Sidney Chambers and The Forgiveness of Sins (31 page)

He was surprised. Only Amanda and Hildegard knew that he was at the Lansdowne Club.

‘Indeed, sir. I think it is your wife.’

Sidney made his way to the office. Now he was frightened. Had something happened to Anna? She was perfectly well when he had left but perhaps there had been a ghastly accident. He thought of all the possibilities and his pace increased as he moved across the carpet. Why had he ever left home? What on earth was he doing when he could have been with his family?

His wife’s tone was eerily calm. ‘I am sorry to disturb you, my darling. Everything is good at home. No, there is nothing wrong with Anna. We are both well. No, not exactly. It is not all right. There is something I have to tell you. A woman has been found dead in the river. I think you know her.’

‘Is it Virginia Newburn?’ Sidney asked.

‘Inspector Keating is here. He thought you were meeting tonight.’

‘I forgot to tell him. Will you explain? Can you ask him what the woman was wearing?’

‘That’s what he wanted to tell you. She had a maroon-coloured coat, just like Amanda’s. The one you mentioned. And he doesn’t think it was an accident.’

Sidney did not tell Henry Richmond but made his excuses and left, pretending that he was returning to Cambridge. Then he went straight to Tite Street in Chelsea. On approaching the house of Amanda’s parents he was amazed to see an undertaker’s van waiting outside. He rang the bell in panic and was so relieved when Amanda answered the door that he kissed her full on the lips and held her tightly and for too long.

They were still holding each other when Amanda spoke. ‘Oh Sidney, the most dreadful thing has happened.’

‘Is it one of your parents?’

‘No, it’s the cruellest thing: a hoax. Someone telephoned the undertaker’s and said that I was dead. The men just turned up. Who could have done such a thing? I can’t trust anyone any more. I don’t even know if I can rely on you.’

‘Believe me, you can, Amanda.’

‘But what if it is Henry?’

‘He knows about the letters. Now we must tell him everything else that has happened, preferably in front of Inspector Keating. I want to see his face.’

‘I don’t know if I can do that. I have to see him alone.’

‘I’m worried that’s not safe.’

‘It’s as bad as that?’

‘You are too precious to lose.’

‘I can look after myself,’ said Amanda.

I’m not so sure, Sidney thought, immediately planning to ask for police protection.

Gerald Lowe was practically dressed for a tailor, wearing two out of the three pieces of a grey flannel pinstriped suit, having abandoned his jacket in order to keep his arms as free as possible. These were used to make extravagant gestures as he explained the way in which he had built up his business in Savile Row, why his clients were extraordinarily important even though he could not possibly name them, and how he tried to be like a father to his staff. He could remember every one of them, and of course he could tell Sidney all about Virginia Newburn.

‘She was with us just after the war. She had good little fingers; a fast worker but she was worried about losing her eyesight. They all do. You have to work so close you’re never quite sure what you’re going to see when you look up.’

He had heard about her death. ‘Did she get lost, do you think? Perhaps she couldn’t see where she was going. They have a lot of accidents on the Fens, don’t they? Is that where you’re from?’

Sidney explained the purpose of his visit. Although he did long to have a bespoke suit of his own one day, such a luxury was beyond his present means. However, he did have a friend who had offered to come with him after he had done some initial research into cut and fabric, and so perhaps they could look through a few ideas? His friend was called Amanda Kendall and she was about to marry a man whose first wife, Connie, had worked for Gerald. Could the tailor remember her at all?

‘Everyone loved Connie. She was from County Clare. We used to joke about it because it sounded like she had two Christian names or that her mother was called Clare. Connie from Clare. Beautiful hair and a little upturned nose. Wild green eyes. She was quite a dreamy girl but she had a temper on her, I’ll say that. I didn’t see her much after she got married. Have they got divorced then? I wouldn’t be too surprised. She was always a wayward girl.’

‘No.’ Sidney stopped. ‘She died.’

‘Really?’

‘She had a weak heart.’

‘Connie from Clare? That doesn’t sound right. She was a strong girl.’

‘And there were no other people called Connie that you employed?’

‘None at all.’

‘And so are you saying that you think she might still be alive?’

‘I think I’d have heard if she was dead.’

‘When did you last see her?’

‘A few years ago.’

‘Less than five years ago?’

‘Yes, I’m sure of it. She told me she was off to East Anglia. It must have been to see Virginia, I suppose.’

‘Did she mention her husband at all?’

‘She was always private about her admirers. She had a faraway look. I worried sometimes that she was a bit mad. But there was nothing wrong with her heart . . .’

‘Might I use your telephone?’ Sidney asked. ‘I need to make a rather urgent call.’

After Inspector Keating had made the necessary checks with the public record office, Sidney was ready to proceed. It wasn’t going to be easy and he hadn’t quite planned how to deal with the situation but the important thing was to confront Amanda and Henry together. What made matters more complicated, however, was the fact that, shortly before Sidney arrived, Amanda had lashed out and accused Henry of killing Virginia Newburn.

‘How could I?’ her fiancé had responded. ‘I hardly know her.’

‘But you admit that you do know her?’

‘She was a friend of my wife’s.’

‘You don’t have a wife.’

Henry now began his confession. ‘Amanda. There’s something I haven’t told you.’

‘You’ve been lying to me?’

‘Not lying exactly.’

‘Withholding the truth would be more accurate,’ Sidney explained. ‘I am sure it has been with the best of intentions.’

‘You mean you know something too? Have you
both
been deceiving me?’

‘I have only just discovered your fiancé’s secret.’

‘I knew there was something,’ Amanda shouted. ‘Is there another woman? TELL ME. Was it Virginia Newburn? Has she been the one sending the letters and tormenting me? Did you kill her to protect me? How much have you told Sidney? Have you both been keeping things from me?’

‘There’s one thing . . .’ Sidney began.

Amanda would not let him finish. ‘My BEST FRIEND, and my fiancé, working together. I can’t believe it.’

‘That is not the case,’ Sidney said quietly. ‘But you should know that Connie Richmond is still alive.’

Amanda walked up to Henry and looked straight at him. ‘You said she was dead.’

‘She was to me.’

Sidney made it clear. ‘They are divorced.’

Amanda refused to believe him. ‘And she’s behind all this?’

‘She’s not well, Amanda. She’s in an institution,’ Henry explained. ‘I tried to behave as best I could but it’s been impossible. Virginia Newburn kept an eye on her.’

‘And your wife killed her?’

‘We think it was an accident.’

‘Was she going to kill me?’

‘We’re not sure. Connie doesn’t have a very firm hold on reality. She is often disorientated.’

‘Did she think the woman was me?’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘How can you tell?’

Sidney tried to explain that the situation was under control. ‘The police are with her.’

‘She didn’t mean you any harm,’ said Henry.

‘DIDN’T MEAN ANY HARM? WHAT DO YOU THINK SHE’S BEEN DOING? HOW CAN YOU EXCUSE THIS BEHAVIOUR?’

‘She’s not well.’

‘NEITHER AM I.’

‘Here,’ said Sidney, handing Amanda a drink. ‘Have some whisky.’

She looked at the floor but was speaking to Henry. ‘It’s obvious you are more sympathetic to your former wife than you are to me.’

‘That’s not true. You didn’t tell me about the letters.’

‘I was frightened. I told Sidney.’

‘And he has only just told me. I would have stopped them, Amanda. You just had to tell me. I would have explained everything.’

‘Would you?’

‘You have both had secrets from each other,’ Sidney interrupted. ‘But let’s try to be calm.’

‘ME? CALM?’ Amanda replied.

‘If we could just establish the truth.’ He turned to Henry. ‘Virginia Newburn was a co-respondent in your divorce case, wasn’t she? She had hoped to marry you.’

‘I have tried to behave well,’ said Henry. ‘I only wanted to spare people’s feelings.’

‘You lied to us.’

‘I did not think that either of you needed to know the truth. It was naive of me. And wrong. I know that now. But please believe me when I say that I have tried to be decent about this. Connie sent me letters too. Forgive me.’

‘But it’s even worse than if you had told me everything from the start,’ Amanda said quietly, too shocked to shout. ‘And, what’s worse, it’s clear that you still see your wife.’

‘She’s not my wife any more. We are divorced. She is, for want of a better word, mad. I was trying to stop her damaging our happiness. It was easier to say that she was dead.’

Amanda no longer made eye contact. ‘Were you ever going to tell me?’

‘I wasn’t sure. I was afraid.’

‘Of what?’

‘This.’

‘A couple shouldn’t have such secrets,’ Amanda said. ‘What else have I still to find out? Perhaps I don’t know you at all.’

‘I didn’t want to hurt you or let anything damage our relationship.’

‘And this is why we can’t be married in church? I see that now. It’s nothing to do with faith. It’s the law. I could tell Sidney was suspicious. He had that annoying look in his eye.’

‘I was hoping that it wouldn’t come out like this,’ Henry went on, ‘that everything would be gentler and more gradual. You know I don’t like confrontations. They don’t often help. I tried my best with your friend Elizabeth and we both saw what happened there. Mark killing himself . . .’

‘You did the right thing.’

‘With the wrong result. And this time, I didn’t want to endanger our future together.’

‘But it would have been built on a lie.’

‘I thought that my punishment was to bear this alone. I only wanted to do what was best for you. If you knew you would have been anxions. You might not have wanted to marry me at all.’

‘And how do you think I feel now?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘I can’t describe it. The feeling of stupidity. To be duped.’

‘You weren’t supposed to find out. I was trying to keep things from you.’

‘Who else knows?’

‘About Connie? Mark Kirby-Grey . . .’

‘But not Elizabeth? She would have told me . . .’

‘Mark was good at keeping secrets.’

‘Anyone else?’

‘Her family. No one you know.’

‘But I know everybody.’

‘Connie didn’t move in your world, Amanda. She was a seamstress.’

‘And not you, Sidney?’

‘No.’

‘You’ve got that shifty look . . .’

‘Inspector Keating is aware of the situation.’

‘I thought he might be.’

‘But Henry has committed no crime. He didn’t know about the letters or the threats.’

‘Even though he says he received some himself.’

‘They were nothing new. Did any refer to me?’

‘They did.’

‘I’m sorry about that.’

‘And how did your wife know about me then?’

‘She’s not my wife. I told her.’

‘What?’

‘I thought she should know.’

‘So you have been more honest with her than you were with me?’

‘I wanted to protect you. I love you, Amanda.’

‘You have a very odd way of showing it.’

‘It’s been a very difficult situation . . .’

‘I could have helped you share it. We could have helped each other. You could have comforted me.’

‘But you didn’t tell me what was going on.’

‘I couldn’t . . .’

‘And neither could I tell you. If you want to break this off and find someone else I will understand, but we have both kept things from each other. I will never love anyone other than you.’

‘Did you once say that to her?’

Sidney issued a quiet ‘Amanda . . .’ but he was ignored. He knew he should leave the room but he couldn’t find the right moment.

‘I can’t remember what I said to Connie. It doesn’t matter now.’