“I never intend that,” he told her. “Not the seeing red part, but the other. The lecturing part.”
“I don’t mean to imply that you intend it. But intentionally or not, you step out of the role of husband and into the role of father figure, and . . . well . . . I really do just want to punch you in the face when you do that.”
“I’m glad you’ve managed to restrain yourself.”
“I’m not joking, Simon.”
“Nor am I.”
They were in the garden. It was evening, and they’d carried with them a jug of Pimm’s. Deborah’s father had taken Peach for her final stroll of the day. She reckoned this would involve a visit to the Kings Head and Eight Bells, where the dog would busily search the floor for anything edible that might have dropped there and her father would probably have a pint of cider. Cider, like Pimm’s, always mitigated the heat.
She had brought her husband up to the minute on everything that had occurred during his absence. Once she’d concluded with Monifa, Tani, and Tani’s departure with Sophie, she’d felt the uneasiness that told her there was something she had to address with Simon, something that had gone on too long between them. Hence, this conversation.
She said, “I do understand how it happens. You were rather a father figure to me early on, albeit quite a young one. You did have to decide how to interact with a seven-year-old, didn’t you. But you see, I never saw you that way, as a father figure. Yes, you were Mr. St. James because I was trained to call you that. In here, though”—she tapped her chest lightly—“you were never other than Simon to me. You didn’t really see me, and that was logical, wasn’t it, considering the difference in our ages. But I always saw you.” She reached for her drink. Simon was adding another spear of cucumber to his, having eaten the first one. She watched his hand cradling the bowl that held the spears, and she wanted to say that she loved his hands and that it was likely his hands were what she had fallen in love with first. But instead she tried to clarify who he was to her by saying, “Simon, I have one father. I don’t need another. I don’t want another. But if I must have a second one, if that’s truly my fate, I don’t want him to be the man I sleep with.”
He gave her a look. In the evening light, his eyes had grown dark. “I hope I’m not meant to take that as a threat.”
“Of course not,” she said. “Not that a threat would move you. But I think love might do that job. And God knows I love you, even at your most maddening.”
He smiled. “That’s reassuring, as I feel likewise.”
“When I’m at my most maddening?”
“Especially then. And believe me, you can be quite maddening, Deborah. No one is quite as maddening as a ginger in high dudgeon. And you mustn’t argue the point because I have a great deal of experience in the matter.”
“It only happens when I’m provoked,” she said in defence of herself.
He laughed then. “If that’s what you want to believe, my love.”
The garden gate opened then. Both of them looked towards it. Deborah assumed it would be her father with Peach in tow, but it was Tommy. He said, “I thought I’d try my luck back here. I rang the bell and when Peach didn’t raise a ruckus, I reckoned you might be taking in some cooler air.”
“I think the weather’s about to break,” Simon said.
“Ever the optimist, isn’t he?” Deborah added. “You look quite tired, Tommy. Have you had your dinner? Would you like to join us? We’ll get to it eventually. In the meantime, there’s Pimm’s.”
“Charlie will have something waiting at home. He’s been quite patient with me, so I won’t stay long.” He pulled one of the deck chairs over to where they were sitting, not on the lawn but on the flagstones that served as a patio at the top of the basement stairs. He said, “We’ve had a confession from Dr. Weatherall. It all made perfect sense to her.” He explained the rationale behind the confession he’d taken from the surgeon. “We’ve spent the day tying up loose ends. It’s quite a blessing you had the photo, Deb. The tenth edition of Standing Warrior was what sealed things. Once she understood the sculpture was part of a series, and numbered as well, there was little more for her to say.”
“Did she tell you why?”
“She did.” He went on to explain. It took a bit of time. His explanation involved not only the surgeon, but also the woman who assisted her at Women’s Health of Hackney. He added the sister of the murder victim along with Teo Bontempi’s husband. The time frame of events was quite nearly incredible. Everything related to the attack on Teo Bontempi seemed to have occurred within two hours.