So Lynley was feeling gloomy when he drove into Eaton Terrace. He parked in the garage in the mews and trudged down the cobblestone alley and round the corner to his home. The day had left him with the distinct sensation of being unclean: from his skin right through to his spirit.
Inside the house, the ground floor was mostly dark, with a dim light shining at the foot of the stairway. He climbed up and went to their bedroom to see if his wife had gone to bed. But the bed was undisturbed, so he went on, first to the library and ultimately to the nursery. There he found her. She’d bought a rocking chair for the room, he saw, and she was sitting in it, asleep, with an oddly shaped pillow in her lap. He recognised it from one of their many trips to Mothercare in the past few months. It was meant to be used when nursing a baby. The infant rested on it beneath the mother’s breast.
Helen stirred as he crossed the room to her. She said, as if they’d only just been speaking moments before, “So I decided to practise. Well, I suppose it’s more like seeing what it will feel like. Not the actual feeding, but just having him here. It’s odd when you think about it, I mean when you actually stretch the thought out.”
“What is?” The rocking chair was beneath the window, and he leaned against the sill. He watched her fondly.
“That we have actually created a little human being. Our own Jasper Felix, happily floating round inside me, waiting for his introduction to the world.”
Lynley shuddered at the latter part of her thought: introducing their son to a world that often seemed filled with violence and was indeed a place of great uncertainty.
Helen must have seen this because she said, “What is it?”
“Bad day,” he told her.
She extended her hand to him and he took it. Her skin was cool, and he could smell the scent of citrus upon her. She said, “I had a phone call from a man called Mitchell Corsico, Tommy. He said he was from The Source.”
“God,” Lynley groaned. “I’m sorry. He is from The Source.” He explained how he was attempting to thwart Hillier’s plan by keeping Corsico occupied with the minutiae of his own personal life. “Dee should have warned you he might be in touch. I didn’t think he’d be quite that fast. She was intent upon giving him an earful to keep him away from the incident room.”
“Ah.” Helen stretched and yawned. “Well, I did assume there was something going on when he called me Countess. He’d spoken to my father as well, as things turn out. I’ve no idea how he tracked him down.”
“What did he want to know?”
She began to get to her feet. Lynley helped her rise. She set the pillow into the baby’s cot and put a stuffed elephant on top of it. “Daughter of an earl, married to an earl. Obviously, he loathed me. I tried to amuse him with my astounding mindlessness and my sad, fading It-girl proclivities, but he didn’t seem as charmed as I would have liked. Lots of questions about why a blue blood-this is you, darling-would become a cop. I told him I hadn’t the slightest idea as I’d much prefer it if you were available to lunch with me daily in Knightsbridge. He asked to come and visit me here at home, a photographer in tow. I drew the line at that. I hope that was the right thing to do.”
“It was.”
“I’m glad. Of course, it was hard to resist the idea of posing artfully on the drawing-room sofa for The Source, but I managed it.” She slipped her arm round his waist and they headed for the door. “What else?” she asked him.
“Hmmm?” He kissed the top of her head.
“Your bad day.”
“God. It’s nothing I want to talk about now.”
“Have you had dinner?”
“No appetite,” he said. “All I want is to collapse. Preferably on something soft and relatively pliant.”
She looked up at him and smiled. “I know just what you need.” She took his hand and led him towards the bedroom.
He said, “Helen, I couldn’t manage it tonight. I’m done for, I’m afraid. I’m sorry.”
She laughed. “I never thought I’d hear that from you, but fear not. I have something else in mind.” She told him to sit on the bed, and she went to the bathroom. He heard the snick of a match. He saw its flare. A moment later, water began to run in the tub, and she returned to him. “Do nothing,” she said. “Avoid thinking, if you can. Just be,” and she began to undress him.
There was a ceremonial quality to how she did it, in part because she removed his clothes without haste. She set his shoes carefully to one side, and she folded trousers, jacket, and shirt. When he was nude, she led him into the bathroom, where the bathtub’s water was fragrant and the candles she’d lit cast a soothing glow that was doubled by the mirrors and arced against the walls.
He stepped into the water, sank down, and stretched out until he was covered to his shoulders. She fixed a towelling pillow for his head, and she said, “Close your eyes. Just relax. Don’t do a thing. Try not to think. The scent should help you. Concentrate on that.”
“What is it?” he asked.
“Helen’s special potion.”
He heard her moving round the bath: the door swinging shut, the sound of garments dropping to the floor. Then she was next to the tub and her hand was dipping into the water. He opened his eyes. She’d changed into a soft towelling dressing gown, its olive colour warm against her skin. She held a natural sponge and she was applying a bathing gel to it.
She began to wash him. He murmured, “I’ve not asked about your day.”
“Shhh,” she replied.
“No. Tell me. It’ll give me something to think about that’s not Hillier or the case.”
“All right,” she said, but her voice was low and she ran the sponge the length of his arm with a gentle pressure that made him close his eyes once again. “I had a day of hope.”
“I’m glad someone did.”
“After much research, Deborah and I have targeted eight shops for the christening clothes. We’ve a date tomorrow, devoted entirely to the excursion.”
“Excellent,” he said. “An end to conflict.”
“That’s what we think. May we use the Bentley, by the way? There may be more packages than can fit in my car.”
“We’re talking about a baby’s clothes, Helen. An infant’s clothes. How much room can they take up?”
“Yes. Of course. But there may be other things, Tommy…”
He chuckled. She took his other arm. “You can resist anything but temptation,” he told her.
“In a good cause.”
“What else would it be?” But he told her to take the Bentley and to enjoy the excursion. He himself settled in to enjoy her ministration to his body.
She did his neck and kneaded the muscles of his shoulders. She told him to lean forward so that she could see to his back. She washed his chest and she used her fingers to press at points on his face in a way that seemed to drain all tension from him. Then she did the same on his feet till he felt like warm putty. She saved his legs for last.
The sponge glided up them, up them, up them. And then it was not the sponge at all but her hand, and she made him groan.
“Yes?” she murmured.
“Oh yes. Yes.”
“More? Harder? How?”
“Just do what you’re doing.” He caught his breath. “God, Helen. You’re a very naughty girl.”
“I can stop if you like.”
“Not on your life.” He opened his eyes and met hers to see she was smiling gently and watching him. “Take off the robe,” he said.
“Visual stimulation? You hardly need it.”
“Not that sort,” he replied. “Just take off the robe.” And when she did so, he shifted so that she could join him in the water. She put a foot on either side of him and he reached for her hands to help her down. “Tell Jasper Felix to move over,” he said.