Had the flat been in darkness, he might have turned for home as she’d had a difficult time in Cornwall followed by the drive back to London, and she probably would have been just as happy to have an undisturbed night of sleep. But there were lights on, so he found a spot he deemed safe for the Healey Elliott, and he walked back to her building.
He used his key this time, and once inside the building, he heard conversation and music. The television, he thought. Daidre wasn’t a daily or nightly viewer of anything in particular, but it was a way she could relax with a glass of wine and—no doubt—Wally lounging next to her. He reckoned that was what she was doing. He unlocked the door, opened it, and said, “Has that animal completely supplanted me?”
A woman’s cry of surprise came from the sofa. But it was not Daidre. Lynley had not seen her in nearly two years, and she was much changed. Then she had quite short hair, its colour altered by peroxide to an unattractive shade of orange. Then she had worn no makeup and had a squint that suggested her eyes badly wanted correction. Now, however, her hair was dark, it fell to just below her ears, in a curve that enhanced the shape of her face, and—like Daidre—she wore spectacles. Daidre’s were frameless; these were tortoiseshell and round.
“Gwynder,” he said to her. “Sorry. I didn’t expect—”
“Tommy!” Daidre had come to the doorway of the bedroom. She carried sheets, blankets, and a pillow in her arms. She said, “You’ve met Tommy, Gwyn. He came to the caravan with me once.”
She’d taken him there because his suspicions about her had encouraged him to force her hand, making her reveal the truth about her childhood, the childhoods of her siblings, and the lives they’d led with their parents. He’d assumed that both Gwynder and her twin, Goron, knew about his involvement with their sister. From Gwynder’s expression, though, it seemed that this was as unknown to her as Daidre’s early life had once been unknown to him.
She said, “You’re the policeman.”
He said, “I am.”
“Edrek never said.”
This, he knew, was Daidre’s birth name, discarded by her when she’d been adopted into her Falmouth family. There was very little answer he could make to this, aside from, “Ah. Did she not?” which he said as kindly as he could manage, for he could see how ill at ease Gwynder was in his presence. He wanted to add to Daidre, “We appear to be faced with something of a dilemma, don’t we?” but she was quickly moving to the sofa, where she placed the linens and the pillow, after which she put her hand on Gwynder’s shoulder.
“It’s quite all right, Gwyn. You’ve nothing to . . . It’s quite all right.”
Lynley wondered what she’d been about to say: Nothing to fear? Nothing to worry about? Nothing you need to say to the man who loves me? What? But she’d glanced in his direction and had clocked his raised eyebrow and had apparently decided that some thoughts were best not given voice.
He said as pleasantly as he could manage, “Welcome to London. I hope you find the change from Cornwall isn’t too drastic for you.”
Gwynder fingered the neckline of the sundress she was wearing, rolling it nervously between her fingers. She looked from him to her sister and back to him. She said, “Do you live here? With Edrek?”
“No, no,” Daidre said.
“He’s got a key, though.”
“Well yes, of course. Tommy’s . . .” Daidre looked at him in a way that suggested she was unequal to the moment. This was completely unlike her. Lynley had never known her to be unequal to anything.
He said, “I’m here occasionally. Sometimes I arrive before your sister. Sometimes I arrive quite late. It seemed easier if I had a key.”
“You sleep with her, then. You’re her lover. Edrek, why didn’t you tell me you have a lover?”
Lynley reckoned he knew the answer to that well enough. Had Daidre informed her sister that she and Lynley were involved, Gwynder would not have come with her to London. He knew how unlikely it was that Daidre would admit this, though.
Instead, she said, “Tommy and I are . . . Well, I’m not quite certain how to define us. Tommy, are you?”
“I thought I was,” he said, after a moment to collect himself. “Perhaps it’s something worthy of discussion. May I fortify myself with a glass of wine?”
“Of course,” she said brightly. “Shall I . . . ?” She indicated the kitchen.
“I’ll find it,” he told her.