Page 112 of A Death in Cornwall

“You’re the one who dragged me into this.”

“But my superiors don’t know that.”

“And they never will.”

“Unless I do something stupid.”

“Like what?”

Peel guided the Vauxhall through an open gate and rolled to a stop outside a stately stone manor perched atop the cliffs. “Like this,” he said, and climbed out.

45

Penberth Cove

It was Cordelia Bradley who answered the bell. She was a tall, pale-complected woman of perhaps fifty with windblown reddish hair and eyes the color of the cloudless Cornish sky. She remembered Peel from the robbery investigation and greeted him warmly. Gabriel she regarded with astonishment.

“Forgive me, Mr. Allon, but you are the last person I expected to see on my doorstep.”

She invited them inside and closed the door. Peel, while standing in the entrance hall, asked whether her husband was at home and had a moment to talk.

“Yes, of course. But what’s this about?”

“Mr. Allon is completing a research project that Professor Blake was working on at the time of her murder. He’s hoping that Mr. Bradley might be able to help him.”

“Why Leonard?”

It was Gabriel who answered, untruthfully. “I found his name and telephone number in her notes.”

“That’s strange.”

“Why is that?”

“Because Leonard and Charlotte were at Oxford together and spoke on the phone regularly. There’s no reason in the world why she would write down his number. It was stored in her contacts.” She paused, then added, “As was mine.”

She led them along a central corridor to a pair of French doors overlooking the sea. Near the edge of the cliff was a separate cottage with walls of glass.

“My husband’s office,” said Cordelia Bradley. Then she plucked a phone from her pocket and smiled without parting her lips. “I’ll let him know you’re coming.”

***

The cottage was reached by a manicured gravel footpath. Leonard Bradley, alert to danger, waited in the doorway. He was a slender man with a fine-boned face and dark hair. His clothing was casual but costly. His smile was artificial.

“You’ve caught me in the middle of a rather complex trade, gentlemen, but please come in.”

Gabriel and Peel followed Bradley into the cottage. His office was an architectural showpiece, the realm of an alchemist who magically made money from money. He settled behind his large glass desk and invited Gabriel and Peel to sit in the two modern chairs opposite. They remained standing instead.

An awkward silence ensued. Finally, Bradley looked at Gabriel and asked, “Why are you here, Mr. Allon?”

Gabriel exchanged a long look with Peel before answering. “Charlotte Blake.”

“I gathered that.”

“The two of you were close friends.” Gabriel lowered his voice. “Unusually close.”

“And just what are you implying?”

“Let’s skip this part, shall we? I’ve read the text messages.”

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