Kitabı oku: «A Secret Rebellion», sayfa 3

Taking a breath, she allowed a smile to lift her lips for a moment, and then said, ‘All right. What time does this get-together start?’

Nigel couldn’t believe his luck. ‘Oh—um—half-past eight,’ he offered, almost dropping the books he was carrying in his haste to show his enthusiasm. ‘I say, will you come? I’d be awfully flattered.’

‘Not too flattered, I hope,’ murmured Beth drily, starting towards the car park. ‘Until tomorrow, then.’

‘Until tomorrow,’ echoed Nigel eagerly. ‘Would you like me to—to pick you up?’

‘Oh, I think I can find my own way to the Students’ Union,’ Beth assured him lightly. ‘Goodbye. I’ll see you tomorrow.’

She was aware of him watching her as she strode to where the Renault was waiting, and she wondered if she had made a mistake by accepting his invitation. She wouldn’t like him to get the wrong idea, not with the summer break looming. As far as she knew, Nigel was staying on campus, and it could prove difficult if he started to get the wrong idea.

Still, she consoled herself, unloading her burden of essays on to the back seat, she could always deal with that contingency if it arose. For the present, she had quite enough to think about, not least what she was going to wear tomorrow evening.

Her house, the house she had bought four years ago, and which had considerably increased in value since that time, stood in a row of similar Victorian houses, overlooking Albert Square. The cul-de-sac was called Albert Terrace, and had evidently been named with the then Prince Consort in mind. During the past four years, Beth had steadily improved its appearance, and without losing its character at all she had had new wiring, and an adequate heating system installed. She knew it was too big for one person, but she had never intended to live there alone. And if the ghosts Nigel had taunted her with were sometimes more real than he imagined, they were not ghosts that Albert Terrace knew anything about.

The phone was ringing as she entered the long narrow hall that ran from front to back of the building, and she frowned. She had hoped to be free of complications for the rest of the evening, and she nudged the door closed with her foot, before picking up the receiver.

‘Beth!’

It was Justine Sawyer, wife of one of the maths lecturers, and the closest thing she had to a friend on campus. Justine was the one person Beth still had to deal with in her calculations. In her early thirties, and a social worker, Justine had been married to Mike for more than ten years, without having a family. Justine didn’t want children. She didn’t like them, and she had begun to assume that Beth felt the same. How she would react to the news she had to deliver, Beth didn’t know. Right now, she didn’t even want to think about it.

‘Hi, Justine.’ Beth wedged her pile of papers on to the hall table, as she responded to the call, absently scanning the letters her cleaner, Mrs Lamb, had left there for her. ‘You just caught me. I’ve just come in the door.’

‘Yes, I gathered that. I was beginning to think one of the students had delayed you,’ remarked Justine tersely. ‘You have heard the news, I suppose. It’s terrible, isn’t it? He was such a pleasant boy.’

Beth frowned, putting the bills that had been distracting her aside. ‘What boy, Justine?’ she exclaimed. ‘What are you talking about? Nigel intercepted me as I was leaving the English building. That’s why I’m late. He wanted to ask me to some reception he’s having tomorrow evening.’

‘Well, there may not be a reception now,’ declared Justine, sounding a little impatient. ‘Beth, Tony Thiarchos is dead. Mike thinks he may have committed suicide.’

‘Oh, no!’

Beth suddenly found she was a little weak at the knees. Groping for the banister, she lowered herself on to the second stair and took a steadying breath. It wasn’t that she had known Tony Thiarchos very well. He wasn’t even one of her students. But his girlfriend was, and that was how she’d got to know him. How she’d heard about the party in London.

‘I thought you’d be upset,’ said Justine, sounding slightly mollified now. ‘His girlfriend—what was her name? Linda something-or-other—is one of your third years, isn’t she?’

‘Mmm.’

Beth was finding it very difficult to respond at all. It was always a tragedy when a young person was killed, and Tony Thiarchos had seemed to have everything to live for. He was young, good-looking, popular with his contemporaries. She couldn’t believe he was dead. Much less that he had deliberately taken his own life.

‘Mike thinks he was worried about his finals,’ went on Justine. ‘He said he thought there was a lot of pressure on him from his family to do well. They’re going to be pretty shattered when they hear the news. I wonder if they’ll try to keep it out of the papers?’

Beth blinked, struggling to escape from the sudden cloud that seemed to have engulfed her. She was letting herself get too involved, she thought. Tony Thiarchos had meant nothing to her. Just because she had used something he said in passing for her own ends was no reason to feel any sense of guilt now.

‘I—why would they?’ she managed, gripping the stair carpet beside her with tense fingers, and Justine gave a short laugh.

‘Well, if they can’t, no one can,’ she retorted grimly. ‘He’s a Thiarchos, Beth. Surely even you’ve heard of Constantine Thiarchos! As in oil—and shipping, and God knows what else!’

Beth pulled herself together. ‘I—didn’t think,’ she mumbled, not altogether truthfully. But she hadn’t put the two names together. ‘How—how did it happen?’

‘His car hit a tree.’

Beth frowned. ‘Well, why would you think—–?’

‘He was the only person in the car, Beth.’ Justine was sounding impatient again. ‘And it was broad daylight, for heaven’s sake! He was a good driver. From what Mike says, he could handle that sports car of his like a professional.’

‘Even so—–’

‘Oh, I know. It will probably be treated as an accident. These things usually are. But Mike saw what happened, and he doesn’t—–’

‘Mike saw it!’

‘Yes.’ Justine sighed. ‘It only happened an hour ago. Near Founder’s Hall. That’s why I thought—Beth, are you all right? You sound—well, funny.’

‘I’m fine.’ Beth was relieved to hear that her voice sounded almost normal. She tried to think coherently. ‘So—what happens now?’

‘Well, there’ll have to be an inquest, of course. And his family will have to be informed. I believe his father lives in London. I imagine he’ll be coming to arrange everything.’

Beth nodded. ‘Poor Linda.’

‘Yes. I expect it’s pretty awful for her. They say they were really close. Not that his family would approve. People like the Thiarchoses don’t marry girls like her.’

‘Why?’

Beth tried to focus on the least horrifying aspect of the affair, and Justine made a scornful sound. ‘Darling, we’re too old to believe in all that romantic stuff. Let’s face it, it was just a college infatuation. He’d have left this summer, and they’d have never seen one another again.’

Beth pushed herself somewhat wearily to her feet. ‘I suppose you’re right.’

‘You know I am.’ Justine sounded irritatingly smug. ‘Now, how about you joining Mike and me for supper? I know it’s short notice, but I think we could all use a little company tonight.’

Beth hesitated, but the thought of preparing a lonely meal for one had lost some of its appeal. She didn’t want to be alone tonight. She didn’t want to think about Tony Thiarchos. She didn’t want to remember that without his grumbling about not being able to attend his cousin’s birthday party she’d never have conceived the idea of gatecrashing the event. He’d been inadvertently responsible for her present condition; for her meeting Alex Thorpe—and that was something else she didn’t want to think about …

CHAPTER TWO

ALEX’S fingers felt numb.

They shouldn’t have felt numb, he thought irritably, wondering how he could feel so cold on such a warm day. It was absurdly warm for May in England. But the chill he was feeling came from deep within himself.

He wanted to put his hands in his pockets, but standing beside his son’s grave with his hands in his pockets seemed disrespectful somehow. Not that Tony would have reproached him. His son had always been complaining about his father’s concern for doing the right thing.

Well, he wasn’t doing the right thing now, Alex thought bitterly, watching his son’s casket being lowered into a grave in an English churchyard. Tony’s grandfather had wanted—had demanded—that Alex bring Anthony’s body back to Greece for burial. Constantine had wanted his grandson laid to rest beside his wife and his mother, but Alex had ignored him. It was a small thing, a small rebellion, but Tony would defeat his grandfather in death as he had never done in life.

Besides, there was the girl to deal with. Tony’s wife, if that incredible scrap of paper was to be believed. Was she the reason his son had crashed his car? Because Tony had been afraid to tell his father and his grandfather he’d married without their consent?

Alex’s jaw hardened. He couldn’t believe that was so. It was too easy. Too simple a solution for something that surely had a deeper significance. But what? He had racked his brain trying to come up with an answer. He had hoped the girl could tell him. Linda. He tried out the name on his tongue. Linda Daniels—no, Linda Thiarchos. His lips twisted. His daughter-in-law!

The service was ending. Bending to scatter a handful of soil over the mahogany casket, Alex felt a crippling sense of pain. God, he wished he had someone he could turn to right at this moment. Even Lucia—though she was far away in South America, too wrapped up with her new life, and her new family, to spare the time to attend her eldest son’s funeral.

Besides, it was a maudlin wish. He and Lucia had never had anything in common—except their son—and their marriage had ended, as it had begun, in acrimony. Something else he had to thank his father for, he thought wearily. And if he thought Constantine had had a hand in this …

He straightened and, as he did so, his eyes were riveted by the sight of a tall slim woman, standing behind, and to one side, of his son’s wife. He blinked once, twice, and then shook his head, as if the tumult of his emotions had caused some blurring of his vision. But no. She was still there. Across the grave. Her hand resting lightly on the girl’s shoulder, as if offering silent support.

He looked down at the ground, incapable of believing that she was actually there. That Elizabeth Ryan was standing at the other side of the grave. And now, conversely, he hoped she hadn’t recognised him. It was obvious his name meant nothing to her. Alexander Thiarchos was a far cry from plain old Alex Thorpe.

But his fear that she might recognise him had nothing to do with who he was. On the contrary, in the past three months, he had used all the means at his disposal to try and find her. And that had meant employing the whole weight of the Thiarchos name to get a result. But it had been for nothing. As of this morning, he had been no nearer to discovering where she was or why she’d disappeared.

No, his fear now was that she might recognise him, and disappear again. And he wanted to know where she had been hiding. Needed to know, with an intensity that had bordered on the insane sometimes. It wasn’t just that such a thing had never happened to him before— though it hadn’t. No, he was furious that she had treated him like a fool.

He chanced another glance in her direction, keeping his head lowered, looking at her through the dark veil of his lashes. Yes, that was Elizabeth Ryan all right, if indeed that was her name. Good God, after all the money he had spent on private investigators, that she should turn up at his son’s funeral. Who the hell was she? What was she doing here?

The ironic thing was, he’d never once thought of calling his son and asking him if he knew her. It would have been difficult anyway, and it hadn’t occurred to him that Tony might know who she was. Perhaps he hadn’t. Perhaps she was just a friend of Linda’s. After all, both Nick and Christina had denied they’d ever invited her to the party.

‘Mr Thiarchos …’

The priest was at his shoulder, offering him his condolences, and Alex was obliged to lift his head to give his thanks. But he turned, so that the priest stood between him and the two women, as he exchanged a few words with the mourners, before they all trooped to their cars.

His brother, George, was there, of course, with his wife, Simone, and their two sons, Nick and George Junior. There were uncles and aunts, a whole army of cousins, and numerous other relatives and friends, who regarded any ceremony, happy or sad, as a reason for getting together.

Only his father was absent. Ostensibly, Constantine was recovering from a cold, but Alex knew the old man had stayed away, in the hope that he would change his mind. But, in this, Alex had been determined to have his own way. Besides, if Tony did have a widow, he defended himself, it would be easier for her to visit his grave if it was here, in London.

He hunched his shoulders. What ought he to do now? In other circumstances, he would have been expected to join his daughter-in-law, and escort her back to the house. But these were not normal circumstances on two counts, and the one conversation he had had with the girl had not been a comfortable affair.

But what the hell? he thought tersely. How was he supposed to react to the news that his twenty-year-old son had been a married man for almost six months? Tony had been wrong. He should have told him. And now Tony was dead, with no chance of conciliation on either side.

Squaring his shoulders, preparing himself to face not only his new daughter-in-law, but also the woman who had haunted his dreams for the past ten weeks, he turned round—and then felt a dizzying sense of disorientation. They’d gone. Linda, and Elizabeth Ryan. While he had been observing the proprieties, they had both disappeared. Lord, he thought, as his stomach hollowed, was he going mad?

‘Something wrong, Uncle Alex?’

It was Nick, and Alex gazed at his nephew with blank unseeing eyes. For a moment, it was beyond his capabilities to get any words past his lips, but then the world around him steadied, and he expelled a nervous breath.

‘I—Linda—she appears to have gone,’ he said, hoping he didn’t sound as desperate as he felt, and Nick nodded.

‘I noticed.’

‘You noticed?’ Alex repeated his words harshly, and then, getting himself under control again said, ‘So, perhaps you noticed where they—where she went. I need to speak with her.’

Nick frowned, pushing his hands into the pockets of his dark suit. ‘Is that wise?’ he asked doubtfully. ‘Perhaps you should just let her come to you, if she wants to.’ He paused. ‘Dad thinks you’ve been more than generous letting her come here.’

‘Does he?’ Alex was curt. He didn’t much care what George thought. The fact was, his brother found it a damn sight easier being tough with a woman than he ever did with a man. ‘Well, if you’ve heard that she and I exchanged a few words at the college a week ago, forget it. We both said a lot of things we probably shouldn’t have. And, if she is Tony’s wife—widow—–’

‘Dad says the marriage certificate is authentic.’

‘—then I guess I have to find out what she intends to do, don’t I?’

Nick nodded again. ‘I guess so.’

‘And—whether she had any idea what Tony—–’

Nick shrugged. ‘Do you think she’d tell you? Even if she knew?’

‘She has to talk to someone,’ said Alex flatly, as the image of a slim, startlingly beautiful woman, with silvery blonde hair, flashed across his mind. ‘Come on, Nico, do you know where she’s gone or don’t you?’

‘They might know,’ answered Nick obliquely, gesturing towards a group of young people who were just dispersing from the graveside. ‘They’re students—from the university. They all came down from Yorkshire this morning.’

Alex brought the Mercedes to a halt at the kerb, but although he switched off the engine he didn’t immediately get out of the car. He was tired, he thought wearily, gazing at the lace-curtained windows of the small semi. Bone-tired, and in no mood to conduct any kind of interview. But it had to be done. From what he could gather, Linda was planning on going back to the university in a couple of days. To take her exams, if the students he had spoken to could be believed. How she could think of taking exams in the present circumstances was beyond his comprehension. But if that was what she intended to do, the sooner he spoke to her the better, before time, and his resentment, got in the way.

Not that that was the only reason he had come here tonight, he conceded, hunching his shoulders against an unwilling tide of emotion. He hadn’t left his brother to make his excuses to the rest of the family just because he needed to speak to his daughter-in-law. It was the woman who had accompanied her he needed to see. Forgive me, Tony, he prayed, but his confrontation with Elizabeth Ryan was long overdue.

He glanced at his watch. It was nearly half-past six, but he was surprised to find it was still so early. A whole lifetime seemed to have passed since he’d seen her in the churchyard earlier that afternoon. Since then, he had had only one objective. To see her, and tell her what he thought of her.

He knew his family and friends, his business acquaintances, and the members of his household staff, all thought grief was responsible for the unnatural air of optimism he had adopted throughout the reception that had followed the burial. And perhaps it was. Conversely, during the past week, he had thought of little else but Tony, and the guilt he felt at not being there when his son might have needed him most. He had gone around in a daze, hardly aware of what he was doing. All through the police enquiries, and the inquest that followed, he had felt as if he was living some awful nightmare. Only when he’d spoken to Linda had he let his feelings show.

But now his mind felt active again. Ever since he’d seen Elizabeth Ryan in the churchyard, it had had a new focus. For a period, at least, he could use his anger towards her to blot out the pain of his son’s death. Thinking of her could keep him sane; give his mind time to heal.

Pulling the keys out of the ignition, he thrust open his door and got out of the car. He was still wearing the dark suit and black tie he had worn to the funeral, and his sombre clothes stood out in the quiet street, where most men were in their shirt-sleeves. The warm day had given way to an even warmer evening, and the usual activities of trimming hedges and mowing lawns were much in evidence here.

But not at Number Seventeen, he noticed, locking the car, and approaching the gate. Apart from an upstairs window being open, and a curtain billowing in the gap, the house looked deserted. They were probably all in the back, he decided. Linda, her parents, and—Elizabeth Ryan.

There was no bell, so he knocked on the panels, which were interleaved with strips of fluted glass. An encouragement for thieves, he thought, imagining how easy it would be to break the glass and unlock the door. Would he go that far, if they refused to speak to him?

Deciding his mind was wandering again, he rested one hand against the wall beside the door and knocked again. He should have let Spiro come with him, as George had wanted him to do, he thought. His burly chauffeur could be relied upon to handle most situations. It was only because he hadn’t wanted to intimidate the girl that he had insisted on coming here alone.

At last, when he was seriously considering all alternatives, he heard someone coming along the hall to the door. He could see a shadow through the glass panels, and his stomach clenched in sudden anticipation. What if it was Elizabeth Ryan? he thought, aware that he was not as in control as he’d imagined. God, why did the woman do this to him? He was as apprehensive now as he had been on his first date.

A key turned, the door opened—and his daughter-in-law was standing there, looking at him. ‘Why—Mr Thiarchos!’ she exclaimed, briefly too shocked to show any hostility. And then, less hospitably, ‘What do you want?’

She had been crying, Alex noticed. Her eyes were red, the lids white and puffy. In normal circumstances, he supposed she was a pretty girl. Attractive, anyway, with her wide, mobile mouth, and short brown curly hair. She wasn’t tall, and she was inclined to carry a little weight, but in something other than an oversized T-shirt and worn jeans he guessed she could look quite presentable.

‘I—we need to talk,’ Alex replied at last, looking beyond her into the narrow hall of the house. ‘May I come in?’

Her breath escaped in a rush. ‘Why?’

‘Because I’d prefer not to discuss my private affairs on the doorstep,’ declared Alex evenly, and she raised a protesting hand.

‘No, I don’t mean that. I mean—why do you want to talk to me? I—I don’t think we have anything to say to one another.’

‘Don’t you?’ Alex endeavoured to hold on to his patience. He had to remember that this had to have been almost as hard for her as it had been for him, and he couldn’t rush her. ‘Well, trust me, we do.’

Linda sniffed. ‘If you’ve come here to tell me I needn’t expect any help from the Thiarchos family, then save your breath. I don’t want anything from you—–’

‘I haven’t.’ Alex straightened. ‘Look—I know it hasn’t been easy for you. And—and I haven’t made it any easier; I know that, too. But you have to cut me a little slack here. We all say things we don’t mean sometimes. I know I do, and I guess you do, too.’

Linda gave him a suspicious look. ‘So, you haven’t come to cause trouble?’

Alex shook his head. ‘No.’

She hesitated a moment longer, and then she moved to one side so that he could step into the hall. It was a silent invitation, but Alex took it, taking the door from her unresisting fingers and closing it behind him.

‘You’d better come through,’ said Linda, leading the way along the hall. ‘I’ll introduce you to Kathie.’

Kathie? Alex frowned. Who the hell was Kathie? Not her mother, obviously. Her sister, perhaps? Or the woman he knew as Elizabeth Ryan? His nerves tightened.

Deciding he’d find out soon enough, he said nothing as he followed her into a small conservatory at the back of the house. The light in the glass-walled extension was dazzling, and the heat was such that Alex wouldn’t have been surprised to see grapes ripening on the vines that curled up from a variety of pots and containers. But his attention was caught by the sight of a woman, sitting in a cane chair beneath the windows, and it wasn’t until she got up and came towards them that he saw that her silvery hair was grey and not blonde.

‘This is my foster mother, Kathie Adams,’ said Linda, with some reluctance. ‘Kathie, this is Tony’s father.’

‘Tony’s—father?’ The woman looked at Alex with evident surprise. ‘I—how do you do, Mr Thiarchos? I’m sorry to meet you in such unhappy circumstances.’

‘Yes.’ Alex took the hand she proffered with controlled politeness. ‘I’m sorry, too. And I hope you’ll forgive me for coming here unannounced.’

‘Why, of course.’ Mrs Adams was as sociable as his daughter-in-law was reserved. ‘Won’t you sit down, Mr Thiarchos? Let me get you something to drink. Tea, perhaps?’

Alex, who had been hoping for something a little more substantial, managed a slight smile. ‘Tea sounds fine,’ he conceded, waiting until Linda had perched herself on the edge of the wide window-seat before taking the chair the older woman had offered. ‘Thank you.’

‘Good.’ Mrs Adams gave her foster daughter an encouraging look. ‘Well, I’ll leave you two to have a chat, hmm? I won’t be long, Linda.’

Linda flashed her a grateful look, though Alex had the impression that she would rather have made the tea herself. Still, she remained where she was, gripping the sill at either side of her jeans-clad knees with nervous hands. For the first time since he had learned his son had a wife, Alex felt a trace of sympathy for her. Dear God, what an end to their married life! And he’d thought his divorce from Lucia had been ugly.

‘So,’ he said, realising it was up to him to say something, ‘why did you rush away after the funeral? You should have come back to the house.’ Both of you.

‘Your house?’ Linda gave him a sceptical look. ‘Oh, yes. I’m sure I’d have been welcome there.’

Alex spread his legs, resting his arms along his thighs, and looked down at the tiled floor beneath his feet. ‘All right,’ he said. ‘Perhaps I deserved that. Perhaps I wasn’t as understanding as I should have been when I—–’

‘You were damned rude!’ she retorted, a break in her voice. ‘You came up to Yorkshire looking for a scapegoat, and I was there!’ She pulled a tissue out of her pocket and scrubbed at her nose. ‘How do you think I felt?’

‘Yes.’ Alex lifted his head. ‘Yes—well, perhaps that’s so. But you know what they were saying, what they’re still saying, if it comes to that. That Tony drove into that tree deliberately—–’ He broke off as the whole horror of the situation washed over him again. ‘I’m sorry. I’m doing this badly. You’ll have to forgive me. What I want to say is—did you have any inkling that he might—–?’ He shook his head. ‘My God, he was due to leave in a few weeks. I thought he was happy!’

Linda bent her head. ‘When you thought about him at all,’ she muttered, scuffing her feet, and Alex gazed at her with sudden anger.

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘Well …’ Linda swallowed, and he guessed she had bitten off more than she could chew. ‘How—how often have you seen him in the past year? How many times have you been up to Sullem Cross?’

Alex tamped down his resentment, but he wasn’t used to having his actions questioned. By anyone. ‘I—saw him a couple of times—–’

‘In London.’

‘So? I have a business to run, Linda. Tony understood that.’

‘Did he?’

‘I thought he did.’ Alex’s cheek muscles ached with the effort of controlling his emotions. ‘I gave him everything he wanted. A decent place to live; clothes; a car!’

‘Presents,’ said Linda contemptuously. ‘You gave him presents. You treated him like a child. He never had any money of his own.’

‘He had access to funds.’

‘Credit cards,’ she retorted. ‘You didn’t know your son very well, Mr Thiarchos. Tony couldn’t live on what you gave him.’

Alex’s fists clenched. ‘You mean he couldn’t support a wife on what I gave him,’ he countered. ‘No, I’ll give you that.’

‘I didn’t want his money!’ Her voice was shrill. ‘I didn’t take any of it!’

‘No?’

‘No.’

They were both on their feet now, facing one another, and the sound of the outer door slamming didn’t immediately register in Alex’s tired brain. He was too intent on finding out the truth about his son. He had even forgotten the other reason he had come here.

‘And you expect me to believe that?’ he was demanding harshly, when someone appeared in the doorway to the conservatory.

‘For heaven’s sake, Linda, what’s going on here?’ the newcomer exclaimed. ‘Dear Lord, can’t this wait? Tony was only buried this afternoon!’

Alex’s first thought was that her voice was the same, smooth and husky, soothing his jagged senses with a fine stroke of velvet. Then his world tilted. God, it was her, he saw unsteadily. The same, yet not the same. The same height and colouring; the same exotic beauty, but softer, somehow, gentler. She had a little more flesh on her bones than he remembered. And her hair was definitely longer than before. It brushed her shoulders now, thick and silky, its weight removing its tendency to curl.

She hadn’t seen him yet, hadn’t identified him as anything more than Tony’s father. Her attention was all on his daughter-in-law, and he was able to look at her unobserved. He suddenly wished he had chosen some other way to do this. But he hadn’t expected his own irrational sympathy for her, and what had seemed so simple back at the house was now intensely complicated. Complicated by the fact that he suddenly had the urge to bury his face in the pale beauty of her hair, he thought disgustedly. He was unutterably relieved when Linda broke the spell.

‘It’s all right, Beth.’ Beth? So it was Elizabeth, then. ‘Mr Thiarchos was just leaving, weren’t you, Mr Thiarchos?’

Was he? Alex hauled his unruly senses back into line, and endeavoured to adopt a neutral expression. But he noticed that Linda was making no attempt to introduce them, and that angered him, too.

‘Won’t your—Mrs Adams—think it strange if I do?’ he suggested politely, and had the doubtful privilege of watching Elizabeth’s composure disintegrate. She looked at him properly for the first time, and he met her horrified gaze with carefully dispassionate eyes. Then, deliberately, he held out his hand. ‘Hello. I’m Alex Thiarchos. And you must be—Miss—–?’

‘Haley,’ she got out hurriedly, and his eyebrows arched in knowing acknowledgement.

‘Haley,’ he agreed, not allowing her to look away. ‘Were you a friend of my son’s, too?’

Beth moistened her lips, triggering memories of that night, memories Alex would sooner forget, and lifted her shoulders in a curiously defeated gesture. ‘Perhaps,’ she said, and he realised she was having some difficulty in actually saying anything.

But once again Linda intervened. ‘Miss Haley is a lecturer, from the university,’ she told him brusquely. ‘She very kindly agreed to come with me. Not just—not just as a representative of the university, but—but as—my friend.’