Dying to Know (A Detective Inspector Berenice Killick Mystery) (6 page)

Had
she thought then he was right?

But
I love him, she must have said. I love Chad and I want to marry him.

There
was more I could have said. I could have said that the first time he put his arms around me, it felt like coming home. I could have talked about his shyness, his awkward tenderness, his concern for me that was almost paternal. I could have told them that after all the years I’d spent being a free spirit, Chad had prevented me floating away altogether, had tethered me to earth. What I would never have told them, though, was about the desire, the rightness of it all, the private, physical spaces that freed him to be so urgently, powerfully male, that allowed me to be so fully a woman…

She
took a sip of wine, went over to the window. The curtains were still open, their heavy drapes tied back with silken ropes, and she could see the line of sea against the sky.

Yes,
I said to them, I shall be a vicar’s wife.

A
vicar’s wife. A warm house, a cosy fire, a welcoming table, a smile for my husband in our noisy, family home, our children running to and fro…

Not
this. Not this echoing shell, these well-appointed rooms in which there is only silence and the tap of my footsteps on the polished floors.

She
found herself back in the kitchen again. She heard her husband’s key in the lock. She bent to the oven and retrieved the casserole for supper.

Chapter Four

At
twelve
noon
,
on
the
thirtieth
of
July
1922
,
Amelia
Voake
paused
,
breathless
and
shy
,
at
the
door
of
her
husband’s
workshop
.

‘
Gabriel
?
’

She
lifted
her
long
skirts
,
muddy
from
the
garden
,
took
a
step
over
the
threshold
.
The
laboratory
,
he
called
it
.

‘
Gabriel
?
’
she
called
again
,
but
there
was
no
answer
.
Only
the
hum
in
the
silence
,
in
the
heavy
dark
shadows
of
the
panelled
walls
.

On
the
oak
bench
sat
the
machine
,
giving
off
its
sour
green
light
.
Rays
,
she
thought
,
gazing
at
it
,
something
to
do
with
the
aether
,
is
that
what
it
was
,
or
was
that
something
else
?
Dangerous
,
anyway
,
he
was
always
saying
so
,
not
to
come
too
near
,
not
to
let
their
child
anywhere
near
.

She
wondered
where
he
was
.
The
rain
beat
against
the
windows
.
She
stared
at
the
tangle
of
wires
,
the
light
beaming
from
the
lens
.

She’d
forgotten
,
now
,
what
errand
had
brought
her
here
,
a
question
from
Cook
,
wasn’t
it
,
something
about
sharpening
a
knife
for
the
pheasant
…

Above
the
hum
,
another
sound
.
She
jumped
.
The
machine
seemed
the
same
,
the
flickering
light
unchanged
.

Again
,
the
sound
,
like
a
cry
.
A
human
cry
,
a
howl
of
pain
.
But
where
…

There
it
was
.
Out
of
the
corner
of
her
eye
,
a
movement
,
white
in
the
green
light
.

She
felt
faint
,
sick
with
dread
.
Not
this
,
not
this
again
.
Last
time
,
she
thought
,
it
was
my
own
imaginings
,
it
was
I
who’d
brought
it
into
being
.
Last
time
her
husband
was
there
,
talking
,
explaining
in
his
dry
voice
and
dry
words
the
working
of
the
experiment
, ‘
You
see
,
Amelia
,
with
this
modification
,
the
movement
of
the
optical
components
interferes
as
little
as
possible
with
the
actual
beam
…
’

She’d
feigned
comprehension
,
as
usual
,
but
behind
him
,
in
the
thin
light
,
she’d
seen
a
shape
,
a
man’s
face
,
translucent
,
the
bench
visible
through
the
human
form
,
the
pale
hair
,
the
rough
white
linen
of
his
shirt
.

‘…
and
here
you
see
the
counter
-
rotating
beams
…
’

‘
Gabriel
–
’
she’d
interrupted
him
. ‘
Did
you
see
?
’

‘
What
,
my
dear
?
’
His
voice
was
tight
with
irritation
.

‘
There
–
’
She
had
turned
back
,
pointing
.

‘
Your
nerves
,
Amelia
.
Playing
tricks
again
.
’

Pointing
,
staring
into
the
shadows
.
Seeing
nothing
.

And
now
–
now
,
here
alone
in
the
laboratory
,
she’d
seen
it
again
.
She
turned
,
breathing
,
ready
to
face
it
,
whatever
it
was
.
A
young
man
,
limping
,
she
thought
,
even
in
that
one
glimpse
,
the
military
coat
,
the
torn
white
shirt
…

She
saw
only
the
dark
wood
walls
,
the
grey
daylight
beyond
.
No
man
.
No
coat
,
no
shirt
.

The
noise
of
the
machine
was
louder
,
and
the
light
seemed
to
pulse
more
fiercely
,
as
if
on
the
brink
of
change
,
throwing
fractured
colour
across
the
bench
,
across
the
wiring
and
the
sheaves
of
papers
.

Her
husband’s
writings
.
A
series
of
numbers
,
Greek
lettering
,
arithmetic
.
Phrases
, ‘
decreased
density
,
thermal
expansion
…
’