An Expert in Murder by Nicola Upson Page A

as best he could, giving the soldier a drink and reassurance that a stretcher party would be sent to gather him safely in under the cover of darkness.
    His mission accomplished, Jack turned to go back to his own trench and was shot in the back by a German sniper before he had taken half a dozen steps.
    They said he had died instantly, but of course they always said that and she had no way of knowing if it was the truth or if there were things she had never been told which explained why Archie had avoided her for so long, even though he knew she was desperate to hear about Jack’s death from someone who had cared about him. She didn’t blame Archie, but he had failed her: in dealing with his own grief for Jack, he had been unable to face hers and, although their friendship had lasted, there remained – on both sides – a sense of regret. Now, the girl she had been prior to Jack’s death was almost unrecognisable to her: it was hard to believe herself capable of that kind of love.
    After Jack was killed, and having seen such tragedies repeated over and over again, Archie gave up all hope of continuing on the path he had once chosen for himself – medicine was no career for someone who had lost faith in his ability to outplay death. But if he was no longer surprised when death arrived ahead of its time, he never shook off a sense of anger at its indifference – and that 40

    had proved an excellent foundation for the career to which he eventually turned.
    Now, Archie’s inability to do anything about the inherent cruelty of the world seemed temporarily to exclude everything else from his life, and Josephine was relieved when the girls were finally ready to go out and leave them in peace to talk.
    ‘You two take as long as you like,’ Lettice reiterated, absent-mindedly picking up the last slice of toast. ‘We’ll be at the theatre all afternoon and dinner’s booked for six-thirty, so don’t be late. I do so hate to have to rush dessert.’
    ‘And perhaps you’ll have cheered up by then.’ Ronnie’s parting shot was followed by the slamming of the front door, then all was quiet.
    ‘I love them dearly, but it’s so nice when it stops,’ Josephine said.
    ‘This isn’t a social call, is it?’
    ‘I wish it were, but I’m afraid it’s about what happened at King’s Cross last night. Have you seen the papers yet this morning?’
    ‘No. Lettice mentioned that something had gone on at the station, but she wasn’t very specific. What’s it got to do with me?’
    ‘You signed an autograph for a young woman yesterday. How well did you know her?’
    At his use of the past tense, Josephine’s heart went cold. ‘Hardly at all. She recognised me on the train coming down and we had lunch together. She loves the theatre and wanted to know all about Richard , so we spent most of the time talking about that. I introduced her to Lydia when we got here and invited her to come and find me at the theatre if she wanted to, and that was that. Why?
    What’s happened to her?’
    Archie saw no point in delivering anything but the simple truth.
    ‘She’s been killed,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry there’s no gentler way of telling you, but it wasn’t an accident and it seems that you and Lydia were among the last people to see her alive.’
    ‘You mean she was murdered? Who on earth would want to hurt her?’
    ‘We don’t know yet, but I have to ask you this: how did you part?’
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    Josephine stared at him in disbelief. ‘We just said goodbye on the platform. She was so excited at meeting Lydia that she’d left her bag on the train and had to go back for it.’
    ‘You never saw her after that?’
    ‘No. The train was late getting in, so we were in a hurry. Marta
    – that’s Lydia’s lover – was waiting for us outside with a taxi and Lydia had to get to the theatre. I left them at stage door and came straight here.’
    ‘And you didn’t go out again?’
    ‘Of course not – I was exhausted. What am I