The Saint Zita Society (32 page)

It wasn’t long before she encountered Inge whose English was a great deal better than that of the Poles. And her eyes were midnight blue. June took her into the Dugong for a drink and Inge said she would like a schnapps but they hadn’t got any. They drank gin instead. Inge confided in her that she loved the basement flat at number 7, Lucy and the children were angels, but she didn’t care at all for Mr Still who snapped at her whenever they met. She’d do anything for Lucy, she said, but she wasn’t going to put herself out for him.

‘I don’t blame you,’ said June.

‘No, but he does. He came back from his run this morning and acted like it was my fault there was no hot water for his shower. What do I know about the hot water? I called a plumber and when the man said he couldn’t come till tomorrow Mr Still got very nasty.’

‘Oh, ignore him,’ said June.

‘That nanny is very nice. We don’t have many Muslims in Denmark but she is so nice.’

Rabia thought Inge was very nice too. Quiet and well mannered and she obviously adored Thomas. Having kept earlier hours for several weeks, Mr Still had now reverted to leaving number 7 at eight in the morning and often not returning until ten at night. At least, Rabia thought, there could be no more adultery with that Rad Sothern. If it was wrong to be glad someone was dead, well, she was sorry but she couldn’t help her feelings.

Mr Still continued to go out jogging but from being every morning it had gone down to every other morning and by April was only Saturdays and Sundays. Perhaps he had lost heart because, as far as Rabia could see, he hadn’t lost any weight.

‘You would have to run from here to – oh, I don’t know the names – every day to lose weight,’ said Inge, who as a Scandinavian was considered in the Dugong to be a fitness expert.

‘Here to John o’ Groats,’ said Jimmy.

Inge said she didn’t know where that was. Mr Still would be out late that evening – it was Friday – and she had a job to do for Lucy. When first asked she had thought doing such a thing might be wrong but when she considered that she liked Lucy and disliked Mr Still, she said an unqualified yes. The man she had to let into number 7 and take upstairs to Lucy’s bedroom was having a drink with Damian and Roland at number 8. Inge watched him come across the road and down the area steps. Very good-looking, she thought, a great improvement on Mr Still.

‘Martin Gifford,’ he said when she let him in.

D
r Jefferson’s kitchen was very big and the gas hob was at the garden end next to the Aga. Dex had been seated
about thirty feet away at the table on the paediatrician’s instructions while Jimmy, also on Dr Jefferson’s instructions or at his request, made him a cup of hot chocolate. The milk would boil over if Jimmy took his eyes off it for a second, so Dex took advantage of his turned back to help himself to a sharp fruit knife, which he slipped into his tool bag.

‘He’s doing this out of the kindness of his heart.’ Jimmy set down the mug of chocolate with a bang. A dribble slopped onto the table. ‘Now you be careful with that,’ he said as if Dex had spilt it.

‘Thank you,’ said Dex politely.

‘A saint in human form is Dr Jefferson.’

While Moloch was a demon in human form, thought Dex. He had no gardening to do that day. He had only come to collect his money and the hot chocolate was a surprise. Better go now as Moloch was due to emerge from number 7 at any minute and today was the day set for his destruction. Mr Neville-Smith was in his front garden, putting out a recycling bag which Dex knew no one would collect until at least next Tuesday. He hung back a bit, avoiding being seen, but he was near enough to hear Moloch call out a cheerful ‘Good morning, Ivor’.

It was the voice of Peach, upper class, soft and low, but Dex knew better than to be deceived by that. Evil spirits can assume the voices of whom they please just as they can take human shape. Mr Neville-Smith said, ‘How are you, Preston?’ and went back into his house without waiting for a reply. Moloch began to jog along and Dex followed him, younger and thinner than he and well able to keep up.

R
abia had heard the voice of Lucy’s new lover and it had dismayed her. The children, she thought, the effect this
might have on the children. If Mr Still had stayed away, if there had been a divorce, if for some reason he had never come back, there would at least have been no question of adultery. Lucy might even have remarried and to someone she loved and could be faithful to. But now she herself was going and what little she might have done to protect the children was at an end.

For she knew that in the absence of Mr Still Lucy would keep her and she would be able to tell Khalid she couldn’t marry him. She had to stay with Thomas and the girls. If only it could be. But it was bad enough being glad Rad Sothern was dead without wishing Mr Still might be. Rabia prayed silently not to have sinful thoughts and while she sat with her head bent and her eyes closed, Thomas climbed on to her lap, put his arms round her neck and said, ‘Say sweetheart.’

P
eople who are jogging never look round. Dex had observed this truth and that Moloch ran on, staring steadfastly ahead of him. He had no idea and never had that he was followed and followed by someone who knew it would be right to rid the world of him. And Moloch was going to do what Dex had hoped during all these weeks of pursuit that he would do. He was turning into the gardens of the Royal Hospital, gratifying Dex further by taking a path between bushes and under trees, now starting to come into leaf. There was a sweet fresh smell of spring and a pale sun was coming out.

Dex felt for the knife in his pocket and as he did so Moloch stopped. He bent down to retie his shoelace which had come undone. Silently, relentlessly, Dex closed on him, a firm grasp on the knife he had stolen from Dr Jefferson’s kitchen.