Heaven's Light Read Free Page A

quieter then. I do as much as I can, half an hour, forty minutes, shower, then back home. The place is a rip-off but I need the discipline. Otherwise, you know,’ she gestured at herself dismissively, ‘it all falls apart.’
    Barnaby shook his head. ‘You look great,’ he said frankly.
    ‘I feel it.’
    Barnaby lifted his glass in a silent toast. Kate didn’t respond. An elderly couple shuffled in from the corridor, refugees from the D-Day celebrations. The man, heavy-set and overdressed, settled wearily into an armchair while his wife complained to the barmaid about the heating in the bedrooms. The thermostat was set way too low. They lived in Manitoba. They knew about central heating.
    Kate finally reached for her glass. She was drinking Perrier.
    ‘What about you?’ she asked. ‘Still married?’
    ‘Yes.’
    ‘Everything OK?’
    ‘Everything’s fine.’
    ‘Good. I’m glad it worked out.’ She paused. ‘Truly.’
    Barnaby glanced up, hearing the new note in her voice. He’d brought the affair to an end a year and a half ago, one chilly evening in late February. It happened to be the second anniversary of her decree absolute and she’d cooked a celebratory meal. Afterwards, they’d taken the second bottle of Chablis to bed where she’d presented him with a surprise present, a new recording of
The Marriage of Figaro.
They’d listened to it for hours, warmed by the alcohol and the plump winter duvet, and they were half-way through the last act before Kate had coaxed the truth from him. He couldn’t leave his wife and family. He couldn’t cope without them.
    Now she was asking him about Jessie. Jessie was nineteen, blonde, quiet, immensely stubborn.
    ‘She’s fine,’ Barnaby said lightly. ‘Same old Jess.’
    ‘University?’
    ‘Didn’t want to. Had the chance but turned it down, silly girl. Went to art college instead.’
    ‘Somewhere nice?’
    ‘Here. Pompey.’
    ‘You sound disappointed.’
    ‘Not at all.’
    ‘But doesn’t it help, having her at home?’
    ‘She isn’t at home.’
    ‘She doesn’t live with you?’
    ‘No, hasn’t for a while. She’s got a flat – some basement place, as far as we know.’
    ‘You’ve never been there?’
    Barnaby shook his head, then shrugged when she asked him why. He knew where this conversation might lead and he wasn’t keen to follow. A big limousine swept past outside, flanked by police motorcyclists.
    ‘Tell me about the political stuff,’ he said brightly. ‘My spies tell me you’re brilliant in committee. What’s the secret?’
    ‘Bluff and bullshit.’ She grinned at him again, reaching for her sports bag and getting up. ‘You should know that.’
    Outside, in the car park, he waited beside her Audi while she searched for the keys. A man’s leather jacket lay on theback seat. She saw him looking at it as she reached up to kiss his cheek.
    ‘His name’s Billy,’ she said, ‘in case you were wondering.’ She slipped the sports bag off her shoulder, then nodded towards Southsea Common. The thump-thump of a marching band came and went on the wind. ‘So why aren’t you with the royals? Like everyone else I know?’
    Barnaby was still looking at the jacket, remembering the lone figure in the gym. Set after set of repetitions. So fit. So supple.
    ‘What?’
    ‘The royals,’ Kate said again. ‘Why aren’t you out there with them?’
    ‘I wasn’t invited.’ He frowned. ‘What about you?’
    ‘Me? You’re joking.’
    ‘You had an invite?’
    ‘Of course. Heritage Chair. Comes with the turf.’
    Barnaby stared at her. ‘You had an invite? And you
still
didn’t go?’
    ‘God, no. Sundays are special. Always have been.’ She smiled at him. ‘Don’t you remember?’
    She unlocked the door, not waiting for an answer, and Barnaby stepped aside, letting her get in. Excitement still smelled of shower gel and Diorella. Kate wound down the window and Barnaby did his best to return her smile.
    ‘Take care,’ he said, his