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He was standing at Nicky’s door when the chapel clock struck seven. Nicky looked drawn as he let Jem in, paler than usual, lips tense.
‘Jeremy. Good evening. Would you care to eat first?’
‘No,’ Jem said. ‘I want to talk. I think we have to.’
Nicky exhaled. ‘Yes, we do.Haveyou eaten?’
‘I don’t want anything.’
‘I’d like you to,’ Nicky said. ‘You look in need of it.’
‘Has Hugo been round here, by any chance?’ The upswell of rage was instant and overwhelming. How dare he sow doubt about Jem’s mental state to Nicky, of all people?
‘In fact, he has. God, he’s got pompous, hasn’t he? Give it another decade and he’ll be indistinguishable from every other sleek walrus on the benches. Do you know, he suggested we had a bout with the foils for old times’ sake. I was almost tempted to take him up on it as punishment for hubris. Yes, he gave me all sorts of dark warnings about you not looking well, and what did I think about your precarious mental state.’
‘And what do you think?’
‘That I am not your keeper,’ Nicky said. ‘I am, however, your host, and I want sustenance even if you don’t. I’m making toasted cheese; will you have some?’
Jem just wanted the conversation over. But he said, ‘Go on, if you must,’ and settled on a chair, watching Nicky’s preparations. He moved in silence, with concentration, but not his old limber, youthful grace. Jem’s heart hurt.
Nicky handed him a plate and settled back to his own chair. Jem felt too miserable to be hungry, but it smelled wonderful. He nibbled a corner to be polite, and soon found he had finished the slice. Nicky’s toasted cheese had always been comforting.
‘Another?’
‘No, thank you.’
Nicky put his plate down, leaving half of his own portion untouched. ‘All right, then.’
‘You said you wanted to talk to me,’ Jem said. ‘I think it’s time we did speak. I’ve had you and Hugo and Aaron tell me to drop this, in your different ways. Aaron made his feelings clear, Hugo cast doubt on my mental state and offered me a quiet place in the country to recuperate, and you took me to bed.’
‘Just a damned minute?—’
‘And of course someone played that little prank with the stairs that might have broken my neck. I’m tired of this. So I am going to the police tomorrow, to tell them everything I know. Prue’s pregnancy, Aaron’s activities, Ella’s lies, Hugo proposing to Ella, you and me, and Toby threatening us all. I will tell them everything, no matter what it does to us all, and no matter what else comes out in the course of it.’
‘You’re going to ruin us all.’
‘Yes.’ Jem forced the words out. ‘Yes, if that’s what it takes. First thing tomorrow, I will ruin us all. Unless you give me a reason not to.’
Their eyes met for a long, silent moment, and then Nicky rose. He stood very tall above Jem, looking down, and Jem had just time to realise that his pulse was accelerating before Nicky turned. He went to the sideboard, poured two glasses of whisky, handed one to Jem, then folded his long limbs back into his chair. ‘Well. Right. I suppose you know most of it anyway, don’t you?’
‘Tell me.’
Nicky knocked back about half his glass in a single swallow. ‘Very well. Christ, what am I supposed to say? It’s a fair cop. I done it.’ His lips moved in a faint, humourless, stillborn smile. ‘It was me.’
TWENTY-ONE
Jem had once, at school, seen an experiment where a frog had been placed in a glass jar that was then emptied of oxygen. The class had watched, first laughing and then dropping silent as the frog thrashed, and stilled, and died. He’d had nightmares afterwards about being trapped in a chamber, feeling his lungs collapsing inward. He felt that now, and the sense of terrible inevitability too.
He’d known, of course. He wondered if he’d always known.
‘Wh—’ He had to lick his lips. ‘Why?’
‘I believe the done thing in detective novels is for the murderer to say it will be a relief to confess. Take my word for it, it is not.’ Nicky stared into his glass. ‘Where to begin? That night, that term, that year? The previous year, perhaps. That was when life stopped going Toby’s way, long before the end.’
He took a meditative sip of whisky. Jem moistened his lips with his own drink and felt the burn of alcohol.
‘He was jealous of the rest of us. He tried not to be, at first, but after a while he stopped trying. He wanted to be the lead in that accursed play, and he was not happy to relinquish that glory. I don’t remember much about that last day, but I do recall he came round with three bottles of champagne at ten that morning.’
