She received me, we talked about little of importance. There was an awkwardness in our conversation which I had not noticed before. I could not talk to her as an employee, someone doing a job for her, an expert at my task. But I dared not adopt any other tone and, in any case, was hardly experienced enough to do so.
After a particularly long pause during which the fire in the grate seemed to become of excessive importance to both of us – it was better than avoiding each other's gaze – she turned back to me once more.
'May I ask you a question?'
'Of course.'
'Did you wish to kiss me last night?'
I didn't know what to say. Tell the truth? That would alter things totally; I could never stand in front of her and talk to her in a normal way again. And I did not know, still, how she would reply. As I have said, the ways of the aristocracy, and of foreigners, and of women, were a mystery to me. I did not understand her in the slightest; I could not untangle what I thought from what I wanted to think. All I knew was that the sudden shortness of breath, the racing of my heart, had returned even more powerfully than the previous evening.
'Yes,' I said after a long pause. 'Very much.' There was another long silence. 'What would you have done if I had?'
She smiled, but only very faintly. 'I would have kissed you back,' she said. 'I am glad you did not.'
My heart fell. My small experience was limited to girls who either wanted to be kissed, or did not. Not women who wanted both at the same time. But I knew what she meant.
'Your ladyship . . .'
'I think, in the circumstances, you might call me Elizabeth,' she replied, 'if you wish to do so. And also I think it would be best to talk of it no more. We both know quite well that relations have changed between us. It is foolish not to recognise it, to some measure.'
But how had they changed? I wanted to ask. What am I meant to do? What do you want of me?
'You must think very badly of me; I am quite shocked by myself, although not as much as I should be. I am an immoral foreigner and blood will out. That does not mean I feel free to act on my desires.'
That was something, at least, although I did not know what. All sorts of explanations went through my head. This was a woman crazed by her loss who was defying fate by having such thoughts, by deliberately acting in such a fashion. Or, she was a woman who (so I assumed) had not made love to anyone for years, and was no longer in control of herself. I even considered that she might like me, that I was the only person who could offer her any sort of understanding. That I was the only person who knew anything of what she might feel. That was the most dangerous, insidious option.
'Matthew?'
She had said something. 'I'm sorry,' I said. 'I was a little distracted.'
'I said, please tell me of your discoveries.'
My discoveries? I wanted to say. Who on earth gives a hoot about my discoveries? All I wanted to do was tell her how I had wanted to take her in my arms, and run my fingers through her hair, and have her look at me like that again. Lost children, fraud, failing companies, what trivial nonsense was all this in comparison?
But it was her conversation, not mine. And she had a better notion of how to be sensible than I had. Where had she learned that? How do people gain an intuitive grasp of when to stop, when to go forward in such circumstances? Is it just from age and experience?
'Oh, them,' I said. 'Well, there's nothing exciting there. Except for a couple of things. Did you know that the Rialto Investment Trust is having its annual meeting soon?'
'I didn't.'
'Well, it is. I thought I would go along, just to get a sense of these people. From my limited experience of these things it won't be very interesting, but you never know. And you know Mrs Vincotti told us that her father had left her some money? A certain amount which came from Barings every month?'
She nodded.
'That wasn't an annuity. It was money sent by your husband. And from what she said, it has been paid every quarter for years. The records only go back ten years, but we can assume that he was responsible for payments right back to the beginning.'
She looked interested, then her face fell. 'But does this help?'
'Not obviously. Mrs Vincotti cannot be the person we are looking for. If he paid her money, he would hardly need to instruct his executors to launch a search for her. She cannot possibly be either the child or the mother of the child. I cannot explain the payments at all, except to say that they are not helpful. So I propose dropping the matter, unless something else suggests they are relevant.'
'It seems John had a less straightforward life than I thought,' she said. 'I didn't think he had any secrets from me. Now he is dead I am discovering nothing but.'
