Kensington?’
‘No. She died ten years ago.’
All this was quite cool and without a sign of hesitation. Now she opened her handbag and lit a cigarette. It was baffling. Her fingers were trembling and she was obviously ill at ease, yet by all the signs this had nothing to do with either Kincaid or her identity. If she was Paula Kincaid, was she so certain of her ground? And if so, what was the subject which was making that little lighter tremble?
‘Where were you and Mr Fleece married?’
She snatched eagerly at the question. ‘At Penwood near Dorking, where my home used to be. My mother had some friends there and I was married from their place – it’s a pretty little church, it’s got an avenue of yew trees.’
‘A white wedding …’
‘Oh, yes. Orange blossom and white lilac. It was at Whitsun, you see, just after the crisis. We’d been going to the Black Forest … it’s such a long time ago.’
‘What was the name of your mother’s friends?’
‘Wait … I’ll remember it in a minute. They were elderly people of about Mother’s age. They lived in a house not far from the church. Baxter or Blackstable … I’m sorry, I’m not certain. Arthur was the one who remembered names …
‘Was your marriage a happy one?’
She faltered at that. For a second or two Gently thought she intended to challenge the question. But she didn’t, she rallied.
‘Oh yes … I think you’d say so. But latterly, of course, Arthur’s been terribly busy.’
‘With business you mean?’
‘Yes, business took up his time. I don’t think he always realized how much I was alone.’
‘Was he away from home often?’
‘Yes; and the children, they’re at school. We’ve twins, you know. A son and a daughter.’
‘But naturally you’d have friends?’
‘Well, that’s not quite the same.’
‘People like – Mr Stanley, for example?’
‘Him?’ She shook her head definitely. ‘We’re not in his class; he’s a millionaire or something. Arthur knew him through the business, but I’ve only met him once or twice.’
‘What about Dick Overton?’
He saw the cigarette shudder.
‘I haven’t met him for years. None of the Everest Club members.’
‘Didn’t you go to their annual dinners?’
‘No – no, they were just for members …’
‘Weren’t you on the ramble last week?’
‘Good God, no! I was here … in London …
‘In this house?’
‘No, not in this house. At a hotel. I wanted a change.’
‘Which hotel, Mrs Fleece?’
‘The Suffolk in Knightsbridge. Does it really matter?’
It did; that was clear from the way she was taking it. Her free hand was on her breast; she had leant forward; her cheeks were pale. She suddenly burst out:
‘What does all this matter, anyway? Kincaid killed him; you know he did. Can’t you leave the rest alone …?’
Gently hunched his shoulders wearily and stared at the darkened panes of the window: Stanley had said the same thing in his more calculated way. Kincaid wasn’t to be probed, he was to remain an enigma; they could hang him or lock him up if they liked, but they mustn’t unreasonably seek the truth …
He said: ‘You were acquainted with your husband for nearly three years before you married him?’
She nodded and he sensed again that he was wide of that which worried her.
‘That’s a long time surely?’
‘He wanted to get on his feet. He left his job after the expedition and set up his own firm.’
‘He had capital, did he?’
‘Yes. He came into some money.’
‘It was left him?’
‘He didn’t tell me … no, I don’t think it was that.’
‘Why don’t you think it was that?’
‘Oh, just the way he spoke about it. He was awfully pleased with himself, as though he’d done something clever.’
‘Was it a loan from someone?’
‘No, I’m sure it wasn’t.’
‘From one of the club members?’
Crash! – he was back in the target area.
‘He had nothing to do with the club members. He only met them
‘No. She died ten years ago.’
All this was quite cool and without a sign of hesitation. Now she opened her handbag and lit a cigarette. It was baffling. Her fingers were trembling and she was obviously ill at ease, yet by all the signs this had nothing to do with either Kincaid or her identity. If she was Paula Kincaid, was she so certain of her ground? And if so, what was the subject which was making that little lighter tremble?
‘Where were you and Mr Fleece married?’
She snatched eagerly at the question. ‘At Penwood near Dorking, where my home used to be. My mother had some friends there and I was married from their place – it’s a pretty little church, it’s got an avenue of yew trees.’
‘A white wedding …’
‘Oh, yes. Orange blossom and white lilac. It was at Whitsun, you see, just after the crisis. We’d been going to the Black Forest … it’s such a long time ago.’
‘What was the name of your mother’s friends?’
‘Wait … I’ll remember it in a minute. They were elderly people of about Mother’s age. They lived in a house not far from the church. Baxter or Blackstable … I’m sorry, I’m not certain. Arthur was the one who remembered names …
‘Was your marriage a happy one?’
She faltered at that. For a second or two Gently thought she intended to challenge the question. But she didn’t, she rallied.
‘Oh yes … I think you’d say so. But latterly, of course, Arthur’s been terribly busy.’
‘With business you mean?’
‘Yes, business took up his time. I don’t think he always realized how much I was alone.’
‘Was he away from home often?’
‘Yes; and the children, they’re at school. We’ve twins, you know. A son and a daughter.’
‘But naturally you’d have friends?’
‘Well, that’s not quite the same.’
‘People like – Mr Stanley, for example?’
‘Him?’ She shook her head definitely. ‘We’re not in his class; he’s a millionaire or something. Arthur knew him through the business, but I’ve only met him once or twice.’
‘What about Dick Overton?’
He saw the cigarette shudder.
‘I haven’t met him for years. None of the Everest Club members.’
‘Didn’t you go to their annual dinners?’
‘No – no, they were just for members …’
‘Weren’t you on the ramble last week?’
‘Good God, no! I was here … in London …
‘In this house?’
‘No, not in this house. At a hotel. I wanted a change.’
‘Which hotel, Mrs Fleece?’
‘The Suffolk in Knightsbridge. Does it really matter?’
It did; that was clear from the way she was taking it. Her free hand was on her breast; she had leant forward; her cheeks were pale. She suddenly burst out:
‘What does all this matter, anyway? Kincaid killed him; you know he did. Can’t you leave the rest alone …?’
Gently hunched his shoulders wearily and stared at the darkened panes of the window: Stanley had said the same thing in his more calculated way. Kincaid wasn’t to be probed, he was to remain an enigma; they could hang him or lock him up if they liked, but they mustn’t unreasonably seek the truth …
He said: ‘You were acquainted with your husband for nearly three years before you married him?’
She nodded and he sensed again that he was wide of that which worried her.
‘That’s a long time surely?’
‘He wanted to get on his feet. He left his job after the expedition and set up his own firm.’
‘He had capital, did he?’
‘Yes. He came into some money.’
‘It was left him?’
‘He didn’t tell me … no, I don’t think it was that.’
‘Why don’t you think it was that?’
‘Oh, just the way he spoke about it. He was awfully pleased with himself, as though he’d done something clever.’
‘Was it a loan from someone?’
‘No, I’m sure it wasn’t.’
‘From one of the club members?’
Crash! – he was back in the target area.
‘He had nothing to do with the club members. He only met them
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