And she wouldn’t be trapped in the house with Craig while she was preparing herself. It was hard to tell how much of his truculence was an act, how—much his real personality. She rather feared it was the latter, that he was a far from new man still expecting a woman to play a natural second fiddle and be grateful for any crusts of kindness. The brief time he’d been in Rod’s company had been interesting to say the least, the hostility between the two men almost palpable.
The mist had lifted by mid-day. She was getting hungry and ought in any case to report back to base. Base meant Craig, of course, unless he’d found some sort of work. So though she headed back to Newton Abbot, she chose the coast road from Teignmouth so she could stop off at a big garden centre. She was supposed to prettify the garden on the grounds of getting exercise and putting colour in her cheeks, and apparently their budget would stretch to buying what she needed that wasn’t already in Craig’s kit. When she found an arrangement of ready-planted pots she was tempted, and when she found one small enough to fit in a pannier she couldn’t resist it. For balance she bought two. They would go by the front door, cheering the grass patch—she could hardly call it a lawn—with colour from the pansies and golden-green thuja. Though she bought for Craig’s plot, in her mind’s eye she saw Rod’s.
The following morning saw her maintaining her standards in the lavatories, and arriving at Gary Vernon’s office once again while he was still in it.
‘Sorry, Mr Vernon. Still no key. And I’m afraid if I’m.to make any impression on this I shall be more than the seven minutes I’m allowed. Did you sort out the extra hours, by the way?’
‘I must admit,’ he began, tipping his chair back and making his hands into an irritating, headmasterly steeple, ‘that at first I was reluctant. But after I saw your work in the facilities—well, I shall certainly do my best for you.’
‘Thank you, Mr Vernon. Now, I don’t have to worry about answering anything, do IF He checked.. ‘Voice-mail on. Fax on. OK? No problems.’
‘Thanks. I’ll get on then, shall IF As soon as he’d gone, she put the vac down, as casually as she could, against the door, and, under cover of dusting his desk, removed more paper from the fax. The work of seconds. There. And then on to the rest of the room.
‘I’d really love to get those windows clean,’ she said confidingly when Vernon returned. ‘And I know I won’t have time for that. But I have thought of something So long as we don’t tell the agency.’
He jerked back his head in suspicion.
‘It’s just that when I’ve cleaned the swimming-pool area, I’ve noticed there’s no one around. I suppose I couldn’t swap an hour on those windows for a bit of a swim? When it wouldn’t offend anyone?’
He relaxed. ‘There’s hardly anyone here to offend,’ he admitted, ‘after this weather. Have you ever seen so much ram? And now this mist No wonder people don’t want to come down’
‘But haven’t they already paid for their week in advance? It seems such a waste I mean, if you’ve booked to go to your holiday camp you’d want—’
Vernon waved an admonitory finger. ‘Holiday camp! Uttering those words is a sacking offence’ This is a holiday complex People own properties here for a week or so a year. So the complex doesn’t have to be seething with people for the apartments to be occupied Sometimes people will rent them out to friends. Or they could swap them for one year with people in another complex Sometimes they’ll come for just two or three days of their seven’
‘If I’d got somewhere like this I’d want to get my money’s worth.’ A comment that applied equally to both Kates.
‘Anyway, having a half-empty complex’ll make life easier for you this Friday, of course And on Saturday’
‘Saturday?’ she repeated, hoping her dismay didn’t show. ‘Yes, of course Changeover day. Or perhaps the agency puts in someone else at the weekend’
Kate nodded. ‘That’ll be the answer.’ She didn’t add it was probably an attempt on someone’s part to evade employment law support for part-time workers ‘Do you and all the admin staff have to be here Saturdays, too?’
‘It’s our busiest day.’
So when did he take time off? But she wouldn’t ask ‘yet. ‘Especially,’ Vernon continued, ‘when we have punters coming down to see how they like our facilities.’
So why had Gregorie put them off? ‘Punters?’
‘We need to sell on properties to new purchasers.’
‘Oh, I thought people rented them or something.’
‘They buy them,’ he said firmly.
‘Ah! Time-share!’
He shook his head. ‘We prefer not to call it that. We prefer to call it joint ownership. You can’t have seen any of the apartments, yet, of course. I’ll have to arrange that for you.’
Yes!
‘Oh, I’d love to see them. So long as you don’t try selling me anything. We’re up to here’—she raised her hand an inch or so over her head—‘with our mortgage. And bad weather means people don’t want their gardens done. Can’t have them done, really, whatever Craig says. He reckons they’re just being awkward, of course.’
‘Craig’s your husband?’
She leaned forward as if sharing a secret. ‘That’s what I call him. And—well, I know I wear his ring. But you know how it is with men these days.’
‘Not me, Kate,. I assure you. My wife and I—we’ve got our tenth anniversary next month.’
‘Well done! That’s really cause for celebration these days.’ She ‘beamed. ‘Goodness me, look at the time. Right, Mr Vernon: I’d best carry on, if it’s all the same to you.’
‘Of course. And I’ll think about that swimming. I personally can’t see any objection, but if people have paid for something, they don’t always like sharing.’
She nodded glumly. She might have asked to swim when there was no one ‘round: what she really wanted to do was bump into as many people as she could when she wasn’t decked out in her cleaner’s uniform.
‘Leave it with me,’ he said.
The conversation clearly at an end, she pottered off and threw herself with a will at the carpet of the bar. She rather thought wiping the tables was the province of the bar staff. At least, it would have to be today, if she was going to finish anything on time. And for the wages someone like her was getting, she was damned if she was going to work unpaid overtime. Not without a swim to compensate.
Chapter 8
‘What do you mean, you’re not going to change shifts to get on this weekend lark?’ Craig demanded, slamming the tea towel he’d not got round to using on to the breakfast bar.
‘Precisely that,’ Kate said firmly, wringing out the J-cloth and hanging it over the mixer-tap to dry. ‘Not this weekend, anyway. It’s too early. Vernon’s marked me down as a goody-two-shoes: I don’t want to be promoted to plaster saint. Not yet. In any case—’
‘I suppose your toffee-nosed boss is coming down for another poke, is he? That’s the way you got promotion, is it? Funny: the word on the street is you were shagging some other boss—’
She slammed down her rubber gloves and turned on him. ‘That’s enough, Craig. We have to work together. Unfortunately for me it means we have to live together. But I don’t have to take that crap from you or anyone else.’
‘Too close to the truth, was it?’
‘I don’t suppose you’d know the truth if it poked you in the eye. My relationship with Superintendent Neville is that I’m a sergeant.’
‘But not for long…’
‘No. People on the accelerated promotion scheme don’t hang around that long.’ It was the first time she’d ever been glad to be fast-tracked. ‘I take up a posting as inspector as soon as there’s a suitable slot. And my relationship with Rod the person is none of your business.’
‘It is if you’d rather spend the weekend fucking than doing what you’re paid to do.’
‘Currently the complex pays me to work seven till twelve five days a week. I’ve wangled a couple of extra
hours. I’ve got permission to use the swimming pool, which means contact with the residents. Hasn’t it penetrated into what you call a brain that if I suddenly turn up on Saturdays as well it’ll look bloody suspicious? Jesus Christ, call yourself a detective!’
‘Don’t you take that tone with me. I’m fucking good at my job.’
‘And you notice I don’t tell you how to do it. I treat you as a professional. Have the courtesy to treat me the same.’
Most of the argument so far had been conducted in fierce undervoices, lest the detail of their quarrel carry to their neighbours. Now Craig audibly changed gear.
‘Have the courtesy! Have the fucking courtesy! Who d’you think you are? Lady Muck? Get out before I throw you out.’
You try it, Craig. Just you try it. You’ll be out of your job quicker than I can say cop’ She grabbed his arm to stop him hitting her. To make the point she twisted it till the elbow joint must have screamed. Then she pushed him on to the nearest kitchen stool. ‘Look, you’re fitter and stronger than me. You could break me in half if you wanted to But my timing’s sharp It has to be because I’m small Now, think about what I said and see if my timing doesn’t make sense in this job, too.’ She turned and left the room, closing the door quietly behind her.
The following morning, she risked it As soon as Vernon left the office, she nipped behind his desk to dust it And to look at the computer. Nothing but a screensaver, of course A casual dab with the duster brought back the original screen. A memo. Dare she scroll down? Printing was out of the question with that eye on her.
The door opened Jesus Christ! Thank God for plan A.
‘Tell you what, Mr Vernon,’ she said, pointing. ‘Your fax paper’s a funny colour. Pink streaks on it Doesn’t that mean you’re running out?’
‘Surely not—yes, well spotted. I’d better fit a new roll.’ He unlocked a cupboard, which proved to contain stationery, and, clutching a roll, strode authoritatively back to the machine, which he then stared at blankly.
‘Shouldn’t your PA do that for you?’ Kate asked. She was fairly sure that he had no more than the part-time services of a temp from the agency that employed her, but a little judicious flattery rarely came amiss. And her hands were shaking too much to offer to try, herself; at the moment.
‘As and when she manages to get in. Hell!’ He stared at the machine much as Craig would no doubt stare at their washing machine, unused, so far, except for Kate’s things.
Kate cleared her throat. ‘D’you want me to see? .I mean, they say two heads are better than one.’
As soon as he stepped aside, she could see what had to be done: with luck it would take several minutes to slide the slippery paper through the tiny gap.
‘There. You have to slide it in there, somehow.’ She must let him try, and boost his ego with a bit of admiration if he managed it if he didn’t, then she too could waste a few moments. The hands would soon be steady.
No prizes for him, after four or five attempts. Nor for her, until, inspired, she folded the sheet to a point, as they mysteriously did with loo rolls in the sort of hotels Rod favoured. Immediate success.
‘Well, I’m blowed,’ he said, obligingly.
‘Me too. Nasty fiddly thing. You’d think they’d design something that takes five seconds, not five minutes.’
‘My God, has it taken that long? Oh, Kate, I’m so sorry. It must have thrown your schedule right out.’
Not as much as being found accessing his computer would have done. And she’d managed to turn a nasty moment into a chance of brownie points. ‘I’ll just have to rush round a bit. But .1 don’t like skimping, Mr Vernon. I don’t want you getting complaints about me. Or the agency. I really need this job.’
He looked at her under his blond eyebrows. ‘Things still bad at home?’
She nodded, looking away as if to stop him seeing tears. ‘Still, as my gran used to say, what can’t be cured must be endured. Best get on, Mr Vernon.’ She switched on the machine and attacked his carpet with vigour. She’d let him settle down before the next move, so she started on the corridor outside. After a few moments, she tapped his door, popping her head round immediately. ‘I forgot your bin, Mr Vernon. Seeing as I’m running late, can I pop it in the ordinary waste or does it need to go for shredding?’
The shredding pile was something she still hadn’t managed to check. Next week, maybe she could risk offering to deal with it.
Vernon hesitated. ‘Oh, general rubbish. Or is there—? No, it’ll be OK, just this once.’
She’d always wondered why cleaning ladies wore capacious overalls: as she stuffed a couple of memos marked CONFIDENTIAL into her pocket, she realised why.
The trouble was, when, on her way back to Newton Abbot, she fished them out of her pocket and smoothed them out, she couldn’t work out why anyone had bothered with the warning in the first place. As far as she could see, all she held in her hand was information about a new office plant supplier—quite justified, if the state of the present droopy specimens was anything to go by—and an invitation to join a neighbour for a drink. But since she wasn’t likely to have been sent undercover simply to detect neighbourly hospitality,, she folded it again and replaced it with the other in an inner pocket. At least she would have something to discuss with Craig.
There was no sign of him or the Escort when she got back: perhaps he was out pursuing what Rod had called his undercover avocation. With luck, some hard physical work should tap some of his testosterone and improve his health and temper. She was just rinsing salad for an early lunch when her mobile rang. Only three people had her number: Earnshaw, Craig and—oh, please let it be—Rod.
‘Well?’ It was Earnshaw.
‘I’ve got a couple of memos that might make more sense—’
‘I didn’t mean that I’m sure you’re doing your work thoroughly But what about this business with Craig?’
Alarm bells rang; ‘What business?’
‘You tell me’
‘I think he’s been taking his role a bit seriously.’
‘How?’
‘Well, we’re not supposed to be your ideal couple the neighbours are supposed to here us yelling, aren’t they?’
‘Can you keep on working together?’
‘Do I have a choice?’
‘It’s not so much you as him. And he says he can work better on his own—he’ll try and get a maintenance contract for the grounds.’
Heart leaping at the chance of giving up and going home, she heard her mouth say, ‘Trying to get isn’t the same as actually working in the boss’s office.’ Damn her mouth.
‘Or as filching the odd memo. OK, I’ll bollock him, shall I?’
‘What for?’
‘Have you eaten yet?’
‘Not yet.’
‘Where? Somewhere halfway?’
‘Not close to Sophisticasun, though’
‘OK Any ideas?’
‘Jack’s Patch.’
‘Eh?’
‘It’s a garden centre. They do nice lunches. And it’s full of ladies treating their daughters Even if most of the mothers are twice your age.’ She gave directions Although it was much nearer Newton than Exeter, the way Earnshaw drove and the rate her little bike puttered along, they’d probably arrive together.
As it was, she set off straightaway to give herself enough time to ramble round the outside section of the centre Mentally she selected plants not for the Newton Abbot garden, but for Rod’s height, year-round colour—yes, she could soon have had it looking good. But daydreaming when she was supposed to be meeting her current boss for lunch wasn’t a good idea. She walked briskly back to the covered area, past birthday card and pot pourri sections, till she fetched up in the little café. She bought herself a fresh orange juice and settled at a table from which she could see everyone who came in. She was given a certain amount of cover by a collection of half-abstract, half-representational metal sculptures of birds. Their labels said they were made in Zimbabwe, from recyc
led scrap metal. A particularly fine pheasant, slightly over life-size, had caught her eye—it would look wonderful on Rod’s lawn—when she spotted DCI Earnshaw, looking as if she’d just emerged from the autumn pruning session of a particularly dense hedge.
The two women were well into their flans and salad. Once Kate had reported the surveillance camera and fancy locks, they’d talked about what in normal circumstances both would normally probably have stigmatised as girly things—Kate’s hairdo, for instance, and her new clothes, which Earnshaw had considered looked too smart. ‘Trouble is, when you’re as slender as you are, even cheap nasty stuff looks good Next time, go to a charity shop.’
Kate pulled a face ‘Wearing someone else’s skin’s one thing, wearing someone else’s clothes is another’
‘Never knew you were a snob, Kate. How about some uncomfortable shoes?’ Earnshaw pointed downwards with her knife.
‘Uncomfortable shoes?’ Kate peered at her trainers.
‘Yes. So you don’t walk so well. Old dodge. Surprised you don’t know it.’
‘I’ll try anything. But maybe I don’t need to do much more:
they seem to believe in me at Sophisticasun as I am.’
‘What’s this about you refusing to work this weekend’
Kate laid down her knife and fork, very carefully. ‘That’s what Craig says, is it? Bastard.’
‘He may well be. But he’s angry.’
‘He should try listening when I’m briefing him. The cleaning work is divided between a number of workers. I’m their weekday woman for the admin and common areas. The only one.’
‘What about the flats?’
‘The punters clean them themselves during the week—if they want to. Other contract workers give them a proper clean during the weekend changeover. I’m busy making myself invaluable, but I don’t want to push suspiciously hard.’ She finished the water she’d had with her meal. Just now, she’d rather be on strong coffee.
Hidden Power Page 8
