Another thought presented itself. It was Honor who had mentioned the word blackmail. He hadn’t considered it, but now Mark was thinking that perhaps he could apply a little judicious pressure to Honor Laverne. Her brother or a partnership in the firm – it was a simple choice. Security against uncertainty. Respectability against infamy.

Still chewing his thumbnail, Mark wandered back to the ward and looked in. Honor was still sitting at her brother’s bedside, Nicholas still asleep, his eyes closed against all of them.

I am back, Nicholas thinks, moving between the yew trees and seeing the outhouse before him. Only this time it is different. Strange … This time the outhouse roof is missing and an arrogant magpie is strutting across the exposed beams …

He moves inside, as always, and sees the huge cupboard. But then again, this is different. This time the cupboard door is wide open, the interior empty.

Patrick Gerin is sitting on the roof beams, watching the magpie, crooning to it under his breath. And as he sits the sun moves swiftly behind a banking of clouds and the rain begins. I remember the rain, Nicholas thinks. This part is always the same … Patrick is swinging his legs, thin white legs like strands of cotton, his hands grasping the roof beams, the magpie bouncing towards him.

What is this? Nicholas thinks, confused. What is this? He reaches into the pocket of his priest’s robe and pulls something out. A crucifix and a piece of rope. Puzzled, he weighs both articles in his hands, one against the other, and then glances back at the crooning boy.

And the rain keeps falling through the open roof of the outhouse, on to Patrick Gerin and the magpie, as Nicholas moves forward … I do not remember this, he thinks. This is not the same … He moves lightly, quickly, under the roof beams and then grabs the boy’s left foot and pulls him, screaming, down to earth.

Fifty-Six

The touch on her shoulder made Honor jump. She turned round, expecting to see Mark, but was surprised to find Eloise Devereux standing there. Putting her forefinger to her lips, Honor walked out into the corridor and Eloise followed her.

‘How is he?’

‘Doctor said he’ll be fine. He just had a really bad case of food poisoning. Got dehydrated, but they’ve given him fluids and he’s coming round,’ Honor replied, changing the subject. ‘I’m glad you came by. I wanted to have a word with you.’ Catching sight of Mark out of the corner of her eye, she guided the Frenchwoman to the Waiting Room and closed the door behind them. ‘How did you know Nicholas had been taken ill?’

‘Father Michael told me,’ Eloise replied calmly. ‘What did you want to talk about?’

‘Nicholas …’ Honor paused, awkward and uncertain of how to continue. ‘You had contact with him in the years we were estranged and I wondered how much you knew about him. What he’d been doing—’

‘Why don’t you ask him yourself?’

‘He’s not talking to me at the moment – we had an argument,’ Honor replied, hurrying on. ‘Nicholas was very close to Claude, but I never knew when they first met.’

If Eloise was surprised by the question she didn’t show it, merely took off her coat and sat down on one of the hard-backed green chairs. ‘In their teens, I believe.’

‘How did they meet?’

‘Through Henry, I suppose. Henry was mentored by Claude’s father, and he spent a lot of time with Raoul. I imagine Nicholas was introduced to Claude that way.’

‘So Nicholas visited France in his teens?’

‘A few times. Didn’t you know?’

Honor bristled. ‘We didn’t have a normal upbringing. Our uncle wasn’t too interested in what the boys did. He couldn’t handle Nicholas and so he let him run wild. What else could he have done? David Laverne was a single man with no experience of children; he couldn’t cope with a difficult nephew.’

‘Why was Nicholas difficult?’

‘He went off the rails when our parents were killed in a car accident. Henry always said that it was Nicholas’s fault—’

Eloise was taken aback. ‘How was it his fault?’

‘It wasn’t. It was just that our parents had come back from a trip and were tired and Nicholas had missed the last train and needing to be picked up from London. My father said he’d go alone, but my mother said she’d go with him to keep him awake. They crashed on the motorway … Henry never forgave himself for what he’d said, and Nicholas never forgot. He started playing truant from school, acting up.’ Honor paused. ‘He was impossible, but eventually he’d settle down and we’d all think it was over and then he’d go off again. Even in his teens Nicholas used to disappear.’

‘Difficult for you.’

‘Yes, it was. I worried about him.’

‘How did Henry cope with it?’

‘He was older than us, so he was already pretty much sorted. He had his career mapped out. He was sensible, focused, whereas Nicholas was capricious. Women loved him and he had a way with them …’ She thought of what Mark had told her, about her brother living with a woman old enough to be his mother.

‘Was Nicholas ever involved in anything serious?’

‘Like what?’ Honor asked. But she spoke the words too quickly and alerted the Frenchwoman.

‘Did he get into trouble?’ she repeated.

‘He never told me if he did,’ Honor replied deftly. ‘Then he suddenly seemed to settle and went into the Church. We kept in touch, but when the scandal broke he did his usual thing and disappeared.’

‘Maybe he wanted to protect you.’

‘Maybe. But for ten years I didn’t know what he was doing, except for what Claude told me.’ Honor thought about the stolen painting and the assault. ‘Look, you knew my brother after he was excommunicated. What was he doing then?’

Turning away, Eloise looked through the partition window into the hospital corridor. She was thinking about how jealous she had been of the Englishman, the elusive fixture in her husband’s life. And her first impression of Nicholas Laverne had stuck. He had arrived late one night, dishevelled, wearing old clothes, with a holdall flung over his shoulder. Dark-eyed, suspicious, asking for help.

‘Can you put me up for a while?’ he had asked Claude. ‘Just for a bit.’

‘Yes, yes, of course. But why didn’t you return my calls? I’ve been trying to get hold of you ever since I heard.’

Nicholas had slumped into a seat by the fire, despondent but angry. ‘They threw me out. I’ve nowhere else to go,’ he had said, glancing at Eloise as though expecting an argument. ‘Those bastards ruined my life.’

Eloise turned back to Honor. ‘Your brother never confided in me. And if he confided in Claude, my husband didn’t tell me. But I don’t think Nicholas would have involved us in any trouble. He was secretive, but that was because he was protective of his friends. And his family.’ She held Honor’s gaze. ‘Didn’t you ever think he wanted to confide? Sometimes it seemed as though he was about to say something, then he held back.’

‘He was like that when he was young. Like he was always looking for someone to trust and never found them. Perhaps your husband was the closest he came to having a confidant.’

Eloise rose to her feet. ‘There’s one thing that sticks in my memory. Always has. Nicholas found a place to live close to us, then began to work for Sabine Monette. He did her gardening, odd jobs and maintenance on the property.’ She paused, smiling slightly. ‘Nicholas was very happy then. He was fond of Sabine and enjoyed her collection—’

‘She was a collector?’ Honor asked, alerted. ‘What did she collect?’

‘Paintings, mostly Dutch. Sabine had natural taste, could always buy well. Her collection wasn’t large but it was impressive, and she was so proud of it.’ Eloise paused. ‘Then she had a burglary. Someone broke in and stole a couple of her most valuable pictures …’