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for what she could get out of him'
Wexford said quietly: I'm afraid it looks like that. Tell me, didn't you have any idea that your wife might be going out with this man, this Doon? It looks very much as if Doon knew her when she lived in Flagford and took up with her again when she came back. She must have gone to school here, Mr Parsons. Didn't you know that?'
Did Parsons look furtive, or was it just a desire to hold on to some remnants of his private life, his marriage broken both by infidelity and by death, that made him flush and fidget?
'She wasn't happy in Hagford. She didn't want to talk about it and I stopped asking her. I reckon it was because they were such a lot of snobs. I respected her reticence. Chief Inspector.'
‘D id she talk to you about her boy friends?'
That was a closed book,' Parsons said, 'a closed book for both of us. I didn't want to know, you see.' He walked to the window and peered out as if it was night instead of bright day. 'We weren't those kind of people. We weren't the kind of people who have love affairs.' He stopped, remembering the letter. ‘I can't believe it I can't believe that of Margaret. She was a good woman. Chief Inspector, a good loving woman. I can't help thinking that Katz woman was making up a lot of things that just weren't true, making them up out of her own head ’
'We shall know a bit more when we hear from Colorado ’ Wexford said. ‘I’m hoping to get hold of the last letter your wife wrote to Mrs Katz. There's no reason why it shouldn't be made available to you ’
Thank you for nothing ’ Parsons said. He hesitated, touched the green cover of Swinburne's verses and walked quickly from the room.
It was some sort of a break, Wexford thought, some sort of a break at last. He picked up the telephone and told the switchboard girl he wanted to make a call to the United States. This had been a strange woman, he reflected as he waited, a strange secretive woman leading a double life. To her husband and the unobservant world she had been a sensible prudent housewife in sandals and a cotton frock, an infants' teacher who polished the front step with Brasso and went to church socials. But someone, someone generous and romantic and passionate, had been tantalized and maddened by her for twelve long years.
Chapter 9
Sometimes a troop of damsels glad ...
Tennyson , The Lady of Shalott
Miss Fowler's was an unacademic bookless flat. Burden, who was aware of his own failing of cataloguing people in types, had tried not to expect old-maidishness. But this was what he found. The room into which Miss Fowler showed him was full of hand-made things. The cushion covers had been carefully embroidered, the amateurish water-colours obviously executed with patience, the ceramics bold. It looked as if Miss Fowler could hardly bear to reject the gift of an old scholar, but the collection was neither restful nor pleasing.
‘P oor, poor Margaret ’ she said. Burden sat down and Miss Fowler perched herself in a rocking chair opposite him, her feet on a petit-point footstool. 'What a very shocking thing all this is! That poor man too. I've got the list you wanted.'
Burden glanced at the neatly typed row of names.
Tell me about her ’ he said.
Miss Fowler laughed self-consciously, then bit her lip as if she thought this was no occasion for laughter.
'Honestly, Inspector ’ she said, ‘I can't remember. You see, there are so many girls ... Of course, we don't forget them all, but naturally if s the ones who achieve something, get Firsts or find really spectacular posts, those are the ones we remember. Hers wasn't a very distinguished year. There was plenty of promise, but none of it came to very much. I saw her, you know, after she came back ’
'Here? In K ingsmarkham?'
It must have been about a month ago ’ She took a packet of Weights from the mantelpiece, offered one to Burden, and puffed bravely at her own as he held a match to it.
They never really grow up, he
Wexford said quietly: I'm afraid it looks like that. Tell me, didn't you have any idea that your wife might be going out with this man, this Doon? It looks very much as if Doon knew her when she lived in Flagford and took up with her again when she came back. She must have gone to school here, Mr Parsons. Didn't you know that?'
Did Parsons look furtive, or was it just a desire to hold on to some remnants of his private life, his marriage broken both by infidelity and by death, that made him flush and fidget?
'She wasn't happy in Hagford. She didn't want to talk about it and I stopped asking her. I reckon it was because they were such a lot of snobs. I respected her reticence. Chief Inspector.'
‘D id she talk to you about her boy friends?'
That was a closed book,' Parsons said, 'a closed book for both of us. I didn't want to know, you see.' He walked to the window and peered out as if it was night instead of bright day. 'We weren't those kind of people. We weren't the kind of people who have love affairs.' He stopped, remembering the letter. ‘I can't believe it I can't believe that of Margaret. She was a good woman. Chief Inspector, a good loving woman. I can't help thinking that Katz woman was making up a lot of things that just weren't true, making them up out of her own head ’
'We shall know a bit more when we hear from Colorado ’ Wexford said. ‘I’m hoping to get hold of the last letter your wife wrote to Mrs Katz. There's no reason why it shouldn't be made available to you ’
Thank you for nothing ’ Parsons said. He hesitated, touched the green cover of Swinburne's verses and walked quickly from the room.
It was some sort of a break, Wexford thought, some sort of a break at last. He picked up the telephone and told the switchboard girl he wanted to make a call to the United States. This had been a strange woman, he reflected as he waited, a strange secretive woman leading a double life. To her husband and the unobservant world she had been a sensible prudent housewife in sandals and a cotton frock, an infants' teacher who polished the front step with Brasso and went to church socials. But someone, someone generous and romantic and passionate, had been tantalized and maddened by her for twelve long years.
Chapter 9
Sometimes a troop of damsels glad ...
Tennyson , The Lady of Shalott
Miss Fowler's was an unacademic bookless flat. Burden, who was aware of his own failing of cataloguing people in types, had tried not to expect old-maidishness. But this was what he found. The room into which Miss Fowler showed him was full of hand-made things. The cushion covers had been carefully embroidered, the amateurish water-colours obviously executed with patience, the ceramics bold. It looked as if Miss Fowler could hardly bear to reject the gift of an old scholar, but the collection was neither restful nor pleasing.
‘P oor, poor Margaret ’ she said. Burden sat down and Miss Fowler perched herself in a rocking chair opposite him, her feet on a petit-point footstool. 'What a very shocking thing all this is! That poor man too. I've got the list you wanted.'
Burden glanced at the neatly typed row of names.
Tell me about her ’ he said.
Miss Fowler laughed self-consciously, then bit her lip as if she thought this was no occasion for laughter.
'Honestly, Inspector ’ she said, ‘I can't remember. You see, there are so many girls ... Of course, we don't forget them all, but naturally if s the ones who achieve something, get Firsts or find really spectacular posts, those are the ones we remember. Hers wasn't a very distinguished year. There was plenty of promise, but none of it came to very much. I saw her, you know, after she came back ’
'Here? In K ingsmarkham?'
It must have been about a month ago ’ She took a packet of Weights from the mantelpiece, offered one to Burden, and puffed bravely at her own as he held a match to it.
They never really grow up, he
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