Right, Barbara had thought as they spoke. But, she pointed out to him, there were times when a relationship was done for and the aggrieved party—
“She wasn’t the aggrieved party,” he protested. “If anyone was, it would’ve been me. I’ve told you all this. She wanted to separate. I went along with it because what else was I supposed to do? Take her prisoner?”
Stranger things had happened, Barbara thought. She said, “There are times, though, when people decide that a thorough housecleaning of the heart is in order. Everything connected with the relationship is given the ceremonial heave-ho, preparatory to setting it on the barbecue and firing the thing up.”
“That didn’t happen.”
Barbara was curious about his certainty. She said, “How can you know that?”
“Because I gave her three sculptures and only one of them has gone missing. The other two are still with the rest.”
“Ah. Well, that colours things a bit differently, that. You’re seeing it as the cosh, are you? Teo gets clubbed in the heat of the moment? No attack was planned.”
“I don’t know how else to see it,” he replied. “Do you?”
Barbara scratched her head, considering this. “If someone knew about those sculptures . . . ?”
“Like who?” he asked. “Who could possibly have known they were in the flat?”
Barbara gave him a look but said nothing. He could work out the answer to that on his own. It wouldn’t involve any heavy mental lifting. She said, “Or it could be the entire evening was planned down to the last detail, and the sculpture was taken to throw us off the scent, not having been used at all. But again, that would only have been if the killer knew about the sculptures in the first place. Where’d you get it, anyway?”
“There’s a gallery in Peckham. They do African art. The piece that’s missing from Teo’s collection is called Standing Warrior. I can’t remember the artist’s name just now, but all three of the pieces I gave Teo have something like a signature on them.”
“Are all three from this Peckham gallery?” And when he nodded, “I’ll need the name of the place.”
“Padma,” he said.
“Got it,” she said. “By the way, when I spoke to Rosie this morning, among other delights, she also told me that Teo ‘gave her blessing’ to the two of you. According to her way of telling of it, Teo was dead chuffed to know that you put our Rosie up the duff. Couldn’t wait to be called Auntie by your little bundle of whatever.”
“Then that’s why she wanted to see me,” Carver said, more to himself than to her.
“Teo? Possibly. But there’s something else, and Rosie may have known about it.”
“You can’t be thinking that Rosie—”
“Let’s keep the horse, the cart, and the market where they belong. Teo saw a plastic surgeon. That was what evaluation in her appointment diary meant. She had an appointment to be checked over in the cause of repairing the damage done to her. She kept that appointment. She was told the results as well. She needed a driver to and from if she was going to have the procedure, so she asked Rosie. But then, well, you know the rest.”
He was shaking his head as he took in the information. “Teo didn’t tell me,” he said. “Why didn’t she tell me?”
“Could be that was what she wanted to speak with you about and she wanted to give you the news when you were face-to-face. Could be that was why she asked you to come to the flat. ’Course there’s also a bloody high probability that she only wanted to talk to you about Rosie and to give her blessing to this whatever-it-is between you two. Which do you reckon?”
He looked down at his shoes. Barbara could hear him swallow. He said, “I don’t know. I wish to God I did. I wish she’d said something, given me a clue, anything. Are you sure she meant to have the surgery?”
“The surgeon herself gave me the word on that. Evidently, it took her—Teo—a little time to decide because the repair didn’t mean things would automatically change much for her. Sexually, I mean. As far as her enjoyment went, I mean. She would’ve needed nerve endings intact for that, and there was no way to tell if there were any unless and until scar tissue was removed. But she was willing to risk it.”
“Risk what?” he asked, raising his head to look at her.
“Risk being disappointed.”
Three people entered the sales office then, two nicely dressed women and an equally nicely dressed man, who looked at Barbara and Ross Carver curiously. One of the women said, “I’ll be just a moment to help you two,” which indicated to Barbara that she thought they were a couple eager to buy a flat. This made her lips twitch. What it apparently made Ross Carver do was to say to her, “We ought to . . . ?” and indicate the door.