Corpse in Waiting (2 page)

‘Do you want me to?' he asked. ‘It's your job, on and off, as well.'

‘But it's not the same for me. It's your decision and if you want to carry on then I'm there if you need me. I have my writing; SOCA's not my number one thing.'

‘The last assignment was pretty bloody.'

‘In every way.'

‘You were hinting recently that I had lost my edge a bit, from the MI5 days.'

‘You weren't well.'

‘Now you're being kind. Please be honest.'

‘You
weren't
well and I think what made me say it was that you were relying on me rather a lot. That's probably my fault. But, on reflection you're not the professionally hard man you once were. I don't know if that's good or bad now you're with SOCA.'

‘It's bad. Really bad. I know Mike's got something fairly ordinary and desk-driven for me when I go back. He's insisting I stick to something quiet and not too demanding for a bit. I probably need something with a bit more of a personal challenge.'

Commander Michael Greenway is Patrick's boss.

‘And I can't keep swapping jobs,' Patrick went on. ‘Not with the sprogs to feed.'

‘Katie asked me if it would help if she got a weekend job and Matthew had a newspaper round,' I said. ‘She wondered if it would save you from having to undertake such dangerous work.'

‘That's amazingly thoughtful for someone of her age even though she's far too young to have a job.'

‘When you're hurt we can't hide it from the family.'

‘And she and Matthew have both lost one Dad already.'

‘Exactly.'

‘We must discuss it again later.'

This pool was not designed for strenuous exercise being only five feet deep but Patrick is a good swimmer despite the lower part of his right leg now being of man-made construction. He doesn't get it wet if he can help it though and jokes that if he wants to attain around fifteen knots he straps on the lid of the laundry basket instead. Not tonight, however. At thr time I had not noticed any odd looks from our companions when he had lowered himself into the water, no diving allowed. But now . . .

She had bright blue eyes like the beam from some kind of alien weapon in a sci-fi movie, the simile jumping into my mind with an alacrity that was startling given that she was looking at us from the other side of the pool. Or rather she was looking at Patrick. I had not noticed her on the tour of the Roman Baths so could only assume that she had been late.

She was now making her way over to us.

‘It's not Patrick Gillard, is it?' she called when still a little way off, her voice mellifluous, like that of an actress.

He turned and I saw the shock of recognition.

‘It is you,' she trilled. ‘Darling, how are you after all this time?'

I felt she was avoiding making eye contact with me although her gaze had swept fleetingly in my direction on her approach.

The two came face to face and gazed at one another.

‘Such a long time,' the woman said softly. ‘Well? You haven't answered my question.'

‘I'm fine,' Patrick told her.

‘But such
ghastly
injuries, darling. I never thought . . .' She broke off and gave me her full attention. ‘You
are
with this lovely man here?' And before either of us could speak, swept on with, ‘But there are always sweet souls in this world who have the time to cherish and nurture.' A girlish giggle escaped her. ‘Unlike me – always dashing off somewhere or the other.'

‘This is my wife, Ingrid,' Patrick said to her. ‘Ingrid, meet Alexandra Nightingale. We met up when I came back from being blown up in the South Atlantic.'

Did one shake her hand or merely dunk her perfect blonde hair, swept up into what I could only call Roman goddess style – which unlike mine she had kept dry – beneath the waves?

We shook hands and bared our teeth at one another.

‘Your parents lived in such a charming rectory in Somerset,' Alexandra recalled, frowning in exaggerated fashion. ‘I shall always remember that weekend. The weather was boiling hot and your mother had made some wonderful ice cream. I'm not a country girl, you know,' she said in an aside to me. ‘Hate all the bugs and creepy-crawlies. And the cow poo everywhere – you simply can't wear anything nice.'

I was about to say that we now lived at the rectory with Patrick's parents and sometimes managed to change out of dungarees and wellies when there was an announcement over the public address system that our feast – a buffet – would soon be served. It was time to dry off and get dressed.

‘Such a tragedy,' Alexandra said in a loud whisper that Patrick probably heard as he sprang up to sit on the side of the pool, using his arms, as anyone might have done, to lift himself. ‘Oh, he did finally have to lose his leg below the knee then, poor man. How on earth does he manage?'

‘Well, as you can see,' I snapped. ‘Perfectly.'

I left the pool and hurried away from her, hoping that she would leave us alone from now on.

Fat chance.

An excellent spread was laid out for us in a room with a bar off to the side of the pool and therapy rooms. Patrick had struck up a conversation with an elderly man whom he later told me was ex-Royal Engineers. This meant that when Alexandra appeared, wearing a floaty black and cream full-length dress and sparkly sandals, I had her all to myself.

‘On your own then?' I asked, aware that my hair looked a real bird's nest after a gale-force blow from one of the establishment's dryers as I had forgotten to bring a hair brush.

She pulled a face, piling her plate high from the buffet. ‘As of last week, yes. The rat went and found someone else.' She turned to me with wide-eyed interest. ‘Tell me, how long have you known Patrick?'

‘We were at school together.'

‘How romantic,' she crooned. ‘And you're
married
?' She made it sound as though this had surmounted all the odds.

I was determined not to lose my cool. ‘Where did you meet him?'

‘He was with someone else, some girl or other who'd dragged him off to a fashion show I was in. He was convalescing then, on crutches. I spotted him straight away but not because of that.
So
good looking. I have to say he never mentioned you.'

‘We were divorced for a while. Round about then, obviously.'

Elspeth, Patrick's mother, had told me when Patrick and I got back together again that there had been a few ‘girlfriends' during the interregnum, as she had smilingly referred to our separation, a couple of whom he had brought to stay for the occasional weekend.

‘So I take it he was invalided out of the army and—'

I carved her up. ‘No, Patrick was promoted to Lieutenant-Colonel after working for MI5 for a while and then resigned his commission. He's now with the Serious Organized Crime Agency as an adviser.'

‘So what does that make him?' she wanted to know.

‘Mostly a policeman.'

‘Oh.'

I had chosen what I wanted from the buffet and now went over to a table near a window. She followed and seated herself with a satisfied sigh, her gaze going across to Patrick. I took a good look at her. She was older than I had first thought, perhaps mid-forties, and I had to admit was attractive – in a hard sort of way.

‘Is he going to stand talking to that old bore all night or join us?' she said. ‘He trapped me earlier as we were waiting to go into the Roman Baths, telling me how his wife had recently died. I was forced to abandon – I simply can't stand other people's hard-luck stories.'

Fortunately, or not, Patrick ended his chat and, after helping himself to something to eat, came over. He then went away again to fetch a couple of glasses of wine from the bar – he had not yet been cleared by his specialist to drink alcohol after being drugged. Watching him carefully I noted that he was not exactly devastated by the arrival of Alexandra, giving her a broad smile.

‘It's lovely to see you again,' she said, turning in her chair so as to slightly have her back to me. ‘You haven't aged at all really, just a few grey hairs. Men who have a good head of hair always look distinguished when it starts to go grey.'

The man in my life happily soaked this up, smiling at her again before saying, ‘You haven't changed either. I seem to remember we met in a pub in Plymouth.'

‘No, that must have been someone else, darling. Perhaps it was that little brunette you were with. No, I found you at the Savoy. There was a charity fashion show – royalty and all – and there you were.'

‘That's right. I remember now.'

He didn't.

There was a little silence and then Alexandra said, ‘Is your brother – Harry, is it? – well?'

‘Larry. No, he's dead.'

‘Oh, I'm terribly sorry.'

‘He was killed a while back. We adopted his two children, Matthew and Katherine, Katie.'

She nodded understandingly. ‘Yes, of course.'

‘And we've three of our own,' I said brightly before the bloody woman could say anything that might embarrass him.

Elspeth, having mentioned the ‘girlfriends' had also said that there had been no creaking floorboards after lights out. Clergy family or no she had not fixed the sleeping arrangements so they shared a room having thought that the divorce was mostly Patrick's fault, actually not true. She had nevertheless been hoping and praying that we would get back together again. But she had been concerned for him too having been informed by the army medics that his injuries included the genital region. So the no creaking floorboards situation had probably not eased her mind at all. The catalyst had been the arrival on the scene of the patient's ex-wife, the magic boosted by the spell-maker preparing a camp-bed for him in a cobweb-loaded box room with no heating, the spare bedroom unaccountably being ‘not in use', while I was given his. And no, I had not run in to him with twigs in my beak, the man had finally cracked, carted me off into the warm and practically raped me.

All he had needed was practice.

‘Are you still working as a PA?' Patrick asked.

‘I was
never
a PA, darling. You're mixing me up with someone else again. I was a model – that's how we met at the fashion show – but not now. God, no, I'd had more than enough of the catwalk. I run an agency now which I'm transferring down here. London's a truly ghastly place these days.' She was drinking her wine rather quickly.

‘A modelling agency?' I said, thinking perhaps I ought to take a bit more interest.

She rounded on me. ‘No, haven't I just said I was sick of that life?' She did not quite add, ‘stupid'.

‘So you're living in Bath now?' Patrick said quickly.

‘Not yet, I'm house-hunting, right here in the city,' Alexandra replied. ‘I've just decided that's where you come in, darling. Someone to tell me about the pitfalls, what to look out for. I mean, I've always rented before and wouldn't have the first idea what dry rot looks like but you must have had lots of experience with your parents living round here.'

‘You can get dry rot everywhere,' Patrick pointed out. ‘In cities and the countryside. I take it you want an old house then?'

‘Ancient and with
masses
of character,' she cried triumphantly, causing a few heads to turn.

Rising damp, I thought gleefully, wet as well as dry rot, woodworm, death-watch beetle, bats, spiders, woodlice, rats, mice . . .

‘D'you remember that old place that was for sale in the village wherever the rectory was that we went and had a look at? Like that.'

I willed him not to tell her.

‘Hinton Littlemoor. We're living there as well now,' Patrick said. ‘It was the old mill cottage and well on the way to falling down if I remember rightly. You wouldn't recognize it now – they had to spend a fortune to get it right.'

‘Oh, I've got money. That's no problem. I just need a guiding hand.' Here the woman simpered at him in little-girl fashion that caused my hands to clench into tight fists.

‘I'm afraid I work in London. This is just a week's break Ingrid and I are having.'

‘I've arranged to see several places tomorrow. Or have you made other plans?'

Patrick looked across at me and I remained as inscrutable as a herd of sphinxes.

‘Yes, it would be interesting,' he said thoughtfully. ‘Would you rather go shopping while we do that, Ingrid?'

‘No, I love looking round houses,' I replied, quite truthfully as it happened. But was I going to leave him alone with this harpy? No.

Alexandra pouted but made no comment. Then she said, ‘D'you remember on that weekend when we went to Bath races and that enormously fat woman sat down in a plastic café chair and it collapsed and she went hurtling backwards into a flower bed? I don't think I've laughed so much in my life, although you got annoyed with me and said we ought to try not to let her see us.'

Patrick grinned reflectively and then uttered a hoot of amusement. ‘No, what really made us laugh was the owner of the café rushing out, demanding they pay for it and the woman's husband punching him on the nose so he ended up in the flower bed too.'

The pair howled with laughter.

We had not brought our car with us – with Bath's traffic it made no sense to do so – but Alexandra had hired one and we arranged that she would pick us up outside our hotel at nine thirty the next morning. She apparently ‘didn't do mornings' but her first property appointment was at ten, a flat somewhere on Lansdown Hill. I was hoping she would be fit to drive by then as the wine had flowed freely at the Roman Baths afterwards and she had taken full advantage of it.