by Alex Gray
The roof of the lorry brushed the trees overhanging the street, scattering the sweet-scented blossoms on to the pavement to be trodden underfoot or blown away in the chill April wind.
Chapter Six
Everything was so much smaller than William Lorimer had remembered; even the playground where he had kicked a ball around every day with his mates seemed cramped, though perhaps that was due in part to the flat-roofed single-storey structure hemming in the space, a sorry-looking building that was clearly meant as temporary accommodation for the growing numbers of students. How many boots had kicked the wooden strip around that classroom door? Lorimer thought, looking at the patches of bare concrete exposed below the torn and battered fascia.
For a moment the tall detective hesitated, wondering if even now it wasn’t too late to change his mind. Would it really matter if he turned back and left an empty place at the dining room table?
‘My God! Big Bill Lorimer! How’re you doing, pal?’
Lorimer blinked as the voice behind him became the figure of a short, thickset man whose suntanned face was beaming up at him. Someone who knew him, recognised him, and from whose expression it was evident that some recognition should be returned.
‘It’s me,’ the man said. ‘Stuart Clark! Don’t tell me I’ve changed that much, big man?’
Lorimer took the outstretched hand, grasping it firmly, the years falling away as his old school friend’s face became familiar once more.
‘Stu! Good grief! Hardly recognised you! Where have you been all this time?’
They fell into step and approached the main door together as Stuart’s wide smile brought back memories of the class joker who had been everybody’s mate.
‘Emigrated after my first marriage broke up. Out in Brisbane now. Got my own business and doing quite well.’ Stu grinned, his teeth white against the tanned skin. ‘How about you?’
‘Did you come back just for the reunion?’ Lorimer replied, sidestepping the question.
‘Yes and no.’ Stuart’s smile faded a little. ‘Needed to see my daughter. We keep in touch fairly regularly but I only get over here once a year so thought I’d kill two birds with one stone.’
‘Looks like we’re being herded into the main hall first,’ Lorimer said, pointing to an arrow beneath the printed sign CLASS REUNION as they stood outside what had once been the school office.
‘Hey! Is that Stu Clark! My God! Long time no see, how are you?’
Both men turned at once.
‘Eddie? Eddie Miller? Good Lord, you havenae changed a bit, not like some of us!’ Stuart joked, patting his own ample stomach.
Lorimer shook hands with the new arrival and gave a perfunctory smile. If Eddie Miller hadn’t changed much, then perhaps it was down to his athletic prowess. Miller the Miler, they used to call him, Lorimer recalled. The lean man who stood regarding them both quizzically had the look of someone who was uncomfortable wearing a shirt and tie, and Lorimer guessed that his normal garb was still some form of tracksuit.
‘Let me guess,’ Stuart said at once. ‘You’re a PE teacher.’
‘Right first time,’ Eddie murmured, though he looked less than happy to admit to the fact. ‘I work here as a matter of fact,’ he added reluctantly.
‘No getting out of tonight’s celebrations then, eh?’ Stuart nudged the man with his elbow and laughed again.
They had reached a short flight of stairs at the end of a corridor, and as the three men approached an archway that led to the main school hall, the noise of raised voices told them that most of their fellow classmates had already arrived.
‘Crikey, bit of a crowd! Didn’t think that many would turn up!’ Stuart exclaimed, rubbing his hands together as though ready and eager to join the fray. Below them in the centre of the hall several circular tables were set out for dinner, flanked by two long refectory-style tables laden with drinks, the laughter and loud voices suggesting that many old friends were already reuniting over a bottle or two.
‘It’s the whole year group,’ Eddie explained. ‘Not just our class. I’ll leave you for a minute if you don’t mind,’ he apologised. ‘Need to help behind the scenes.’ He nodded at them and headed towards the far end of the hall. Lorimer’s eyes followed him until he reached a red-haired woman holding a clipboard.
As Eddie spoke to her, she turned to look straight at them and Lorimer felt a strange sort of tug somewhere in his chest.
‘Look who it is!’ Stuart grinned, digging Lorimer in the ribs. ‘Your old flame, Foxy Lady.’ He looked up at him as if trying to gauge a reaction, but the years of maintaining a bland countenance in the interview room allowed the detective superintendent to conceal the turmoil of his feelings.
Instead he merely nodded and then turned to a board beside them displaying the seating plan for the evening.
‘Let’s see where we are, eh? Maybe they’ve put us together?’
But as they peered at the A4 sheets of printed names, Stuart Clark gave a snort of disappointment.
‘Goodness’ sake! All in alphabetical order. You’d think they’d have more imagination than that!’
It was true, thought Lorimer as he found his own place at table two, the G–L group. But the Vivien Fox he remembered had never lacked an imaginative spark, and he saw to his amusement that her name was at the top of the same list.
The next few minutes passed in a blur of handshakes and cries of ‘Lorimer!’ as he entered the hall and mingled with several men and women who seemed pleased to see him after a space of more than twenty years. Then, drinks in hand, they were called to attention by the clinking of a knife against the rim of a glass and all eyes turned to see Eddie Miller standing behind a lectern at the front of the hall.
‘Friends, former classmates, distinguished guests or otherwise . . .’ A small ripple of polite laughter followed his deliberate pause.
‘Welcome back to Glenwood High School, though in truth some of us have hardly left the old place!’
There was a slight murmur amongst a few of the crowd, and Lorimer noticed a woman raising her eyebrows in surprise at something her neighbour was telling her as they looked at Eddie.
‘As you may know, I am now principal teacher of PE at Glenwood, and it gives me immense pleasure to co-host this reunion and to see so many of you here tonight.’
Lorimer watched as Eddie nodded towards the slim red-haired woman, who acknowledged his words with the tiniest tilt of her head.
The rest of the speech was lost to him as Lorimer gazed at her, taking in the trim figure and the familiar flame-coloured hair, shorter now than it had been back then but just as luxuriant. In profile Vivien Gilmartin was even more striking looking than she had been as a teenager; the years had added some gravitas to her face. And were there other changes? Weren’t those cheekbones sharper? And the fingers clasping the stem of her glass: weren’t they just a little thinner than the ones that had clasped his own as they’d strolled hand in hand through the summer meadows?
Eddie’s speech ended with a ripple of applause, the signal for everyone to take their places at the tables as dinner was about to be served. There were handshakes and exchanges of feigned surprise as men and women caught sight of their place cards and began talking to their neighbours. As far as he could make out, there were more women than men present, but someone had gone to the bother of trying to slot the guests into the conventional man, woman, man, woman arrangement. For some reason Lorimer felt irked by this. Why not just let friends sit where they liked? After all, the whole point of the evening was to reunite people, wasn’t it? Then, as he looked at the name on the place setting beside his own, he began to wonder.
From the whispers around him and the glances of the women, Lorimer knew that Vivien was coming towards their table before he actually turned to see her.
‘So you came,’ a husky voice whispered in his ear. ‘I wondered if you would.’
Lorimer rose from his seat to greet her, an innate courtesy that his late father had always said
marked a man out as a gentleman, but the woman whose skirts swished as she sat down on his left waved this away.
For a moment they looked at one another, appraising the changes that had made the boy into a man, the girl into a very lovely woman. That wicked smile he remembered was more subtle now, the merest hint of mischief in those green eyes. And there was no denying that time had given Vivien Fox a dignity in her forties that had been lacking in the impetuous teenager. What did she see in him? Lorimer wondered as they spread napkins across their knees and made small talk with the people on their other side. Did she see the lines around his eyes, the way that years of chasing criminals had given a more sombre cast to his countenance? There were quite a few of the men at adjacent tables whose heads were either shaved or thinning on top; he’d been luckier, he thought, running a hand through his thick dark hair as he glanced over the platinum-blonde coiffure of the woman on his right. He had seen from the place card that her name was Janice, but try as he might he simply could not remember any girl from his schooldays in this matronly lady.
‘You’re looking well,’ Vivien said, suddenly turning to him, a glass held aloft. ‘Cheers,’ she murmured, offering the rim. ‘To us,’ she said, glancing at him.
As he touched the wine glass with his own, Lorimer knew that her whispered words were just for him.
‘To old times,’ he replied, momentarily confused by the warmth of her glance.
‘And what did you do after you left school?’ Janice asked loudly, her face turned up to Lorimer’s.
‘University for a bit,’ he replied. ‘Then I joined the police.’
‘I knew that!’ a woman opposite said triumphantly, her bosom swelling inside a too tight black dress. ‘I’ve seen your picture in the papers. And you’ve been on the telly. Crimewatch, wasn’t it?’
He forced a smile and nodded, wondering if this had been a mistake after all. He could barely remember these women’s names, let alone their faces.
‘Weren’t you involved in that football club?’ someone else asked. ‘The one where that referee got shot?’
‘That’s right.’
‘And that woman—’
‘I think William is here to see old friends, not to be quizzed on his night off,’ Vivien said smoothly. She had not raised her voice in the slightest, but it held the sort of tone that made other people sit up a littler straighter, take notice of her words. It was, in short, a voice that contained authority, and Lorimer began to wonder just how Vivien Fox had spent the last twenty years.
He breathed a silent sigh of relief as the conversation turned to the other men and women around the table, their polite exchanges supplying nuggets of information that could be shared later with absent spouses.
‘And what about you?’ he asked softly. ‘Did you ever achieve that dream of becoming an actress?’
There was a sadness in her eyes as she smiled at him, the slightest shake of her head signifying that no, that dream remained unfulfilled.
‘But why?’ His brow furrowed. ‘You were so focused on the whole thing back then . . .’
One shoulder was raised in a shrug, but the red-haired woman seemed disinclined to offer any sort of explanation.
The frown remained. She’d been so adamant that the life of the stage was for her. And she had been so talented, good enough to be accepted by RADA, for goodness’ sake. The notion that Vivien had abandoned him needlessly made Lorimer feel like that disappointed boy once more. She should have achieved fame and fortune, a tiny voice insisted. Hadn’t she made a sacrifice to take up that course? Shouldn’t they have stayed together?
For a moment it was as if a darkness had clouded his mind, then she smiled again and Lorimer remembered who he was, and where: a senior police officer, a happily married police officer, at a simple school reunion.
The night drove on in a whirl of conversation and laughter. Several of the men and women became tipsy, some getting up to dance around the fringes of the tables as the disco got under way and the music changed from quiet background melodies to the more raucous sounds from their youth.
‘Hard to talk above all of this noise,’ Vivien said, leaning in towards him. ‘Fancy a walk outside?’
Lorimer glanced around at the others on their table, clearly engrossed in different conversations. Their own exchanges had skirted around work and family life (no, she had never had children either, Vivien had told him), but there was a strange wistfulness in some of her glances. It was as if there was more to be said; things that she wanted to tell him privately. And his detective’s curiosity was aroused.
As Lorimer hesitated, he saw her rise from her place at the table, one eyebrow arched in amusement at his indecision.
‘Come on, then,’ she said, and began to walk across the hall.
It was only polite to follow, Lorimer told himself. There was nothing wrong with her request to have a quiet chat, was there? And yet as he passed Stu Clark’s table and saw the man’s eyebrows raised and that mocking grin, he knew what his old friend must be thinking.
Vivien had stopped by a row of pegs that was their cloakroom for the evening and Lorimer watched as she pulled on a dark green coat, wrapping it around her slim body then flicking her hair out from the collar.
There were several people around the doorway, smokers who had left the hall behind for a cigarette, but none of them commented on the well-dressed woman and the tall policeman stepping out into the chill of the April night.
They walked on in silence, past the darkened windows of classrooms and around a corner of the main building until they reached the playground. As they approached the scarred metal benches, Vivien looked back at him enquiringly.
‘Remember . . . ?’ she began, a small smile on her lips as she took her old place on the bench. And of course he did remember. All those hours after school when they had sat here putting the world to rights, the whole of the playground quiet at last except for the occasional cleaner passing by or the janitor who never seemed to notice them there at all.
She had crossed her legs and one foot was jigging up and down, Lorimer noticed, a sure sign of agitation.
Then he was sitting beside her, hands folded under his chin, wondering what it was that she wanted to tell him.
‘Did you ever wonder about me at all?’ Vivien began, staring out at the darkness beyond the school buildings, deliberately avoiding his glance. ‘Ever think that first love was the sweetest?’
‘Sometimes,’ Lorimer admitted. ‘But things changed after my mum died.’ He shrugged. ‘And there were lots of other things in my life.’
‘Like your wife?’ She looked his way for a moment and he nodded.
‘Yes,’ he said slowly. ‘I’ve been lucky. And you?’
Vivien looked away again as she answered. ‘Charles is marvellous,’ she said. ‘The sort of person you only meet once in a lifetime.’
Lorimer’s brow furrowed for a moment. Was he imagining a tinge of bitterness in her voice? And was that sudden shivering simply from the cold night air?
Vivien drew out a packet of cigarettes from her handbag and offered them to Lorimer, who shook his head. He watched as she lit a cigarette with a slim silver lighter then inhaled deeply, closing her eyes in a moment of relief as the nicotine hit her bloodstream. Neither of them had smoked back then, his father’s early death having made the young William Lorimer determined not to acquire the habit. Watching as she flicked the ash from her cigarette, he saw a different Vivien, someone subtly sophisticated, a woman who was probably more at home in one of the many chichi bars and restaurants that London had to offer. With her husband, Charles.
‘Charles Gilmartin,’ Lorimer said suddenly. ‘Of course! I didn’t realise that’s who you were married to! He’s the famous theatre director, isn’t he?’
Vivien smiled her familiar foxy smile.
‘The very one,’ she said. ‘My husband, the famous director.’
‘Then why . . . ?’ Lorimer frowned as the question came unbidden to his lip
s.
‘Why aren’t I an equally famous actress?’ She shrugged. ‘Didn’t happen for me, did it?’
Lorimer shook his head.
‘Too much competition,’ she said lightly.
‘But you still worked in the theatre?’
‘As Charles’s personal assistant.’ Vivien turned her head away, blowing a pale line of smoke through the dark night air.
‘And that was enough to satisfy you?’ The words were out before he could stop them. It was none of his business, his wiser self reminded him. Yet once upon a time Foxy’s career had been all he could think about.
‘Charles has big plans,’ Vivien said, turning to smile at him. ‘There’s a theatre group arriving from Africa this summer. Doing a UK tour. Taking in the Edinburgh Festival. He’s bankrolling the whole thing,’ she said.
Her speech was clipped, a hard edge to her voice as she spoke. Did she realise just how much he gleaned from the human voice? Or were her words meant to convey a sense of pride in her husband? Somehow he doubted that. Years of experience listening to people made the detective realise that there was something in Gilmartin’s venture causing his wife some pain.
‘Charles thinks he may be mentioned in the next Honours List,’ Vivien added, a brittle smile on her face.
‘A knighthood?’
She nodded and dropped her cigarette, grinding it beneath the toe of her black patent shoe. ‘He’s putting so much behind this whole thing.’ She shrugged. ‘Bound to be noticed in all the right places.’
Lorimer grinned back at her. ‘That would make you Lady Gilmartin, then,’ he chuckled. ‘Lady Foxy,’ he added, catching her eye.
For a long moment neither of them spoke.
Vivien lifted her hand and traced a finger down the left side of his face. Was this an invitation for him to bend across and kiss her?
