‘The notebook. Yes.’
Victor holds it out to Edgar. After a moment, he takes it, holding it by its edges, as if he were handling a snake.
‘Promise me you’ll read it, at least. And you’ll think about it. That’s all I’m asking.’
Edgar nods. ‘You’re trusting me a lot with this. What if I decided to destroy it?’
Victor laughs, a short, dry cough that twists his mouth. ‘You could destroy it if you wanted to. But we both know what it says. I think if you actually look at it, though, if you see the anger . . . It’s disturbing stuff, Edgar. The parole board needs to see it. She can’t be set free.’
Edgar nods again.
‘I’m due back at yours on Monday evening. She invited me for dinner.’ Victor’s eyes slide away from Lucy as he saysshe. Are Lucy’s intentions that obvious? She lowers her head.
‘You’ll come?’ Edgar asks.
‘Of course I’ll come. Maybe we can talk about it all, if you have a chance to look at it before then.’ Victor gestures towards the envelope, which Edgar has left on the table beside him.
Talk about what? Look at what?Lucy is bursting with questions, but she bites her tongue.
‘I’m happy to show you how you’ve misinterpreted it.’
‘Or you could accept you’re wrong – and do something about it,’ Victor says, his voice surprisingly gentle considering the aggression there’s been between them during the evening. The men stare at each other for a moment, a muscle twitching at Edgar’s jaw.
‘I’m not wrong,’ he says. Silence for a beat, two.
‘I’ll send it to the parole board myself, Edgar. You know I’ll do it. But I’d rather we worked together on this.’
Edgar shakes his head, his lips compressed. A moment later he says, ‘Anyway. Won’t you stay tonight?’ A lighter tone, an effort to get himself under control after all the outbursts of emotion.
‘I’m sorry, I can’t. I need to get back. I borrowed a car and I need to return it.’
Edgar looks at Lucy. ‘How about you? You could get a lift with Victor if you want? Or there’s a hotel room available for you. I spoke to the conference organisers about it, told them you were my researcher. Do you need to get back for anything?’
Time stops, a breach. A primrose path to hell to her left, Edgar smiling up at her; a steep and thorny path to heaven to her right in a rented car with a man she’s only just met. She should leave. Even if a long drive in a borrowed car with someone she’s only just met is hardly tempting.
And there’s the wife. Edgar’s wife. Lucy’s never even met her. They’re not friends. Lucy owes her nothing. But at the same time, she should do the honest thing, the more sisterly thing. Anything else will come back to bite her.
On the other hand, from what little Edgar has said, it doesn’t seem their relationship is in great shape. He hardly spends any time at home, is always working or at conferences. His wife doesn’t sound as if she has much in common with him. Lucy would be doing them both a favour, hastening the end of something that should have been put out of its misery long ago.
Oh, who’s she trying to kid? The only person she’ll be helping is herself, to someone else’s husband. But dear God, she wants him.
Victor looks at her as if to say he can’t help her, she’s on her own with this. Edgar has one eyebrow raised, his good looks fully returned by now, a saturnine twist to his mouth. She knows what she should do; she knows she’s not going to do it.
‘I’ll stay,’ she says. ‘I left my coat in your car.’
Victor is kind enough not to smirk at the paucity of her excuse. He squeezes her shoulder in farewell as if to tell her to be careful, although she knows she’s most likely projecting thoughts into his mind. He and Edgar embrace, less of a death grip this time.
‘I’m going to come and see you on Monday,’ Victor says. There’s an emphasis on the last word, though Lucy might be imagining it. She feels very young all of a sudden; there’s a distinct sense ofpas devant les enfantslurking there. ‘We’ll discuss it then.’ He nods at Lucy, smiling at her before he turns and leaves, taking some of the warmth of the room with him.
Edgar sinks back down into his chair. ‘Sorry, that was a lot,’ he says.
‘It’s OK,’ she says. ‘I understand. I mean, my mum . . .’
‘Yeah. We both know what it means to lose someone so suddenly . . .’ He stops for a moment, clears his throat. ‘I’ve got much better at keeping it all under control. But seeing Victor . . .’
‘He seems like a lovely man,’ Lucy says, and Edgar nods in agreement.
‘The best. It was hard for him, too. I think for both of us. Seeing each other brings back a lot of bad memories.’
