The Evangeline Read Free Page B

them do you think could have helped you to survive?’
    Whitfield tensed; the colour drained from his face.
    ‘These people you invited, these close friends of yours, they were all independently wealthy, weren’t they? And, as it turns out, the least independent people on the planet. They were useless, most of them, weren’t they? When it came right down to it, when everyone’s lives were at stake…?’
    ‘I wasn’t there! I don’t know what any of them did!’Whitfield protested.
    Darnell took a step forward. ‘But Marlowe was different, wasn’t he? He knew how to do everything, didn’t he? You would not have trusted any of your rich and famous friends if you had been one of the survivors—abandoned in a small boat in the high seas, where no one was likely to find you—would you? But you trusted Marlowe, didn’t you?’
    ‘Yes, I trusted him.’
    Darnell searched Whitfield’s eyes, determined to get at the one thing the jury had to know.
    ‘And after everything that has happened, after everything you know, you would still do it, wouldn’t you—hire Marlowe to be in charge?’
    ‘Yes, I would.’

Chapter Three
    I TWAS PERHAPS THE LEAST-EXPECTED INVITATION Michael Roberts had ever received. Prosecutors and defence attorneys might be civil to one another in court, but they seldom spent time together. It was difficult to be friends with someone you were trying to beat. But there was more to it than that. There was almost an element of distrust, a belief that what they did on the other side was not quite right. Roberts could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times he had had a cup of coffee with a lawyer defending someone he was prosecuting for a crime; he had certainly never agreed to drive forty miles on a Sunday afternoon to see a defence attorney at his home.
    The directions were meticulous, precise; given over the telephone with the casual ease of someone who knew every turn by heart.
    When he arrived, the gate at the bottom of the vineyard stood open. At the end of a long dirt driveway lined with gnarled grey olive trees, William Darnell, an old straw hat pulled low over his eyes, greeted him with a pensive smile.‘You’re right on time. Have any trouble finding it?’
    ‘No, your directions were perfect.’ Roberts took a deep breath of the country air and looked out over the narrow vine-covered valley.
    ‘This is the valley inside the valley,’ explained the older man as he pointed towards the low-lying hills half a mile away. ‘If you keep going along the road, follow it around a few miles, you come out into what the world knows as the Napa Valley. Not many tourists come back here.’
    They stood on a patio in front of the house, a comfortable contemporary with wooden beams across the ceiling and glass everywhere. A stone chimney towered above the roof.
    ‘Have you had it long?’ asked Roberts as he followed Darnell inside. The wooden floors, polished to a hard finish, glimmered in the yellow October light.
    ‘A little more than thirty years. My wife designed it; built it, really. She was an architect, one of the best.’
    He removed the straw hat and wiped his brow with the back of his wrist. The threadbare polo shirt he wore was damp with sweat. ‘A few things needed pruning back,’ he explained. He gestured towards the blue sofa in front of the bookcase in the living room. ‘Let me get you something to drink. I could use something cold, myself. Soft drink all right, or would you rather have a beer? I have wine, too, of course.’
    ‘Do you make any of your own?’
    ‘No, too much work. But we have ten acres, and that used to qualify us as a grower, which meant we could buy from all the wineries in the valley at cost. That was before it became big business. Have you ever noticed that the more money people make, the less generous they become? But we still have a lot of what we bought years ago.’ Darnell’s eyes lit up.‘Yes, that’s a good idea. Let me open one of the