Read Online Guilty Thing Surprised by Ruth Rendell - Free Book Online
Authors: Ruth Rendell
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pleasant fatherly voice, ‘has just been cleaned. Always clean your car on a Wednesday, do you, Mrs Villiers? I expect you’re like my wife, a special time of the week for every little chore, eh? That way nothing gets left.’
‘No, I’m afraid not. I’m not methodical.’ She blinked at him, puzzled by the turn the conversation had taken. ‘I ought to be, I know. Denys would like it if … Why do you ask?’
‘I’ll tell you, Mrs Villiers. If you were very methodical and always worked to a routine you’d be conditioned to it, and when I could understand that even the violent death of your sister-in-law might not make you deviate from that routine. But since you aren’t methodical and only, I assume, clean your car when you feel like it or when it needs it, why did you choose today of all days?’
She blushed deeply. A fear that was almost anguish showed in her eyes and she blinked again, bringing her hands together and then clasping them. ‘I don’t know what you mean. I don’t understand.’
‘Don’t distress yourself. Perhaps you cleaned the car
because
you were upset. Was that it?’ She was very slow on the uptake, Wexford thought, too frightened or too obtuse to see the loophole he was offering her. He offered it more explicitly. ‘I suppose you took the very sensible attitude that when one is unhappy or worried, work is the best thing to take one’s mind off one’s troubles?’
Relieved at last, she nodded. ‘Yes, that was it.’ Immediately she undid the small good her agreement had done her. ‘I wasn’t very upset, not really. I mean, she wasn’t
my
sister.’
‘That’s true,’ said Wexford. He drew his chair closer towards her and their eyes met, hers held by his like the eyes of a rabbit mesmerised by headlights. Suddenly Burden was excluded and the two of them were alone. ‘She was your husband’s sister, of course, just a sister-in-law.’ Her face sharpened and hardened. ‘They didn’t like each other much, did they?’
‘No, they didn’t.’ She hesitated very briefly sliding as if unvoluntarily from the arm to the seat of the chair, but not taking her eyes from Wexford’s face. ‘They didn’t get on at all,’ she said. ‘If you must know, Denys couldn’t stand her.’
‘Strange, Mrs Nightingale seemed to get on with everyone else.’
‘Did she? Oh, with the county people, you mean.’ She gave a deep quiet sigh and then spoke in a level rapid voice, ‘Elizabeth didn’t have any real friends. My husband, he flunks she was killed by a maniac, one of those men who attack women. I expect that’s what it was. She must have been mad, going into the forest at night. Really she was asking for it.’
‘Perhaps,’ Wexford said. He smiled genially to help the atmosphere relax. Georgina Villiers was calmer now. She unclasped her hands and looked down at them, breathing shallowly. ‘Do you know why your husband didn’t get on with his sister?’
‘Well, they hadn’t anything in common.’
And what, Wexford asked himself, does a woman like you, dull and characterless and conventional, have in common with an intellectual like Villiers, a teacher of classics, an authority on Wordsworth?
‘I suppose,’ she said, ‘he thought her rather silly and extravagant.’
‘And was she, Mrs Villiers?’
‘Well, she had a lot of money, didn’t she? He hadn’t any other reason for not liking her, if that’s what you mean. She and Quen were very ordinary people really. Not the sort of people I’ve been used to, of course, I never associated with people like that before I was married.’
‘You got on well with them?’
‘Quen was always kind.’ Georgina Villiers twistedher wedding ring, moving it up and down her finger. ‘He liked me for my husband’s sake, you see. He and my husband are
great
friends.’ She looked down, nervously biting her lip. ‘But I think he got to like me for myself. Anyway,’ she said, suddenly shrill and cross, ‘why should I care? A
‘No, I’m afraid not. I’m not methodical.’ She blinked at him, puzzled by the turn the conversation had taken. ‘I ought to be, I know. Denys would like it if … Why do you ask?’
‘I’ll tell you, Mrs Villiers. If you were very methodical and always worked to a routine you’d be conditioned to it, and when I could understand that even the violent death of your sister-in-law might not make you deviate from that routine. But since you aren’t methodical and only, I assume, clean your car when you feel like it or when it needs it, why did you choose today of all days?’
She blushed deeply. A fear that was almost anguish showed in her eyes and she blinked again, bringing her hands together and then clasping them. ‘I don’t know what you mean. I don’t understand.’
‘Don’t distress yourself. Perhaps you cleaned the car
because
you were upset. Was that it?’ She was very slow on the uptake, Wexford thought, too frightened or too obtuse to see the loophole he was offering her. He offered it more explicitly. ‘I suppose you took the very sensible attitude that when one is unhappy or worried, work is the best thing to take one’s mind off one’s troubles?’
Relieved at last, she nodded. ‘Yes, that was it.’ Immediately she undid the small good her agreement had done her. ‘I wasn’t very upset, not really. I mean, she wasn’t
my
sister.’
‘That’s true,’ said Wexford. He drew his chair closer towards her and their eyes met, hers held by his like the eyes of a rabbit mesmerised by headlights. Suddenly Burden was excluded and the two of them were alone. ‘She was your husband’s sister, of course, just a sister-in-law.’ Her face sharpened and hardened. ‘They didn’t like each other much, did they?’
‘No, they didn’t.’ She hesitated very briefly sliding as if unvoluntarily from the arm to the seat of the chair, but not taking her eyes from Wexford’s face. ‘They didn’t get on at all,’ she said. ‘If you must know, Denys couldn’t stand her.’
‘Strange, Mrs Nightingale seemed to get on with everyone else.’
‘Did she? Oh, with the county people, you mean.’ She gave a deep quiet sigh and then spoke in a level rapid voice, ‘Elizabeth didn’t have any real friends. My husband, he flunks she was killed by a maniac, one of those men who attack women. I expect that’s what it was. She must have been mad, going into the forest at night. Really she was asking for it.’
‘Perhaps,’ Wexford said. He smiled genially to help the atmosphere relax. Georgina Villiers was calmer now. She unclasped her hands and looked down at them, breathing shallowly. ‘Do you know why your husband didn’t get on with his sister?’
‘Well, they hadn’t anything in common.’
And what, Wexford asked himself, does a woman like you, dull and characterless and conventional, have in common with an intellectual like Villiers, a teacher of classics, an authority on Wordsworth?
‘I suppose,’ she said, ‘he thought her rather silly and extravagant.’
‘And was she, Mrs Villiers?’
‘Well, she had a lot of money, didn’t she? He hadn’t any other reason for not liking her, if that’s what you mean. She and Quen were very ordinary people really. Not the sort of people I’ve been used to, of course, I never associated with people like that before I was married.’
‘You got on well with them?’
‘Quen was always kind.’ Georgina Villiers twistedher wedding ring, moving it up and down her finger. ‘He liked me for my husband’s sake, you see. He and my husband are
great
friends.’ She looked down, nervously biting her lip. ‘But I think he got to like me for myself. Anyway,’ she said, suddenly shrill and cross, ‘why should I care? A
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