Page 148 of Troubled Blood

“She didn’t bring it home?”

“No,” said Roy shortly. He hesitated, then said, “We had a row about it.”

“Really?”

“Yes. There can be serious consequences,” said Roy, turning redder, “societal consequences, when you start enabling things that don’t take place in nature—”

“Are you worried she told some girl it was OK to be gay?” asked Anna, and yet again Cynthia whispered, “Anna!”

“I’m talking,” said Roy, his face congested, “about giving reckless advice that might lead to marital breakdown. I’m talking about facilitating promiscuity, behind the backs of parents. Some very angry man had sent her that note, and she never seemed to have considered—considered—”

Roy’s face worked. For a moment, it looked as though he was going to shout, but then, most unexpectedly, he burst into noisy tears.

His wife, daughter and daughter-in-law sat, stunned, in a row on the sofa; nobody, even Cynthia, went to him. Roy was suddenly crying in great heaving gulps, tears streaming down over his sunken cheeks, trying and failing to master himself, and finally speaking through the sobs.

“She—never seemed—to remember—that I couldn’t—protect her—couldn’t—do anything—if somebody tried—to hurt—because I’m a useless—bleeder… useless… bloody… bleeder…”

“Oh Dad,” whispered Anna, horrified, and she slid off the sofa and walked to her father on her knees. She tried to place her hands on his leg, but he batted her consoling hands away, shaking his head, still crying.

“No—no—I don’t deserve it—you don’t know everything—you don’t know—”

“What don’t I know?” she said, looking scared. “Dad, I know more than you think. I know about the abortion—”

“There was never—never —never an abortion!” said Roy, gulping and sobbing. “That was the one—one thing Oonagh Kennedy and I—we both knew—she’d never—never—not after you! She told me—Margot told me—after she had you—changed her views completely. Completely!”

“Then what don’t I know?” whispered Anna.

“I was—I was c- cruel to her!” wailed Roy. “I was! I made things difficult! Showed no interest in her work. I drove her away! She was going to l- leave me… I know what happened. I know. I’ve always known. The day before—before she went—she left a message—in the clock—silly—thing we used to—and the note said —Please t- talk to me…”

Roy’s sobs overtook him. As Cynthia got up and went to kneel on Roy’s other side, Anna reached for her father’s hand, and this time, he let her hold it. Clinging to his daughter, he said,

“I was waiting—for an apology. For going to drink—with Satchwell. And because she hadn’t—written an apology—I didn’t t- talk to her. And the next day—

“I know what happened. She liked to walk. If she was upset—long walks. She forgot about Oonagh—went for a walk—trying to decide what to do—leave me—because I’d made her—so—so sad. She wasn’t—paying attention—and Creed—and Creed—must have…”

Still holding his hand, Anna slid her other arm around her father’s shaking shoulders and drew her to him. He cried inconsolably, clinging to her. Strike and Robin both pretended an interest in the flowered rug.

“Roy,” said Kim gently, at last. “Nobody in this room hasn’t said or done things they don’t bitterly regret. Not one of us.”

Strike, who’d got far more out of Roy Phipps than he’d expected, thought it was time to draw the interview to a close. Phipps was in such a state of distress that it felt inhumane to press him further. When Roy’s sobs had subsided a little, Strike said formally,

“I want to thank you very much for talking to us, and for the tea. We’ll get out of your hair.”

He and Robin got to their feet. Roy remained entangled with his wife and daughter. Kim stood up to show them out.

“Well,” Kim said quietly, as they approached the front door, “I have to tell you, that was… well, close to a miracle. He’s never talked about Margot like that, ever. Even if you don’t find out anything else… thank you. That was… healing.”

The rain had ceased and the sun had come out. A double rainbow lay over the woods opposite the house. Strike and Robin stepped outside, into clean fresh air.

“Could I ask you one last thing?” said Strike, turning back to Kim who stood in the doorway.

“Yes, of course.”

“It’s about that summer house thing in the garden, beside the koi pond. I wondered why it’s got a cross of St. John on the floor,” said Strike.

“Oh,” said Kim. “Margot chose the design. Yes, Cynthia told me, ages ago. Margot had just got the job at St. John’s—and funnily enough, this area’s got a connection to the Knights Hospitaller, too—”

“Yes,” said Robin. “I read about that, at Hampton Court.”

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