Chương 7
After a while, she said, “I need complete disclosure from you. Not the version that makes you easiest to believe.”
He turned.
“You think I’m lying.”
“I think shame makes people edit.”
The sentence landed with uncomfortable accuracy.
Julian sat down again.
He told them about the firm. He told them about the loan, the brochures, the consultant, the email he had sent in anger. He disclosed that he had spoken to an estate agent about a discreet valuation without Evelyn’s permission.
PC Shaw looked up at that.
“I never intended to sell without her agreement,” Julian said.
“But you obtained a valuation?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To understand the options.”
“Did your mother know?”
“No.”
He heard the weakness of his own language.
DS Morgan gathered the papers.
“Ms. Bell knew about the valuation.”
“How?”
“She found the agent’s letter in the post.”
Julian thought of Mara collecting envelopes each morning.
“Did she show it to my mother?”
“She says your mother opened it herself.”
“She lies.”
“Perhaps. The problem is that several of her lies are built around things you actually did.”
At the rehabilitation center, Evelyn refused to see Julian for two days.
He learned why from Amita.
“She heard you had arranged a valuation,” Amita said.
“It was preliminary.”
“That word will not help.”
“I was trying to plan.”
“You were planning with everyone except the person who owned the house.”
Julian stared through the glass door of the lounge. Evelyn sat beside a woman with white hair arranged in a perfect helmet. They were watching a quiz show with subtitles.
“What am I supposed to do?”
“Today? Go home.”
“She needs me.”
“She has asked not to see you.”
“Mara used that valuation to terrify her.”
“Yes.”
“And I should leave her alone because she’s angry?”
“You should show her that asking you to leave has meaning.”
Julian remained outside for another minute. Evelyn did not look toward the door.
He drove to London and worked until midnight in the nearly empty office. Half the ceiling lights switched off automatically every twenty minutes. Each time, he stood and waved his arms until they returned.
On his desk lay samples for a housing project that might never be built: brick, brushed metal, pale engineered timber. He moved them into straight lines, then disturbed them again.
His former wife called at one in the morning.
Julian had not spoken to Sophie in three months.
“Your mother rang me,” she said.
“Why?”
“She wanted someone who would confirm you have always been controlling.”
“Did you?”
“I said you alphabetized our spice rack.”
“That was one time.”
“You labeled the shelves.”
He leaned back in his chair.
“What else did she say?”
“That she’s frightened you’ll use this to take the house from her.”
“I’m not going to.”
“Tell her.”
“She won’t see me.”
“Then wait.”
“I’ve done enough waiting.”
“That may be true for you.”
Julian rubbed his eyes.
Sophie was quiet for a moment.
“Are you all right?”
“No.”
“Good.”
He laughed once, without humor.
“That’s kind.”
“I mean it’s good that you’re not pretending.”
He looked at the dark windows. His reflection seemed older than thirty-five, though not wiser.
“I walked into the room and saw that bottle near her face,” he said. “For a second I thought I was watching her die.”
“But she didn’t.”
“No.”
“And now?”
“Now everyone is discussing whether the person holding it had a reasonable explanation.”
“That’s what happens when life refuses to arrange itself for you.”
“You sound pleased.”
“I’m not. I’m worried about her.”
“And me?”
Sophie took too long to answer.
“Yes,” she said. “But differently.”
Three days later, Evelyn allowed Julian to visit.
She was in the rehabilitation garden wearing a borrowed cardigan over the lavender nightgown. The cardigan was mustard yellow and too large, giving her the appearance of a disgruntled bird.
Julian sat at the opposite end of the bench.
“I sold my shares in the firm,” he said.
Evelyn looked at him.
“Why?”
“To cover the shortfall.”
“You should not have.”
“It was mine to sell.”
“You’ll lose the business.”
“I may lose control of it. That isn’t the same.”
She looked toward a stone birdbath occupied by a single floating leaf.
“Are you telling me so I will be grateful?”
“No.”
“Then why?”
“Because I asked you for money and made your house part of the solution to my problem. I’m not doing that again.”
Evelyn pulled the cardigan around herself.
“I offered the first loan.”
“I know.”
“You repaid some.”
“Not enough.”
“No.”
The directness of it almost made him smile.
“I arranged the valuation without telling you,” he said. “It was wrong.”
“Yes.”
“I thought knowing the number would make me feel less trapped.”
“Did it?”
“No. It made the house look like money.”
“It has always looked like money to everyone else.”
Julian studied the gravel.
“I am sorry.”
She did not answer.
A nurse pushed an empty wheelchair past them, one wheel squeaking at regular intervals.
Evelyn watched it disappear through the doors.
“Mara did not begin as a thief,” she said.
Julian waited.
“She was lonely. So was I. She talked about her mother, who had dementia. She said her sister took everything and left her to do the work. Perhaps that was true.”
“Police are checking.”
“She could be funny.”
“You’re allowed to miss her.”
Evelyn looked sharply at him.
“I don’t.”
“All right.”
“I miss who I thought she was.”
Julian folded his hands.
“Yes.”
Evelyn’s voice lowered.
“When I refused to sign the final paper, she cried.”
Julian turned toward her.
“She said I had used her. She said wealthy people called dependence affection until it became inconvenient. Then she said she had sacrificed a year of her life and deserved security.”
“What did you say?”
“I told her she was employed.”
Evelyn’s face tightened at the memory.
“It was cruel.”
“It was true.”
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“Truth and cruelty manage to share a bed quite comfortably.”
“Did she threaten you after that?”
