Part 16 (1/2)
”Colin, for G.o.d's-”
”Why not come out and say it? You don't much care whether I'm guilty or innocent. Either way, you think I deserve what I've got coming. Just like everybody else.”
Derek knew hards.h.i.+p and frustration were what had driven Colin to throw such accusations in his face. But the knowledge did not make them any easier to bear. ”This is ridiculous,” he protested. ”I'm doing everything I can to help you.”
”Is that a fact? Well, you could have fooled me.” Colin leaned forward across the table, fixing Derek with his bloodshot eyes. ”Or perhaps it's just that help from you is indistinguishable from hindrance.”
Derek flinched. ”Is that what you really think?”
”Yes. It really is.”
In Wales, Charlotte's day pa.s.sed listlessly, with no word from Frank Griffith. By the evening, she and Emerson had agreed they could leave matters in his hands no longer. They would return to Hendre Gorfelen next day, invited or not. Emerson's argument was that if Griffith intended to co-operate, they would already have heard from him. If not, they had nothing to lose.
Charlotte was less certain. Griffith was not a man to be rushed or crowded. He had laid down the terms on which he might be approached. To disregard them was to court failure. Yet they could not wait indefinitely. Somehow, at some time, the issue had to be forced.
And so it was, but not by them. When Charlotte returned to her room after dinner, the telephone rang before she had even closed the door.
”h.e.l.lo?”
”Miss Ladram?”
”Mr Griffith. I thought you'd never call.”
”So did I. But we were both wrong, weren't we? Are you alone?”
”Yes.”
”Can you be here at seven o'clock tomorrow morning?”
”Seven o'clock?”
”Too early for you, is it?”
”No. Not at all. We'll be there, Mr Griffith, rest a.s.sured.”
”You misunderstand. I mean just you, Miss Ladram. Not Doctor McKitrick. I'll talk to you alone-or not at all.”
”But-”
92.
R O B E R T G O D D A R D.
”I'm not open to argument. Take it or leave it.” He paused, then added: ”Should I expect you?”
Charlotte hesitated only momentarily before answering. ”Yes, Mr Griffith. You should.”
CHAPTER.
NINETEEN.
Driving alone through the green and empty heart of Wales early that summer Sunday, Charlotte felt as if the world had been newly made and revealed to her. The colours of sky and gra.s.s were clarified, the sounds of birdlife and running water magnified, till nothing beyond the hills where Frank Griffith had found and made his home seemed real any longer.
At Hendre Gorfelen, the dog sat waiting in the yard, snapping at stray flies that floated in the suns.h.i.+ne. It p.r.i.c.ked up its ears when Charlotte drove into sight and barked twice, but did not stir even when she climbed from the car and walked towards the house.
The door opened before she reached it and Frank Griffith stepped out to meet her. He was bare-headed, his grey hair thin and crew-cut, and he was smoking a pipe, holding it oddly by the stem a little short of the bowl. His s.h.i.+rt and trousers were ironed and pressed, as if in honour of her visit, and she felt quite touched by the smartness of his appearance. But he was not smiling. Indeed, looking at him, she could scarcely imagine a smile crossing his lined and wary face.
”You came, then,” he said neutrally.
”Surely you knew I would.”
He nodded. ”And McKitrick?”
”I'm alone, as you can see.”
”Good.”
”Why didn't you want me to bring Emerson?”
”Because I don't trust him.”
”But you do trust me?”
”Yes.”
”Why?”
H A N D I N G L O V E.
93.
”Because Beatrix said I could. Quite a compliment, isn't it?”
”Yes . . . I . . .”