The Glass Room (Vera Stanhope 5)

position in Paris was untenable. His French was appalling, and he had no knowledge of how things worked in Europe. The attitude to books and writers is still very different there. He was under considerable stress.’
    ‘Did you know he was beating up his wife?’ Vera’s tone was conversational.
    Watching the old man’s face, Ashworth saw that his first impulse was to lie. Then Rickard thought better of it.
    ‘I guessed,’ he said.
    ‘That he kept her virtually a prisoner?’
    ‘If that was the case, it was a very comfortable prison. The height of luxury.’ Then Rickard saw that the flippancy wouldn’t do. ‘Paul was ill,’ he said. ‘Completely irrational. He had a sort of breakdown.’
    ‘And Joanna was so depressed that she attacked her husband with a knife and then attempted suicide! And, thanks to Paul’s family and friends, she was locked up in a French psychiatric hospital. If I’m not mistaken, you were one of those friends.’
    ‘If it wasn’t for me, she’d have found herself in a French jail!’ The retort was sharp, and Ashworth saw that Rickard regretted the outburst as soon as it was made.
    ‘And you expect Joanna to be grateful to you, do you?’
    ‘Of course not,’ Rickard said. ‘But that was a long time ago and she seems to have rebuilt her life.’
    They looked at each other.
    ‘What about Paul?’ Vera asked, in a way that made Ashworth see that she already knew the answer. ‘Mr Paul Rutherford. What’s he up to now?’
    ‘He moved on from publishing,’ Rickard said. ‘Remarried, had a family.’
    ‘And what line of business is he in today?’
    Rickard looked her straight in the face. ‘He’s an MEP.’
    ‘So he is.’ Vera gave a little smile. ‘And doing very well, I understand. It seems he developed an understanding of Europe after all. He’s still ambitious, though. Intending to stand for Westminster next time, so the rumours have it.’ She leaned over the desk towards Rickard. ‘I looked him up, you see, when I knew we’d be having this conversation. Now, you shouldn’t trust the Internet, but I’d say the articles I saw were right about Mr Rutherford.’ She straightened up and her voice hardened. ‘So that’s what you’re doing here, is it, Mr Rickard? Still protecting your godson’s interests? The last thing a prospective MP needs is a charge of domestic violence against him.’
    ‘No!’ Rickard attempted to stand up to make his point. ‘Since we spent that time together in Paris I’ve felt guilty about Joanna. I wanted to meet her, to check that things were going well for her. It was an impulse when I saw her name on the list of bursary students. An old man’s folly.’
    Vera looked at him and said nothing. The silence stretched. The students had gone back to work and there was no sound from the garden. At last she spoke.
    ‘Things were going very well for Joanna. She’d met a man who adored her and they’d set up home in the most beautiful place in England. She’d found a way to make sense of the nightmare of her younger days, and there was a chance that the story of the abuse she’d suffered might be published. Then she was implicated in a murder. Some might consider that could be a way of getting your pal Paul off the hook. Who’s going to believe a murder suspect when she accuses a respectable MP of domestic violence? And of course she wouldn’t dare, would she? Not in her position now. Last thing she’d want would be to attract the attention of the press.’
    ‘That’s ridiculous,’ Rickard said.
    ‘Aye, isn’t it? Just like something out of those gothic novels you were so fond of in your youth. All madness, conspiracy and drama.’
    Rickard struggled to his feet. He was on his way to the door when Vera called him back. ‘How well did you know Tony Ferdinand?’
    He turned slowly to face her. ‘I didn’t. I met him a couple of times. Nothing more.’
    ‘But he reviewed you, I understand.’
    Rickard gave a little laugh. ‘The piece in the TLS ? Unkind, perhaps but very amusing. It did me no harm.’
    ‘I read it,’ Vera said. ‘Rather personal, I thought. And it’s hard to believe that you were no more than acquaintances. Publishing seems a very small world.’
    ‘A world, Inspector, of which I wanted no part. Literary success came late to me and I never believed I deserved it.’

Chapter Sixteen
    When they’d finished with Giles Rickard, Charlie was waiting for them in the main house. As Ashworth had predicted,