Page 36 of Fire Must Burn

‘She died as well?’

‘She did,’ said Sally. ‘While still at Cambridge. A couple of rowers found her face down in the river early one morning.The official ruling was death by misadventure, but there were some nasty rumours after.’

‘What about?’

‘There had been a party a month or so before. A select gathering of the favoured few at a mansion belonging to Pickard’s family while said family were touring somewhere far away. The participants supposedly were invited based upon their willingness to shed their inhibitions and reportedly their clothing at the front door, but that may have been exaggeration or extrapolation after the fact. God knows there were plenty of stories floating about. The wildest one I heard mentioned a Roman theme, complete with togas and bunches of grapes, as well as everything into which a grape could be transformed, but that rumour was spread by someone who wasn’t there on the good authority of someone else who also wasn’t there.’

‘You were not invited, I take it.’

‘Good Lord, no. I was much too middle class, too physically freakish and too Italian to draw the slightest whiff of attention from that lot. But Sauce was invited as one of the pre-eminent party girls of the university, plus she was making a play for Pickard. But when she came back, by all reports she no longer merited her nickname. She became quiet, withdrawn. She started to miss classes. Meanwhile, whispers of her behaviour that weekend circulated which she vehemently denied when she became aware of them. But they persisted and multiplied, and the looks and comments when she walked about the colleges and town became more and more condemnatory. Sparks told me that she took to locking herself in her room, barely touching any food. And then they found her in the river.’

‘Poor girl,’ said Gwen. ‘Was suicide suspected?’

‘That’s what everyone thought, but things were hushed up and misadventure was the official verdict. Best for all concerned, what? But then another rumour began spreading.’

‘What about?’

‘That she had left behind a letter detailing what had happened that weekend, naming names. And that suddenly became the explanation as to why Tony Danforth and BruceCater dashed off to Spain to fight the fascists, while Pickard decided to take an extended tour of the world.’

‘Who got the letter?’

‘In one version, it was posted the night before her body was found, addressed to Pembroke College. Hutchinson, the Master of Pembroke at the time, retired a year later, which added fuel to that particular conspiratorial fire, but he died a few months after retiring. In another version it was sent to the Proctor, and in a third to the local police. In any case, if it existed, it never saw the light of day.’

‘Nobody knows what it said?’

‘No.’

‘And Iris has kept quiet about all of this.’

‘She has,’ he said as their meals arrived.

‘When she keeps quiet, it’s usually about something serious,’ said Gwen. ‘She never mentioned anything about this when we discussed Danforth.’

‘There was one thing I noticed about her at the time, though,’ he said, picking up a skewer.

‘What?’

‘Have you ever wondered why Sparks took up martial arts?’

‘She told me it was her mother’s idea while she was still in her teens.’

‘True enough,’ said Sally. ‘But since the idea came from her mother, her efforts prior to coming to Cambridge were haphazard and inadequate at best. It was only after Sauce’s death that she quite methodically turned herself into the pint-sized warrior that she is today.’

FIVE

Gwen was ten minutes late to work the next morning, something that never happened. She was also wearing the same outfit she had had on the previous day, a Herschelle linen suit with a blue and white willow pattern. Both Iris and Mrs Billington noticed the repetition. Mrs Billington chose discretion and made no comment. Iris, on the other hand, stared at her partner in shock and tapped her wristwatch pointedly.

‘What?’ asked Gwen as she unpinned her hat and hung it up.

‘Why, Mrs Bainbridge, how can we run a tight ship when you are so lacking in punctuality?’ Iris demanded sternly.

‘How many times have you been late?’ retorted Gwen as she took her seat.

‘I stopped counting long ago,’ said Iris. ‘But I make up for my missed minutes by my superior efficiency.’

‘Of course you do,’ said Gwen.

‘Did you make up for enough lost time last night to stay through lunch again?’ asked Iris.