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Chapters (67)
  1. Cover Page
  2. Title Page
  3. Author’s Note
  4. BOOK ONE
  5. Chapter 1
  6. Chapter 2
  7. Chapter 3
  8. Chapter 4
  9. Chapter 5
  10. Chapter 6
  11. Chapter 7
  12. Chapter 8
  13. Chapter 9
  14. Chapter 10
  15. Chapter 11
  16. Chapter 12
  17. Chapter 13
  18. Chapter 14
  19. Chapter 15
  20. Chapter 16
  21. BOOK TWO
  22. Chapter 1
  23. Chapter 2
  24. Chapter 3
  25. Chapter 4
  26. Chapter 5
  27. Chapter 6
  28. Chapter 7
  29. Chapter 8
  30. Chapter 9
  31. Chapter 10
  32. Chapter 11
  33. Chapter 12
  34. Chapter 13
  35. Chapter 14
  36. Chapter 15
  37. BOOK THREE
  38. Chapter 1
  39. Chapter 2
  40. Chapter 3
  41. Chapter 4
  42. Chapter 5
  43. Chapter 6
  44. Chapter 7
  45. Chapter 8
  46. Chapter 9
  47. Chapter 10
  48. Chapter 11
  49. Chapter 12
  50. Chapter 13
  51. BOOK FOUR
  52. Chapter 1
  53. Chapter 2
  54. Chapter 3
  55. Chapter 4
  56. Chapter 5
  57. Chapter 6
  58. Chapter 7
  59. Chapter 8
  60. Chapter 9
  61. BOOK FIVE
  62. Chapter 1
  63. Chapter 2
  64. Chapter 3
  65. A Note About the Author
  66. Also by P. D. James
  67. Copyright

Lettie said, “A question in return. Why did you marry Guy Haverland?”

“Because he was funny, clever, charming and very rich. Even at eighteen, I knew from the first it wouldn’t last. That’s why we got married in London, in a registry office. The promises seemed less onerous than in a church. Guy couldn’t resist any good-looking woman and he wasn’t going to change. But we had three wonderful years and he taught me so much. I’ll never regret them.”

Lettie got up. She said, “Time for bed. Thanks for the dinner, and good night, my dear.” And she was gone.

Helena moved over to the west-facing window and drew back the curtains. The west wing was in darkness, no more than a long shape lit by the moon. Was it, she wondered, violent death that had released the impulse to confide, to ask questions which had remained unspoken for years? She wondered about Lettie and her marriage. There had been no children, and she suspected that this had been a grief. Was that priest she had married one who still thought of sex as somehow indecent and saw his wife and all virtuous women as Madonnas? And were that night’s revelations a substitute for the question which was in both their minds and which neither had dared to ask?

Chapter 14

14

Until seven-thirty, Dalgliesh had had little opportunity to examine and settle into his temporary home. The local police had been helpful and busy, phone lines had been checked, a computer installed and a large corkboard attached to the wall, in case Dalgliesh should need to display visual images. Thought had also been given to his comfort, and although the stone cottage had the faint musty smell of a house unoccupied for some months, a wood fire had been set and was blazing in the hearth. The bed had been made up and an electric fire provided upstairs. The shower, although not modern, delivered very hot water when he tested it, and the refrigerator had been stocked with sufficient provisions to keep him going for at least three days, including a casserole of obviously home-made lamb stew. There were also cans of beer and two bottles each of very drinkable red and white wine.