by K. J. Frost
“Pearce?” I call out. He turns and looks at me. “Can you and Wells come into my office?” He nods and they follow me back into my room. “Take a seat,” I offer and they glance at each other, before sitting down opposite me. “They all confessed?” I query.
“Yes, sir,” Pearce replies, looking a little doubtful.
“You’re not in trouble,” I say quickly and his face clears. “I just want to know what happened.”
He smiles slightly and glances across at Wells. “We showed them the things we found at the house.”
“And they knew there was no point in lying any longer,” Wells adds.
I smile back at them. “This was good work,” I tell them both, tapping the file with my fingertips.
“Thank you, sir,” they say in unison.
“If either of you is ever interested in transferring to CID, let me know.” They both beam at me. “Just don’t tell Sergeant Tooley I said that. I doubt he’ll thank me.”
They chuckle. “No, sir.”
“Right, you’d better get back to work. I’ve taken up enough of your time already.” They get to their feet, passing Thompson in the doorway on their way out.
“They look happy,” he says, coming over and standing in front of my desk.
“Because I’ve just told them how well they did on the Chambers’ case… and suggested they might like to apply for a transfer to CID,” I explain.
Thompson laughs. “You’d better not let Stan Tooley know you said that,” he warns, still smiling. “Ever since the war started, he’s done nothing but moan about the lack of manpower.”
“What about the war reserve constables?”
“Don’t mention them either,” he says, rolling his eyes.
“Okay. I won’t.” I hold his gaze. “I noticed you talking to him earlier. Was that anything I should know about?” He blushes, and looks down at my desk. “If it’s personal…” I begin, but he holds up his hand.
“It’s not personal. Well, not really.” I sit quietly and give him a moment, being as he obviously wants to tell me, but can’t decide how. “I wasn’t going to mention anything yet,” he says waiting for a moment or two, “but I spoke to Tooley about your aunt’s garden.”
“Aunt Dotty’s garden?” I can’t disguise my surprise. Of all the things I expected him to say, this wasn’t one of them. “What about it?”
“Well, from what you said, you were obviously feeling guilty about not being able to help her out… so we decided to see if any of the lads might be free on Saturday to lend a hand with doing some digging.” I’m stunned into silence. “Tooley’s managed to get quite a few volunteers,” he adds. “Pearce and Wells will be there, as well as Adams and Ward.”
“I don’t even know Adams and Ward, do I?”
“Yes you do. And they know you,” he replies. “They were two of the men who carried out surveillance on the factory estate, and they helped out when we were observing at the pubs as well, on the Ellis case,” he explains. “Tooley’s going to be there too. And so will I.” He runs his finger along the edge of my desk. “I know we’re making assumptions, and your aunt might not want to have half a dozen policemen invading her back garden, but…”
I hold up my hand. “Oh, trust me, I very much doubt Aunt Dotty will object. She’ll love it.” I chuckle to myself.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“You’re worried about my aunt, but I’m not sure you’re all ready for her… or my mother.”
He laughs. “I’m sure we’ll cope.”
“Thank you for this, Harry,” I say, sincerely.
He shrugs. “They all wanted to help,” he replies, then pauses. “I suppose you’d better check with your aunt before we finalise the arrangements, just in case.”
“I’ll speak to her tonight.”
“And I’ll probably bring Julia and Christopher with me, at least for part of the day. I don’t get to see that much of them…” His voice fades.
“I’d love to meet your wife,” I tell him.
“Just make sure you don’t give away all my secrets,” he says, sounding worried.
“Would I?”
“Hmm. Very probably.”
“They’re going to do what?” Aunt Dotty stares at me from the other side of the dining table. My mother spent the first half hour after my arrival back home telling me about her argument with the greengrocer, who’d evidently tried to sell her a cabbage that was so small, my mother declared it barely qualified as a Brussels sprout. Her telling of the story was very funny, and had both Dotty and I in stitches. Because of that, it took me until we went through for dinner before I could explain to them about Thompson’s offer of coming to dig the garden at the weekend.
“They’re going to come and dig up your garden,” I repeat.
“My garden?”
“You do still want it dug up, don’t you?” I ask. Her reaction is making me doubtful.
“Yes, of course. I just can’t believe…”
“No, neither could I.”
My mother reaches across the table and places her hand on my arm. “They’re just letting you know,” she says cryptically.
“Letting me know what?”
“That they’re accepting you. That you’re part of the family.”
“I’d understand that if I were still a sergeant, but I’m not, I’m an inspector,” I point out.
“It’s got nothing to do with your rank,” she says softly. “It’s got everything to do with how you behave around them. Earning their trust… their respect.”
I look over at her, feeling embarrassed, but fortunately my blushes are spared by the arrival of Ethel with the fish pie, which Aunt Dotty dishes up.
“I was thinking I might go and see Amelie again tonight,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant as Mother passes me the carrots.
“Again?” she teases, doing her best not to smirk.
“Yes.”
“Why don’t you invite her here instead? It’ll stop people from gossiping.”
“I’ve already had this conversation with Aunt Dotty.”
“Even so,” Mother continues, as though I haven’t spoken, “you know what people are like.”
“By ‘people’, do you mean yourself?”
“Rufus!” She’s pretending to be shocked, but the smile on her face is the clue that she’s not really. “I do not gossip.”
“No. You just plot and connive,” I reply.
“That’s my prerogative, as your mother,” she says.
“And mine, as your aunt,” Dotty joins in.
I let my head fall back and stare at the ceiling. “I think I’ll invite her to the pub instead.”
“Oh,” Mother says, as though I’ve just taken away her favourite toy.
“I’ll telephone her after dinner,” I add.
“The pub isn’t very romantic,” Aunt Dotty puts in, tucking into her fish pie.
“Neither is listening to the pair of you discussing our wedding plans, before I’ve even proposed,” I reply.
The both look crestfallen, but my mind’s made up. I know I’m going to ask Amelie to marry me one day soon, but I really would rather do so without the interference of my relatives. And besides, the pub, even with all of its noise, will still be quieter than an evening spent with Mother and Aunt Dotty in full conniving mood.
Chapter Sixteen
The idea of sitting alone in my flat for another evening is just too much, so after I’ve finished the chips that I bought from the shop downstairs, I get dressed in some warm clothes and go out for a walk.
To start with, I’m not really sure where I’m going and just wander aimlessly from West to East Molesey, trying to remember how the roads and houses used to look when they were lit up, before the blackout shrouded us all in this dim and rather mysterious darkness.
Although it’s dry, there’s a cold, biting north easterly wind, and I pull my scarf up around my face, burying my hands a little deeper in my coat pockets as I stroll along.
I pass the Lord Harry, remembering my meeting with Ellen, and the night I spent with her. Surprisingly, although it’s been a while, I’m not in the mood for female company tonight. I could do with a drink though, and contemplate going inside. What if she’s in there again though? Will she expect a repeat performance? Or, what if she’s with someone else? Would that be worse?
I turn away and continue down the street. The shops of Walton Road are dark and lifeless at this time of night, and the few other people who are out and about, pass them by without a second glance.
A little way ahead, I can hear voices. It appears to be a group of several men and, from the sounds of things, there’s an argument brewing. After my recent dealings with the police, and knowing what I’ve done, the last thing I need is any trouble, I contemplate turning around and going home, but I’m still thirsty, and I’m not ready for my evening to end yet, so I duck down Seymour Road, listening as the voices fade into the distance behind me.
The houses down here are much larger, although shrouded in darkness, they’re just shadows against the night sky, much less imposing than their daytime counterparts.
There’s a crossroads ahead and I suddenly recall that there’s a small pub around the back of these streets, somewhere. It’s called The Swan and, if memory serves, I need to turn left onto Beauchamp Road to get to it.
I take the turning and cross over, grateful that the houses are now sheltering me from the wind. I’ve only gone a few paces when a man looms out of the darkness and, despite myself, I jump. He’s quite short, and seems to be wearing a pale coloured overcoat and hat.
“Sorry,” he says, and I can see he’s smiling. “I didn’t mean to startle you. I seem to be lost.”
“Where are you trying to get to?” I ask.
“Nightingale Road. I was told it was along here.”
“It is.” I turn and point, although I’m not sure he can see me in the darkness. “If you keep going, you’ll come to it.”
“Thanks,” he says. “This is a very long road, isn’t it?”
I nod, although again I’m not sure he’s aware of that, and continue on my way. I’m not in the mood for making conversation with strangers.
At the end of Beauchamp Road, I turn right, then after a moment’s hesitation, caused by my own confusion, I take the next two lefts and, within a few yards, I’ve arrived at The Swan.
Inside, it’s smokey and warm, and I remove my scarf and hat, making my way across to the bar. There are a couple of people waiting ahead of me, and I take the chance to undo my coat and take a look around, the breath catching in my throat as I spot Inspector Stone, of all people, just taking a seat in the corner of the room, with an incredibly beautiful young woman. I can’t help but let my eyes dwell on her for a minute or two – she’s that beautiful – before I feel my blood start to boil. They settle into their seats, their eyes fixed on each other, oblivious to everyone else in the room. It’s obvious to me that they’re in love – or a good way to being there – and I clench my fists around my hat, my knuckles whitening as I remember how that feels. Why should he be able to feel, to love, to live, when I’m dead inside?
Before he has the chance to look up, I stagger outside again, gulping down a lungful of cold, fresh air.
Cole may have missed his chances, but now it’s my turn and I doubt I’ll ever have such an opportunity again.
I stand still, thinking for a moment. Stone and his beautiful girlfriend may have only just sat down, but I have no idea how long they intend staying. My time could be very limited, and although I’ve worked out in an instant what I want to do, I need to act quickly. My loss is personal, so what I do to him has to be personal too. I can’t shoot him, that’s too remote. Even so, I need a weapon, and looking up at the pub, I think I might know where I can find one.
*****
My arm’s aching more than it has since I broke it, but I’m assuming that’s because it’s turned colder tonight. Even so, sitting beside Amelie in the corner of the pub, I’m really not sure I care.
“It was very kind of your sergeants to arrange that,” she says, taking a sip of her gin and tonic. I’ve just finished explaining about Thompson’s plans for the weekend, and Aunt Dotty’s reaction.
“Yes, wasn’t it?”
“Did you say Sergeant Thompson’s wife and son will be there too?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“What’s his wife like?”
“I have no idea,” I confess.
“You mean, you’ve never met her before?”
“No.” I look down at her.
“Why not? He’s your friend as well as your sergeant, isn’t he?”
I remember that, while I might have told her the story about Victoria sleeping with a former colleague of mine, I didn’t actually reveal that the colleague in question was Thompson.
“Yes,” I reply. “But we fell out several years ago, before I moved to London.” I turn in my seat so I’m facing her and take her hand in mine. “Harry was the man who went to bed with Victoria,” I explain, keeping my voice low and putting it as delicately as I can.
Her eyes widen. “He was?” Her face pales. “B—But then doesn’t that mean they’re married… and she’ll be there with him on Saturday?” I can hear the fear in her voice.
“No. They didn’t stay together. He met Julia – his wife – a short while afterwards. When I first came back here, I thought Harry and Victoria had got married, but I was wrong about that.”
I can hear her sigh of relief, but she’s still looking shocked. “And you’ve forgiven him? For what happened?”
“As far as I’m concerned, there’s nothing to forgive him for. I mean, I thought there was to begin with. I thought he was just as much to blame as she was, but it seems she didn’t reveal who she was.”
“Surely he’d met her though, hadn’t he?” she asks.
“No.” I shake my head. “I hadn’t introduced them.” I release her hand and raise my own, gently caressing her cheek with my fingertips. “I kept my work and private life very separate.” I think for a moment. “Actually, that’s not strictly true. I just wasn’t very good at opening up at all to people back then.”
“So you didn’t let her meet your family, or your friends?” She’s obviously remembered that I told her I hadn’t bothered to introduce Victoria to my parents either.
“No.”
“Why?”
I shrug my shoulders. “You mean, apart from my natural reticence?” She smiles and nods her head, and I continue, “I suppose, I realised deep down that something was wrong.” I look into her eyes. “I don’t remember feeling like that at the time, but maybe there was a sixth sense telling me she was bad news.”
“And she… she… did that… with your sergeant?”
“He wasn’t my sergeant at the time,” I point out. “He was my friend. And yes, she did. She evidently disguised our engagement by taking off her ring, so Harry was none the wiser.” I don’t mention that, before his marriage, Harry had a bit of a reputation with women, or that he took Victoria to bed without finding out her name. I’d like for Harry and Amelie to become friends and I’m not sure how she’d feel about that.
“Can I say something?” she asks.
“Of course.”
“Your ex-fiancée doesn’t sound very nice.”
I chuckle. “No, she doesn’t, does she? And I’m eternally grateful I found that out in time.”
She looks up at me. “On Saturday… digging up Dotty’s garden… Can I come too?” She’s suddenly shy and I smile, leaning into her.
“Of course. I was going to invite you anyway. It wouldn’t be the same without you.”
“You don’t mind me meeting your friends then?”
I shake my head. “I don’t mind one bit. You’ve already met Harry. And as for my family… I think you’ve had more than enough of them.”
She bites her bottom lip to cover up a smile, and I raise my hand, freeing it from her teeth, as I le
an forward, whispering directly into her ear, “I may not be able to kiss you here, but that doesn’t mean your lips aren’t still mine.”
“I wish you could,” she murmurs, as I lean back again and she looks into my eyes.
“You wish I could what?” I tease, because I know exactly what she means. It’s written all over her face.
“Kiss me,” she says softly, her eyes sparkling.
“Later, darling.”
She sighs and rests her head on my shoulder. “Can I ask you something else?” she says very quietly, so quietly that I have to strain to hear her.
“Yes.”
“Did you call her ‘darling’ too?” It feels like she’s holding her breath. She’s definitely tensed.
“No.” She twists and looks at me, gazing into my eyes to see the honesty that’s in their depths. “I called her Victoria. I didn’t have any pet names for her at all. And in case you’re wondering, I didn’t tease her anywhere near as much as I tease you. I didn’t kiss her in the same way I kiss you either.” I take a breath and decide to be completely truthful with her, to tell her exactly what I’m thinking, how I’m feeling. “You remember I told you I thought she and I were waiting for our wedding night?” She nods her head. “Well, that was easy compared to being with you and not touching you… trust me.” She sighs deeply, and I’m almost certain I can hear a slight moan escape her lips. “Do you like the idea of being touched?” I ask her, the question forming itself before I’m able to stop it, so that all I can do is hold my breath and hope I haven’t overstepped the mark.
Without taking her eyes from mine, she whispers, “Yes,” so quietly that the sound is little more than a breath.
I breathe out again, swallow down my joy, and my fear, and decide to take the bull by the horns. “The decision to wait, with Victoria, was mine,” I tell her. “I didn’t actually ask what she wanted to do, not really. I suppose that was a little arrogant of me, but I just thought I ought to be a gentleman about it and assumed she’d want to wait until we were married.” I pause for a second. “I don’t want to make that mistake again, so if you’d rather do things differently…” I leave my sentence hanging and she gazes into my eyes for a worryingly long time. “I’m sorry,” I murmur, giving her a way out. “That was very impertinent of me. It’s not even as though we’re engaged yet…” Her eyes widen, presumably because I just said ‘yet’, but she must know I intend to propose. Between my mother, Aunt Dotty, and my own remarks, she must have realised by now… surely.
