."
"None at all," Charles drawled, "except that it happens to be my lunchtime and in any case I have an appointment with the Chief Inspector already. At two sharp. I intend to tell him, Mr. Primero, just how opportunely for you your grandmother died, how—oh, perfectly legally, I admit—you managed to cheat your sisters out of their inheritance, and how you concealed yourself in Victor's Piece on a certain evening in December sixteen years ago."
"You're out of your mind!" Primero shouted.
Archery found his voice. "That's enough, Charles."
He heard her speak, a tiny disembodied sound. "It isn't true!" And then, terribly afraid. "It isn't true, is it?"
"I'm damned if I'll argue it out in the street with this crook!"
"Of course it's true."
"It was all aboveboard." Primero suddenly broke. They were all hot, standing there in the noon sun, but only Primero's face showed actual sweat, water drops on the cheesy sallow skin. "Hell it was a matter of law," he blustered. "What's it got to do with you, anyway? Who are you?"
Without taking her gaze from Archery, she took her husband's arm. All the gaiety had left her face and she looked almost old, a faded blonde who was effaced by her black clothes. Because she had become ugly she suddenly seemed for the first time within Archery's reach, yet she had never been farther from it. "Let's go home, Roger." Her mouth trembled and cobweb lines had appeared at its corners. "In the course of your enquiries, Mr. Archery," she said, "I hope you managed to combine pleasure with business."
Then they were gone. Charles gave a great gasp.
"I must say I rather enjoyed that. I suppose by pleasure she meant the lunch they gave me. You can rely on these tycoons' wives to tot up every egg in the caviare. Still it was hard on her. You needn't look so shattered, Father. It's awfully middle-class to have a phobia about scenes."
13
I deal with the thing that is lawful and right ... and all false ways I utterly abhor.
"Public General Acts and Measures, 1950." Wexford took the book—was it a White Paper? Archery was ashamed to confess that he did not know—and read the title aloud. "There's something here you want me to look at?"
Charles found the page for him. "Here." Wexford began to read. The silence was tense, almost agonised. Archery looked surreptitiously at the others, Charles who was flushed with eagerness, Kershaw trying to sit casually, but whose bright darting eyes betrayed his anxiety, Tess who looked confident, serene. Was it her mother in whom she trusted so completely or was it Charles? A good deal of Charles's poise had deserted him when, on entering the office five minutes before, he had had to introduce Tess to the Chief Inspector.
"Miss Kershaw," he had said, "my ... the girl I'm going to marry. I..."
"Ah, yes." Wexford had been very urbane. "Good afternoon, Miss Kershaw, Mr. Kershaw. Won't you sit down? Heatwave's coming to an end at last, I'm afraid."
And indeed a change had come over the bright blue un-English sky. It had begun just after lunch with the appearance of a cloud that was truly no bigger than a man's hand, and this cloud had been followed by more, driven by a sudden wind. Now, as Wexford, frowning a little, read steadily, Archery contemplated the window from which the yellow blind had been fully raised, and through it the lumpy blotchy mass of cumulus, hollowed and pock-marked with grey.
"Very interesting," said Wexford, "and new to me. I didn't know the Primero sisters were adopted. Convenient for Primero."
"Convenient?" said Charles. Archery sighed within himself. He could always tell when his son was going to be rude or what Charles himself called forthright. "Is that all you've got to say?"
"No," said Wexford. Few people have the confidence and the restraint to say "yes" or "no" without qualification. Wexford was big and heavy and ugly; his suit had seen better days, too many wet ones and too many hot dusty ones, but he radiated strength. "Before we go any further on this tack, Mr. Archery," he said to Charles, "I'd like to say that I've had a complaint about you from Mr. Primero."
"Oh, that."
"Yes, that. I've been aware for some days that your father had made the acquaintance of the Primeros. Perhaps it wasn't a bad idea and I'm sure it wasn't an unpleasant one to do so through Mrs. Primero." Archery knew his face had become white. He felt sick. "And let me say in all fairness," Wexford went on, "that I told him it was all right as far as I was concerned to make contact with the people concerned in the Primero case." He glanced briefly at Tess who didn't move. "Make contact, I said, not make trouble. Your little escapade on Friday is what I call making trouble and that I won't have!"
Charles said sulkily, "All right, I'm sorry." Archery saw that he had to justify himself before Tess. "You're not going to tell me that your people don't occasionally invent a cover story to get what they want."