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She was standing quite near to him, close enough to smell the faint bittersweet aroma of his aftershave and be aware of his warmth. She smiled and hoped he was aware of it. The last thing she intended was to make anything worse.
“What do you think, Cordell?” Gustav said sharply.
“Reluctantly, I agree with you,” Cordell answered. “A man overtaken by history. At another time, perhaps…”
“I told you!” Herr Beckendorff said. “He’s perfectly sound, as the British would say!” He made as if to put his hand on Cordell’s shoulder, but Margot was in the way. “A good word, ‘sound,’?” he repeated.
Cordell winced.
Margot put her hand over his on her arm. Only afterward did she realize what a possessive gesture it was.
CHAPTER
11
When he had first retired, Lucas had been delighted to have time to use in whatever way he wished. Even waste it, if he wanted. There were rows of books in his study that he had never had time to read, and they still called to him. But now that there was no urgency, the thought held far less interest for him. Even the philosophers he had believed he wished so much to study seemed either so obvious as to be tedious, or so abstruse as to leave him uncertain that they meant anything at all.
He sat down. His la
test book of choice was on the table, its place unmarked because he knew perfectly well he did not intend to go back to it.
Beside his feet, Toby stood up and wagged his tail hopefully.
“All right,” Lucas yielded without a fight. “We’ll go for a walk.”
Lucas had said the magic word and Toby began to dance impatiently from one paw to the other.
At that moment, the front doorbell rang. Josephine was in the back garden, so Lucas walked out of his study to answer it, Toby pattering behind him. He opened the door and faced a uniformed policeman.
The man stepped forward a bit. “Good morning, sir. Are you Mr. Lucas Standish?” He looked very grave.
Lucas felt the first twinge of alarm. Police were connected with crime and tragedy. “What has happened?” he asked automatically, his mind going to Charles and Katherine.
“I’m very sorry to have to tell you, sir, that Mr. Gladstone Canning has passed away. It appears to have occurred sometime yesterday evening.” He looked profoundly uncomfortable. He was a young man—at least, compared to Lucas and Stoney—perhaps in his late thirties. “The postman found him this morning. He had no near relatives, but there was a reference to you in a note left on his desk, on top of everything else. I don’t know if you are related, sir, or just a good friend, but the message said we should contact you should anything happen to him.”
“I see,” Lucas said slowly. “Thank you.” Stoney had been an old man, older than Lucas, and yet he had seemed so alive, so full of thoughts and feelings, ideas and knowledge amassed in a lifetime of observation. It was a violence to the mind to think that he had ceased to exist, just like that! Yesterday, he was; today, he was not.
“Are you all right, sir?” the policeman said with concern. “Can I call someone for you?”
“No, thank you,” Lucas answered, finding the words difficult to say. “I am perfectly all right and my wife is at home. Stoney was an old friend.”
Of course he was all right. People did die, God knew, far too many of them before they’d ever really tasted life. He shook his head. He should be used to it. He hadn’t seen Stoney for several months, and then saw him just days ago. He hadn’t observed that Stoney was ill. Why hadn’t he said anything? He tried to recall if Stoney had seemed pale, lost weight, appeared to be in any kind of pain. Nothing came to him. He had looked older, but everybody looked older.
The policeman raised an eyebrow awkwardly. “Stoney?”
“Short for ‘Gladstone,’?” Lucas said briefly.
“You knew him a long time, sir?”
“Fifty years, or about that.” It was an amazing thought: so long, and yet seeming now much too short.
“I’m very sorry, sir. Do you think you will be well enough to come and identify him?”
“For heaven’s sake,” Lucas exclaimed incredulously. “Aren’t you sure who he is?”
“I think we’d prefer to do better than just the postman’s view, sir, despite the fact that he was found in Mr. Canning’s house. If you don’t mind. And we have to put his affairs into someone’s hands. If you are not—”
“Of course I am able, damn it!” Lucas snapped. “I am not on my last legs, or anywhere near it.”
