Thursday Legends

by Quintin Jardine

  "If that guy had asked me a month ago whether I'd take it, I'd have

  said "Too damn right!" But now, I'm not quite so sure."

  She frowned; she had always showed her surprise that way. "What's

  making you hesitate all of a sudden?"

  "You are, Dr. Sarah Grace Skinner. You are."

  Three.

  Paula Viareggio looked to her left and saw herself in the big mirror

  that stretched across the width of the dressing table. She saw him

  too, although he was lost somewhere in a dream. She slid out from

  underneath his muscular arm, rolled out of the huge sleigh bed and

  stood up.

  Still looking in the mirror, she touched herself between her breasts

  with a fingertip, then traced it slowly down to her navel. Not bad,

  she thought, appraising her body in the morning light. She did not

  think of herself as being vain; no, she was simply proud of her olive

  skin with its velvet feel, of her long supple limbs, and of her classic

  high-cheekboned face. Most of all she was proud of her long cascading

  hair, turned silver from black in her mid twenties, helped on its way,

  if truth be told, by some judicious colouring by Charlie Kettles, her

  hairdresser. "Yes, not bad for thirty-something," she murmured.

  She heard a muffled grunt behind her, as Mario McGuire came back to

  wakefulness.

  "Where you gone?" he whispered.

  "Nowhere," she answered.

  "Come back in here then."

  "Let me guess," she laughed. "You're going to tell me you're at your

  best in the mornings."

  "Something like that," he agreed, cheerfully.

  "As if I didn't know that already." She turned towards him, facing the

  bed. "This can't go on, you know."

  He propped himself up on an elbow. "Bloody hell," he exclaimed. "You

  spend all those years trying to get me into your bed, and now you're

  giving me a hard time over it."

  "You know what I mean, Mario," she said, heavily. "This situation

  can't go on. What did you tell your wife this time? Are you working

  late in Galashiels again?"

  "I didn't tell her anything. Things are bad enough between Maggie and

  me, without burdening them with unnecessary lies."

  Her mouth dropped open for a second or two, until she loosed a short,

  sarcastic laugh. "Hah! Are you going to tell her where you've been,

  then .. . presuming you deign to go home at some point today?"

  "No. I'm not going to tell her anything, and she's not going to ask. I

  promise you that. She won't."

  "You're kidding yourself!"

  "Maggie will not rock the boat."

  "If it was my bloody boat, I'd tip you over the side. In fact I think

  I'll do just that." She reached out, grabbed a corner of the duvet and

  yanked it away, uncovering him. "Go on," she said. "Get up, get

  dressed and go on home to your wife, and your new family, where you

  belong!"

  He smiled up at her. "If you really mean that, I will." He rolled out

  of bed in a single easy movement and headed for the bathroom.

  Involuntarily, she reached out and caught his wrist, before he was

  halfway there; he turned and pulled her towards him, enveloping her in

  his arms, pressing her body against his, burying his face in her hair.

  "No," he whispered, "I didn't think so."

  They moved back to the bed, leaving the duvet on the floor. "Listen to

  me," Mario said softly, stroking her belly with the flat of his right

  hand. "A few months ago, on any given Saturday morning in Edinburgh,

  it would have been Maggie and me lying like this. I loved her, no

  mistake, and I wouldn't have looked at another woman. I still

  wouldn't, if it weren't for you. But that's all gone; Mags has

  changed, and changed for good."

  "But why?" she asked. "And why so suddenly? That's what I don't

  understand."

  He kissed her on the forehead. "I don't think I can find the words to

  tell you .. . no, not even you .. . exactly why, or how, it happened.

  Let's just say that all her life, she's been fighting this battle with

  herself, about how she relates to men; now, finally, she's lost it." He

  hesitated. "Paulie," he asked, 'can I trust you to keep a secret?"

  "Don't be daft. You know you can."

  "Okay." He fixed her with his eyes. "Maggie was raped," he told her,

  firing the words at her, watching her hands go to her mouth in horror,

  waiting as she took it in. "The man who did it killed himself," he

  went on, when she was ready, 'and it was all covered up, but that's

  what her emotional breakdown, the one we pretended was flu, was about:

  not all, but that was a big part of it. Now, in the aftermath, even

  though she's back in control of herself, she just can't bear me to

  touch her. She can live with me around the house, okay. We're

  pleasant to each other. We still care for each other. But physically,

  our marriage is over."

  Paula looked up at him with doubt in her eyes. "She'll get over it in

  time though, won't she?"

  "No," he replied. "No, she won't, or at least it's very unlikely that

  she will. She's had counselling, we've both had counselling, and the

  top guy in the business has told us that in his opinion, nothing's

  likely to change."

  "But can't she be put on medication?"

  He snorted. "What? Love potion number nine, do you mean? No, Paulie,

  there is no medication that will counter what's wrong with Mags. She's

  lost the ability to love, and not just to make love, either. She's

  withdrawn herself from me."

  "Aren't you even going to try to draw her back?"

  "Turn on the McGuire charm, you mean? No, I'm not."

  "But why not? The two of you had so much going for you." She frowned.

  "I know it's a hell of a thing for me to be saying, but surely, big

  boy, if you really gave it a go ..."

  "Yes, but that's the point. I loved her, and I still care for her, but

  I don't love the woman she's become. We sleep in separate bedrooms

  now, and one night I heard her locking her door. She doesn't need to,

  though. I've got no wish to open it."

  "But what about the wee boy you're adopting? The lad you took in after

  he was orphaned. I thought the idea was that you were going to raise

  him together."

  He drew in a deep breath. "We are, and until Maggie says different, we

  will. I'll go home this morning and we'll take Rufus out. If it's as

  nice a day as yesterday, we might take him to the seaside."

  "Will you be allowed to adopt him, though? I thought you had to have

  social workers confirm that you have a stable marriage, and all that

  guff."

  Mario hesitated. "What?" she asked, reading his indecision, as he

  pulled himself up to lean against the high, curved headboard of the

  bed.

  "I didn't want to tell you this; I didn't want to tell anyone who

  doesn't have to know, but especially not you. So promise me again it

  stays our secret." She nodded. "The thing is," he continued, 'we

  don't need the law to let us adopt Rufus. He's Maggie's

  half-brother."

  He looked at her as she worked through the implications of what he had

  told her. "God!" she whisp
ered at last.

  "God had no hand in it," he said, grimly. "Mags's father, may he rot

  in peace, was a real bastard. Rufus's mother was barely more than a

  kid, but he liked them young .. . liked to hurt them too. Anyway, even

  if the relationship wasn't there, we wouldn't have a problem with the

  social workers. We're both detective superintendents of police, for

  fuck's sake."

  "How could I forget?" she muttered. "Okay, so you've told me. That's

  how things are for you. So where does it leave you and me?"

  He smiled at her. "It leaves us, cousin, as joint trustees of the

  Viareggio family enterprises, with compelling business reasons to meet

  regularly.. . even if I have given a bright young corporate lawyer my

  power of attorney, because of my public position." He looked down at

  her long body and grinned. "It's perfect cover for having it off as

  well." He paused. "Talking about cover, you know my mum's moving to

  Tuscany pretty soon? I was thinking about going out to help her settle

  into her new place. Do you fancy coming?"

  Paula managed to gasp and laugh at the same time. "Are you crazy?" she

  exclaimed. "I may have lusted after your body for most of my adult

  life, Mario, but the last thing I want is for my Auntie Christina to

  find out that I've finally got it. The same goes for any other member

  of our family, and maybe for anyone at all, if you value your job."

  "It's a big house that my mother's bought," he pointed out. "And don't

  forget; she's very clever and she's very, very shrewd. She knows about

  you and me, I'll bet, even though she hasn't said anything."

  "You serious?"

  "Sure. I'm her only son; we don't need speech to communicate."

  "But what'll she be thinking about it?"

  "Same as me ... Keep it to yourselves ... which is, I suppose the best

  advice we could have. I concede also that going to Italy together

  would be taking it too far, from the family's point of view. So we

  won't." He paused. "Not that the job is a consideration, though."

  She looked surprised once again. "What? Is the police force not big

  enough for you and Maggie any more?"

  He shook his head. "No, that's not it. I'm not sure that I'm as

  committed to it as I need to be: not any more, at any rate. We're all

  still stunned by what happened to Bob Skinner; things just aren't what

  they were without him around."

  "Yes," she agreed, 'that was a shocker. What his wife must be feeling;

  to have him collapse just like that in the middle of her parents'

  funeral."

  "Too right. As for me, well, Willie Haggerty, the assistant chief

  constable and Dan Pringle, the head of CID, may be good guys, but put

  together they don't make one of big Bob. I just can't get used to the

  idea of him not being around any more. With everything else that's

  going on in my life, the idea of turning it in and running the Trust

  full-time has its appeal."

  Paula drew herself up beside him. "Do you mean that?"

  "I'm not sure. How would you feel if I did?"

  "Honestly? A bit scared. The way things are, I can handle it when you

  go home; but if we were working together through the day, it might be

  more difficult. Have you talked to Neil about this?"

  "Mcllhenney? About us? Not in so many words, but he's nearly as close

  to me as my mother. He knows too."

  "Not about us, you idiot, about leaving the force?"

  "Yes. He says he feels much the same. He was the big fella's

  executive assistant, remember, as well as being one of his few real

  pals. But at least he can shut himself away in the Special Branch

  office, and go home to Louise and the kids every night."

  She turned her head and looked him in the eye. "And you can't, can

  you, you poor love. All you can do is fit me in, whenever the

  opportunity arises."

  He slid his arm around her shoulders and pulled her down until they

  were lying side by side once again. "It's a hard old life, Paulie," he

  said,

  and then he grinned, the bright wicked smile she had known for so long,

  and wished for so long to have directed at her. "All we can do is get

  on with it." He rolled over, into her embrace. "Hey," he whispered in

  her ear. "What?"

  "I really am at my best in the mornings, you know." She beamed at him.

  "Oh, I know, I know. I really do!"

  Four.

  Deputy Chief Constable Andrew Martin flexed his heavy shoulders as he

  walked into the big kitchen, feeling the muscles stretch his formal

  white shirt. Bob Skinner had always disliked wearing his uniform, and

  now that he had attained command rank, his closest friend had come to

  feel the same way.

  However he was still new to the Tayside force, and understood that he

  had to be seen in it, if for no other reason than that the men under

  his command would know who he was. Happily, the day promised warmth,

  and he had been able to discard the heavy jacket for the white shirt,

  with shoulder-panels to denote his rank.

  "Now there's a picture," said Karen as she turned to look at him. "You

  look just like Sir James Proud in that get-up." He smiled, knowing

  that it was a copper compliment; nobody could wear a uniform like his

  former chief constable.

  "Where are you going today?" his wife asked him; she had been up for

  two hours, since the baby had wakened her just after six a.m."

  demanding her first feed of the day. Danielle Martin was two weeks and

  two days old, and for all that he had had half a year to prepare for

  her arrival, her father was still slightly stunned by her very

  existence.

  "Uhh?" he asked. His mind had been on other things.

  "Are you awake yet?" she laughed. "I asked where you were going this

  morning. Dundee is it? And why, on a Saturday? The football season's

  over, is it not?"

  He blinked. "Sorry, love; I was just thinking about Bob for a second

  or two."

  Karen patted his shoulder as he fed four slices of whole meal bread

  into the toaster. "I understand," she said quietly. "It still gets to

  you, I know; me too."

  His green eyes flashed as he smiled at her; there was a new warmth in

  them, a depth of feeling that had appeared at the moment of Danielle's

  birth, and had stayed there ever since. He nodded towards the infant,

  asleep in her carry-cot. "At least we've got her to take our minds off

  it."

  He pushed down the lever to start the bread toasting. "As it happens

  I'm not going to Dundee. No, I'm going down to the North Inch; the

  flood water's subsided, and it's just about dry enough for us to begin

  the clear-up operation. In theory it's down to the householders, but

  I've detailed fifty officers to help them. Community policing,

  remember; that's part of my remit now'

  Karen frowned. "Is there anything that isn't part of your remit?" His

  duties were a sore point with her. An ex-detective sergeant herself,

  she knew how badly her husband had wanted a break from criminal

  investigation, yet during his first month on the Tayside force, he had

  come to realise that within the smaller force he had joined
, there was

  nothing over which the DCC did not have a level of oversight.

  "No," he agreed, 'probably not. But I'm enjoying it, nonetheless; the

  chief and the senior officers are all first-class professionals and

  good to work with. And don't tell me you don't like living in Perth,

  either."

  "I don't know yet whether I do or not," she replied. "Fine, it's

  prosperous, the streets are clean, and we have this nice old house up

  on the hillside, but we're lucky. Suppose we'd bought that place we

  looked at in the town centre. We might have been flooded out with the

  rest of those poor sods."

  He laughed. "But we didn't and we weren't, so don't damn the whole

  town because of something that didn't happen. Anyway, it was an

  absolute freak of nature. There were precautions taken after the last

  time, but nobody could have predicted last week's weather. If you

  didn't believe in global climatic change before, believe in it now."

  Karen Martin frowned. "So that's what our daughter has to look forward

  to, is it?"

  The toaster popped; he took out the first slice and began to spread it

  with honey. "It won't be that dramatic all the time," he replied;

  'besides, it'll be her norm. We were brought up during the Cold War,

  remember; that was ours, frightening as it seems now. I was at a

  dinner last month and I met a guy who'd flown nuclear bombers. He told