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'What was he doing in Southampton?'
'He was spending the weekend with someone. Wouldn't say who. It was one of his silly secrets.'
'Any idea who?'
Penny shook her head with painful slowness.
'Do you know why he died?' Mattie asked.
Penny turned to face her with round, dark eyes which had a faraway look and from which the shock had squeezed any trace of emotion.
You're not interested in him, are you? Only in his death.' It was not an accusation, simply a statement of fact.
'I'm sorry he died, Penny. I'm also sorry because I think Roger will be blamed for a lot of bad things that have happened recently. And I don't think he's the one who should be blamed.'
Penny blinked for the first time, as if the question had at last disturbed the emptiness which had taken hold of her.
'Why would they ... blame Roger?' The words were formed slowly, as if half of her were elsewhere, in a world where O'Neill was still alive and where Penny could still save him.
'Because he's a victim who has been set up to take the blame. Someone has been using Roger, has been twisting him and bending him in a dirty little political game - until Roger snapped.'
Penny considered this for several long moments. 'He's not the only one,'she said.
'What do you mean?'
'Patrick. Patrick was sent a tape, of him with me. He thought I'd done it.' 'Patrick who. Penny?'
'Woolton. He thought I had made the tape of us in bed together to blackmail him. But it was someone else. It wasn't me.'
'So that's why he quit,' exclaimed Mattie. 'Who could have made the tape, Penny?'
Don't know. Almost anybody at the party conference I suppose. Anyone in Bournemouth, anyone at the hotel.'
'But Penny, I don't understand! Who could have blackmailed Patrick Woolton? Who could have known you were sleeping with him?'
'Roger knew. But Roger would never...'
'Don't you see, Penny. Someone was blackmailing Roger, too. Someone who must have known he was on drags. Someone who forced him to leak opinion polls and alter computer files. Someone who...'
'Killed him!' The words unlocked the misery which Penny had been trying to hide since they had telephoned her earlier that morning. But now the barriers burst and tears were flooding from her eyes, forced out by the cries of anguish which racked her body. Further discussion with her was clearly impossible, and Mattie helped the sobbing girl into bed, makingher as comfortable as she could. She stayed with her until the tears had emptied her soul and she was fast asleep.
Mattie walked down the street in confusion. The first snow of winter was beginning to fall gently around her, but she did not notice it. She was lost in her own misery of doubt. All the firm evidence she had led back to O'Neill. Now he was dead and the door at which she had been pushing, behind which she knew she would find the answer, had suddenly slammed shut on her. It was not the first time that the frustrated ambition of men had led to blackmail and violence - the appeal of political power had fascinated, seduced and corrupted men and women throughout the ages - but none had daubed blood on the door of 10 Downing Street. Until now. It had to be washed clean. She had a day to do it - and no idea where to go next.
'Come on, come on, come on, come on!' she shouted, beating her hands on the desk in frustration. As the day had turned to evening and she had tossed the facts around fruitlessly in her mind she had become more tense, unable to find any new direction. The clock had ticked remorselessly on, and she found her mind crossing the same old ground, travelling up the same blind alleys and discovering the same dead ends. The harder she tried, the more elusive any new insight became. Perhaps a change of scene might fire her imagination. So she had gone for a walk, driven around, taken a bath and was now sitting at home, crying for enlightenment. But it was to no avail. Her inspiration and intuition had failed her as the sleepless nights took their toll, and the one man who could answer all her burning questions was dead, taking his secrets with him. She buried her head in her hands, reduced to praying for a miracle in a world which God seemed to have deserted.
Something sparked. Later she could never recall what aroused it, but among the dying embers of her confidence a small flame began to glow and lick itself back to life. -Perhaps it was not all over yet.
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