number 73. That would, she felt, concentrate the mind wonderfully. In fact, her first impression on sitting down was to be struck anew by the full monstrosity of Sir Richard Lionnel's concrete cuckoo in Robert Adam's neo-classical paradise. Renewed sympathy for the twentieth-century Adam and the Friends of the House filled her. Adam Adamson, the revivifier, was presumably still lurking somewhere within the third-floor flat. Was his surprise at the name Chloe Fontaine now more explicable? The memory had teased Jemima ever since, for she hated pieces of a puzzle which refused to be placed. Could it be that Adam actually knew of the romanti c tryst taking place two floors beneath his and intended to make some sinister use of that knowledge? If so, it was odd that Adam was at the same time unaware that Chloe was the tenant of the penthouse flat.
As she watched and pondered, she saw the front door of the concrete block open and the figure of Adam Adamson emerge. The evening sun touched his curly head and bright jaunty beard and made it look quite fiery. He looked straight in the direction of the gardens, but showed no signs of having seen Jemima; she was in any case partially concealed by one of the ubiquitous shrubs. Then he walked in a leisurely manner away in the direction of Tottenham Court Road. He gave the appearance of being a man very much at his ease. He might have been the owner of 73 Adelaide Square instead of a squatter - revivifier. Jemima looked at her little gold watch. It was 5.30. She found she felt rather sorry to think that Adam Adamson had abandoned number 73.
She ticked off the remaining inhabitants of number 73 in her mind. Up above, golden Tiger crouched on his balcony. The curtains of the broad first-floor windows, she noticed, were closed; they had scarlet linings, a series of red bars lit up in the evening sun. Within them Richard Lionnel and Chloe were presumably cosily installed, or at least Chloe was. That left the second floor: no blinds as yet, merely large blank windows. And the basement. Tiger's haunt. Goodness knows who may be hanging about there, thought Jemima crossly. After Chloe's behaviour in that place, anything is possible.
'I don't believe it.' But suddenly, startlingly, she did believe it. It was as though Chloe's whole character and exploits, past and present, were lit from a completely new angle, the red evening sun falling upon them. Chloe had lied to her parents at Cambridge about her sex life - well, all my friends did that, thought Jemima, except me who had no parents. But Chloe had lied throughout her adult life, if you chose to analyse her behaviour in that light (up till now Jemima had not done so).
Those alibis, those affairs, those passionate plunges into love, marriage, adultery, divorce, and worst of all emotion - a great source of lies, emotion; the whole involvement with Kevin John, so incomprehensible to Jemima; did it not all add up to a cool capacity for concealment as well as a reckless capacity for love? Adultery in Chloe's case had not been the first step to deception but only one of a number of steps.
There was no doubt, now that her surprise was fading, annoyance was beginning to take over. Jemima Shore had been used and she did not like the feeling. The implication that she, Jemima, had been deliberately chosen - out of all the gullible fools available - to occupy the penthouse flat while Chloe cavorted with her prestigious lover on the first floor - no doubt laughing the while at Jemima's ignorance -well, to say the least of it, it was irritating to Jemima Shore, Investigator.
Chloe's anxious phrases floated back: 'You're sure you won't be lonely?' 'No noise.' Chloe so beguilingly helpful when Jemima confided her own distress at the death of Colette. 'You need a change of scene. Borrow my new flat while I'm away.' Chloe so carefully establishing that Jemima intended to receive no visitors, was not in the mood for company.
Chloe had used Jemima as, to be
As she watched and pondered, she saw the front door of the concrete block open and the figure of Adam Adamson emerge. The evening sun touched his curly head and bright jaunty beard and made it look quite fiery. He looked straight in the direction of the gardens, but showed no signs of having seen Jemima; she was in any case partially concealed by one of the ubiquitous shrubs. Then he walked in a leisurely manner away in the direction of Tottenham Court Road. He gave the appearance of being a man very much at his ease. He might have been the owner of 73 Adelaide Square instead of a squatter - revivifier. Jemima looked at her little gold watch. It was 5.30. She found she felt rather sorry to think that Adam Adamson had abandoned number 73.
She ticked off the remaining inhabitants of number 73 in her mind. Up above, golden Tiger crouched on his balcony. The curtains of the broad first-floor windows, she noticed, were closed; they had scarlet linings, a series of red bars lit up in the evening sun. Within them Richard Lionnel and Chloe were presumably cosily installed, or at least Chloe was. That left the second floor: no blinds as yet, merely large blank windows. And the basement. Tiger's haunt. Goodness knows who may be hanging about there, thought Jemima crossly. After Chloe's behaviour in that place, anything is possible.
'I don't believe it.' But suddenly, startlingly, she did believe it. It was as though Chloe's whole character and exploits, past and present, were lit from a completely new angle, the red evening sun falling upon them. Chloe had lied to her parents at Cambridge about her sex life - well, all my friends did that, thought Jemima, except me who had no parents. But Chloe had lied throughout her adult life, if you chose to analyse her behaviour in that light (up till now Jemima had not done so).
Those alibis, those affairs, those passionate plunges into love, marriage, adultery, divorce, and worst of all emotion - a great source of lies, emotion; the whole involvement with Kevin John, so incomprehensible to Jemima; did it not all add up to a cool capacity for concealment as well as a reckless capacity for love? Adultery in Chloe's case had not been the first step to deception but only one of a number of steps.
There was no doubt, now that her surprise was fading, annoyance was beginning to take over. Jemima Shore had been used and she did not like the feeling. The implication that she, Jemima, had been deliberately chosen - out of all the gullible fools available - to occupy the penthouse flat while Chloe cavorted with her prestigious lover on the first floor - no doubt laughing the while at Jemima's ignorance -well, to say the least of it, it was irritating to Jemima Shore, Investigator.
Chloe's anxious phrases floated back: 'You're sure you won't be lonely?' 'No noise.' Chloe so beguilingly helpful when Jemima confided her own distress at the death of Colette. 'You need a change of scene. Borrow my new flat while I'm away.' Chloe so carefully establishing that Jemima intended to receive no visitors, was not in the mood for company.
Chloe had used Jemima as, to be
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