‘Where was Theo at school?’ Porteous asked.
‘A place called Linden House. A little prep school. He went as a day boy. Crispin had been sent away as a boarder as a very young child and he didn’t want that for Theo. Not then.’ There was no hesitation. As she talked, the details of her life at Snowberry seemed to become sharper. She had more confidence in her memory.
‘The photograph…’ Porteous prompted her again.
She turned a page and there it was. A boy of about seven or eight standing on his own, looking into the camera, apparently enjoying the attention and the chance to show off. Instead of a traditional buttonhole he had a daisy pinned to the lapel of his blazer. There was a scab on one of his knees and his socks needed pulling up. He looked as if he’d been eating chocolate sauce.
‘I did want a photo of him,’ Stella said, ‘but I knew he wouldn’t stand being cleaned up first.’
Porteous was looking at the face, at the shock of white hair, the long straight nose. It would take an expert to check both pictures to confirm the identification but he was prepared to bet a year’s salary that Theo Randle had turned into Michael Grey.
‘I’m afraid,’ he said, ‘that Theo’s dead.’
She had been staring at the photograph, apparently lost in memory, and he had to repeat the words to be sure she’d heard. Then she gave a little moan. ‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘Not him too.’
‘We believe he died a long time ago,’ Porteous said. ‘When he was only eighteen.’
‘How?’ Her eyes were bright, feverish. The question demanded an immediate and an honest answer.
‘He was stabbed.’
She seemed almost relieved by the words. ‘Quick then?’
‘Oh yes. He wouldn’t have felt any pain.’
‘That’s good.’ She got up from the table and poured more hot water into the teapot. Then she stood at the sink with her hands over her eyes as if she wanted to pretend Porteous wasn’t there.
‘Mrs Randle,’ he said gently.
She lowered her hands and asked fiercely, ‘Did Crispin know about this?’
‘I don’t see how he could have done.’ Unless, Porteous thought, he was responsible. ‘The body was only discovered last week.’
‘Crispin didn’t tell me everything,’ she said. ‘He kept things from me. He didn’t want me upset. He said it was for my own good. But I never knew what was going on. It’s very confusing, Inspector, to be kept in the dark. Sometimes I thought I was going mad.’
‘Would you like me to phone someone to be with you? A relative perhaps?’
She shook her head.
‘I will have to ask questions,’ Porteous said. ‘About Theo and your husband. Would you like me to come back another time to do that? Perhaps now I should call your doctor. You’ve had a great shock.’ He wasn’t sure he should leave her on her own.
‘No.’ Her voice was sharp. ‘No doctors.’
They sat for a moment in silence, looking at each other.
‘Ask your questions, Inspector. It’ll give me an excuse to talk about it. Talking helps. Isn’t that what the doctors say? That’s what they said after Emily died. It was a lie of course. Nothing helped. Except the pills. Crispin drank and I became a junkie. Not heroin. Nothing like that. Prescription medicine. All quite legal. Nothing for you to worry about. Professionally.’
‘Are you still taking medication now?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘I took myself off them when Crispin was very ill. I needed to feel angry. The pills stop you feeling very much at all.’
‘That must have been hard.’
‘The hardest thing ever. At least it stopped me blaming Crispin for his drinking. He’d been through more than me. First Maria. Then Emily. How could I expect him to give it up? When I knew what he was going through. It brought us together at the end.’ She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. ‘I did love him, Inspector. People thought I was after him for the money and the house and there was some of that in it. How could you separate them? It was all a part of what he was. But I wasn’t a gold-digger. I loved him. And Theo. I took them on as a package.’ She looked at him across the table, gave him her young woman’s smile. ‘So, Inspector, why don’t you ask your questions?’
‘When did Theo stop living at home?’
‘It was after the fire,’ she said. ‘After Emily died.’
‘Would you mind telling me about that?’
She shook her head. ‘I don’t mind but it’s very confused. You mustn’t be cross if I get things wrong.’
‘It’s a long time ago.’
‘No,’ she said impatiently. ‘It’s not that. When Emily was born I was ill. Post-natal depression. I thought it would be easy. Like with Theo. I loved him without any bother. Why couldn’t I do the same with my own child?’
‘Not so easy building a relationship with a baby.’ As if, Porteous thought, I’d know.
‘But she was my own daughter. They wanted me to go into hospital. I refused. I thought Snowberry was the only place I had any chance of getting well. You don’t know what it’s like, Inspector. Sometimes I’d wake up in the morning feeling better. For no great reason. The sun coming in through a gap in the curtains. The taste of toast for breakfast, though they brought me toast on a tray every morning. And I’d think – This is it. The start of the recovery. Sometimes the feeling would last for days. Crispin still had his seat in the House then and I’d send him off to London telling him I’d be fine and I didn’t need him. Then the depression would return, as bad as ever. It was at the end of a really bad period of depression that we had the fire.’
‘Was Crispin at home when it happened?’
‘Yes. He came back that night. It was unusual to see him in the middle of the week. He’d been spending more and more time in London. He had a flat there of course. I think he probably had a mistress though I didn’t ask. I couldn’t blame him. I wasn’t much of a wife.’
‘Do you remember what happened on the night of the fire?’
‘Not very well. As I said, it was all very confused.’
Porteous didn’t push for details. There should be a fire investigator’s report, a coroner’s judgement. But Stella added quickly, ‘I think it might have been my fault. I smoked then, heavily. We had a nanny for Emily. A nice girl. We hired her before the baby was born even. I thought we’d be friends. We were about the same age. I thought we’d be able to share Emily. In the end of course she looked after her pretty much single-handed. But that evening she asked for some time off. She bathed Emily and put her to bed and then she went out.’
‘Do you remember the nanny’s name?’ Porteous asked.
‘Lizzie. Lizzie Milburn. She came from Newcastle. Her parents were teachers and she was crazy about babies. Just as well.’
‘You think your smoking might have started the fire?’
‘No one said. I told you Crispin tried to protect me. But going back over the facts I think that’s most likely. I went to look at Emily. Crispin came with me. There were no baby alarms in those days and I did feel responsible for her. Perhaps if I’d had the nerve to let Lizzie go, if I’d been forced to look after Emily myself things might have been different, but really I don’t think so. I was very ill.’ She paused. ‘I’m sorry, I’m rambling. Crispin and I had dinner together. He’d come back from London in a foul mood. He’d always been ambitious and someone had said something to make him believe he didn’t have a chance of promotion in the next reshuffle. He probably blamed me. I was hardly an ideal MP’s wife. Certainly nothing like Maria, who was perfect apparently in every way. A saint is a hard act to follow. Crispin had a lot to drink over dinner. I had a couple of glasses with him. Not sensible considering the strength of the medication I was on. When we went up to the nursery we were both a bit unsteady. Crispin didn’t stay long. He wanted to get back to the brandy. But I loved to watch her sleeping. That was the one time I could really believe I loved her…’