Gently with the Ladies (Inspector George Gently 13)

her, and pay her a visit once in so often.’
    ‘When was the last time you visited her?’
    Brenda Merryn paused to chew.
    ‘Recently,’ she said. ‘One day last week. On the Friday, I imagine.’
    ‘Was her husband there?’
    ‘No, he’d gone. Down to Rochester, to his woman.’
    ‘His woman?’
    ‘You know about her, don’t you? Sarah someone. His latest woman.’
    Gently nodded. ‘But how did you know about her?’
    ‘Oh, there’s no mystery about Siggy’s women. I had a chat with him last time I was there. The poor fool is really sent by this one.’
    ‘And Mrs Fazakerly would know too?’
    Brenda Merryn paused over her tea-cup. ‘Yes,’ she said, ‘I should think it likely. Siggy wouldn’t bother to cover much. You must understand there was nothing between them, they hadn’t slept together for a century. Clytie was carrying on with La Bannister, and Siggy was free to do what he liked. I don’t suppose he actually discussed his amours with her, but there was no point in him being secretive.’
    ‘They wouldn’t have quarrelled over such a thing.’
    ‘On the surface, it seems unlikely.’
    ‘Seems?’
    ‘Well . . . Clytie had a bitch of a temper. If she was in the mood she might have picked on it.’
    ‘In other words, if she wanted to hurt her husband, she could have picked on this as an instrument?’
    ‘Yes, that’s possible. It’d be like Clytie. But his having a woman would be nothing to do with it.’
    ‘So what would have something to do with it?’
    Brenda Merryn slanted a shoulder. I’ve told you I wasn’t intimate with them,’ she said. ‘You’d better ask elsewhere. You could try La Bannister.’
    ‘You had no hint of it on your last visit?’
    ‘No. It was all talk about fashion.’
    ‘Mrs Fazakerly was her usual self?’
    ‘Oh, quite. Queen Clytie.’
    She poured herself a second cup, then buttered some crisp-bread and spread it with honey. She had a little colour on either cheek-bone and she avoided Gently’s eye as she ate. The embroidered dressing-gown was parted hospitably, but to this she paid no attention; or it may have been a deliberate gesture to show she was still a force, though thirty-nine. Her tawny hair, neatly arranged, had the brushed sheen of devoted attention.
    ‘You don’t think highly of Mrs Bannister.’
    Brenda Merryn bit off crisp-bread. ‘She made Clytie worse than she was,’ she said. ‘She’s full of clap-trap about Lesbianism.’
    ‘You’d say she influenced Mrs Fazakerly that way.’
    ‘Of course. Not that Clytie wanted pushing. But La Bannister stuffed her head with nonsense and made a fool of her in general. Then she made trouble with Clytie’s friends. She wanted Clytie on her own. And Clytie was too besotted with her to raise a finger in protest.’
    ‘Who were these friends?’
    Brenda Merryn munched. ‘I’m not so certain I remember. This was all several years ago, when Clytie moved in at Carlyle Court.’
    ‘People with money?’
    ‘Oh, I daresay. But that wasn’t the first qualification.’
    ‘Lesbian friends?’
    ‘Exactly.’
    ‘And you remember none of them?’
    ‘Why should I?’
    She followed the crisp-bread with a sip of tea.
    ‘Please,’ she said, ‘don’t think I’m prudish. I lead a reasonably chequered life, and I’m used to a medical view of things. There’s a dormant slant that way in all women and a lot of us give it a try. It has an advantage men rarely think of, namely it doesn’t get you into trouble. There are also a few emotional bonuses which go with the shedding inhibitions, a feeling of biological emancipation, of being on a footing with the male. Oh, there’s plenty to be said for it. Only with me it doesn’t work.’
    ‘So these were not friends of yours.’
    ‘I’m trying to make that plain.’
    ‘There was never, say, trouble, with any of them?’
    ‘No. They just got the push.’
    Now she began on the apple, peeling it with deft, practised movements, pausing once to tilt her wrist for a check with the watch. It was a natural-enough action, yet somehow it just missed of being natural, and she chopped the apple in quarters roughly, making the knife ring on the plate.
    ‘Well, perhaps there is one woman I remember.’
    Gently watched her, saying nothing.
    ‘Her name was Beryl, Beryl Rogers, she used to be very strong with Clytie. She was in with La Bannister too, they were both thick with Beryl. But it only lasted a short time. She blotted her copybook