‘Wrong,’ said Theo. ‘He’s in Athens. He arrived this evening. We had a very interesting conversation. A very…enlightening…one.’
His eyes were holding hers, holding them with the power of that dark glitter. He stood still, very still, paused in the archway. Vicky’s eyes went over him. He was wearing evening dress. It seemed an odd thing for him to be wearing in the circumstances.
But then the circumstances were…unbelievable.
She tried to get her head around them, fixing on the thing that was least unbelievable.
‘You were in Athens this evening?’ She frowned. But he was here, now, in London.
‘Then I flew here,’ said Theo. ‘You see,’ he went on, and something altered in his voice, something that slid along her nerves like acid, ‘enlightening as my conversation was, earlier on this evening, it failed to answer all the questions arising therefrom. There are so many questions, but they all have one expression.’
He paused. His eyes glittered with that strange, terrifying darkness.
‘Why?’ he said softly. ‘Why?’
He moved suddenly, and Vicky jumped. But he did not approach her. Instead he walked across to the armchair by the window and sat down. He crossed his long legs, resting his hands on the arms of the chair.
‘Start talking,’ he said. ‘And don’t,’ he instructed, in the same voice that raised hairs on the back of her neck, ‘leave anything out.’
The world was splintering around her. Breaking up into tiny shards, each one so sharp it was cutting her to ribbons. Slowly she reached for a tea towel, dried her hands properly. Then she bent to pick up the knife from where it lay on the floor, wiping it with the tea towel and replacing it in the knife-block. Finally she reached to switch off the radio.
‘Can this be death?’ asked the soprano with tearing beauty.
But death came in many guises. This was one of them.
She walked to the breakfast bar. She needed its support. Her legs had jellied. Shock—that was what it was. Shock was having a physical effect on her that was too great to bear.
‘Talk, Vicky.’
She opened her mouth, but no words came. Then, with a rasping breath, she said, ‘I don’t understand. Why did Jem go to Athens?’
There was a flicker in the dark, glittering eyes.
‘He wanted what you wanted, Vicky. He wanted your money.’ His voice changed. ‘He seemed to think that I was withholding it unreasonably.’ The eyes glittered again. ‘He was quite aggressive about it. Which was curious, really, because, you see—’ the glitter intensified ‘—I only let him into my house on the grounds that I was going to personally beat him to a pulp…’
He paused. ‘It was as well, was it not, therefore, that he spoke first? After all—’ his voice was a blade, sliding between her ribs ‘—what possible cause could I have to beat your brother to a pulp?’
‘He’s my stepbrother.’ Her voice was blank. As blank as the inside of her skull. ‘My stepfather Geoff’s son from his first marriage. We were at primary school together. That’s how Geoff met my mother after his divorce—through my friendship with his son.’
Something flashed in Theo’s face. A fury so deep that it should have slain her.
‘Why? Why did you let me think he was your lover?’
She looked at him.
‘Because it ended our marriage and I wanted out.’
Her voice was calm, so very calm. What else could she be? The inside of her head was blank—quite, quite blank.
At her answer she saw his hands bite over the arms of the chair. ‘A simple “I want a divorce” would have sufficed.’ The scorn in his voice gutted her.
She couldn’t answer. It was impossible. Impossible to say it. To anyone.
It was her own terrible, shameful secret.
No one could know. No one in the world. Not Jem, or her uncle, or her mother. No one.
She watched Theo’s mouth thin into a tight, whipped line. His eyes were like spears touching her skin, ready to indent into the flesh beneath.