A Fairly Dangerous Thing

by Reginald Hill

  ‘Hello, Maggie,’ he said dully.

  Poor sod, thought Joe. It’s been a real shock for him. Professionally and personally perhaps.

  Maggie turned the full summer-dawn smile on at Joe.

  ‘Darling, shall we tell him? Hell, he must have guessed! Maurice, Joe and I are going to be married! Isn’t it great! You’ll have to come to the wedding, won’t he, Joe?’

  ‘Sure,’ said Joe. ‘He can give us a pair of handcuffs.’

  ‘It all happened at Averingerett yesterday. It’s a fantastic place, you’ll have to go there some time, Maurice.’

  Don’t push it! thought Joe.

  ‘Though it was absolutely packed. We lost each other for a while in the crowd. At least, I was lost. It turned out Joe had been supping beer in the head steward’s room while I was wandering around looking for him!’

  ‘Well, congratulations,’ said Prince. ‘Maggie. Joe. I hope you’ll be happy.’

  He smiled uncertainly. Watch him! Joe told himself.

  ‘I expect you were out celebrating last night,’ he said at the door.

  Joe’s mind raced to try to spot the drift of the question. But Maggie was well ahead of him.

  ‘Oh no,’ she said. ‘It was too crowded at Averingerett so we drove off, found a quiet lay-by to park the car and took our picnic-hamper with us into a wood. We must have been there hours. Absolutely hours. Time just flew.’

  She fluttered her eyelashes coyly.

  Beautiful, thought Joe. He should have spotted it! Once before the VW’s number had been taken and its position casually noted by some passing cop. Outside the Bell. It was odds-on that the same thing had happened at some point the previous evening. And Prince had noticed it. And decided to check.

  Vardon, who had been looking alertly at each of the speakers in turn, evidently decided that it would be fun to get in on this fool-Prince act.

  He yawned, licked his left paw, jumped down from Joe’s lap, turned and sank his claws into Joe’s shin as though into a scratching post.

  ‘I’d watch that cat,’ said Prince after Joe’s scream had died down. ‘It is vicious.’

  He opened the door. Joe felt he was owed a final dig.

  ‘By the way, er, Maurice. You never said why you came.’

  ‘Didn’t I? I must have mentioned it. Golf. That was it, surely I said? I thought you might fancy a round later, but I reckon you’ll be occupied today, eh? Some other time.’

  ‘It’ll be a pleasure. ’Bye,’ said Joe, closing the door and leaning against it.

  ‘Maggie,’ he said, ‘you were magnificent! Perfect timing!’

  ‘It should have been,’ she answered. ‘I’d been listening at the door ever since he came in. It might have been a woman!’

  Joe looked at her sternly.

  ‘You mean when you made your full frontal revelation at the door, you knew bloody Maurice was in here?’

  She laughed loudly.

  ‘Supporting evidence, love. These policemen love it! You’re not jealous?’

  ‘No,’ said Joe thoughtfully. ‘As long as it’s the last time. And the first time.’

  ‘Oh yes. Though not for any want of trying on his part. That’s what made it so convincing.’

  ‘I hope,’ said Joe, staring out of the window at the beautifully empty street below, ‘I hope he remains convinced.’

  ‘If he doesn’t,’ said Maggie, ‘I’ll just have to let him have another look.’

  She ran shrieking into the bedroom as Joe advanced with a mad gleam in his eyes.

  CHAPTER VII

  The affair at Averingerett produced headlines in the newspapers for a couple of days. It was projected by most of them as a triumph for the police and a new manifestation of the old aristocratic virtues.

  Lord Trevigore appeared on film in the television news and made a magnificent impression. He had everything an old English lord should have, white hair, piercing eyes, a noble nose, great charm, the voice of a Shakespearian actor and the inanity of a Wodehousian earl. The talk-shows, culturecorners and panel-games were soon clamouring for his services.

  One of the delightful things about him, declared one producer in the Radio Times, was his tremendous technical interest in television, particularly the video-tape and instant replay equipment. It was believed he was setting up his own studio, for experimental purposes, at Averingerett.

  From all this Joe gathered that not only had Chubb succeeded in destroying the film, but Trevigore had used the confusion caused by the fire-alarm to dispose of any other evidence which might be used against him.

  The picture of the evening that came across was of a top-people’s dinner-party, disturbed by an attempted burglary which the police were summoned to deal with. Lord Trevigore was enthusiastic in his praise of the police and spoke out strongly in favour of bringing back the rope, the cat, and the birch, and hinted support for the knife in the case of sexual offenders.

  The police received his praise with modesty and restraint.

  Chubb’s fire had damaged nothing more than a section of floor and a couple of wall panels in the cupboard off the gallery. As for the lions, they were hardly mentioned at all, except by Trevigore on the telly, who slipped in plugs for the attractions of Averingerett as often as possible.

  It was remarkable, Joe felt, how quickly he himself slipped back into the old routine of his life. His feelings of uneasiness wore off within forty-eight hours. School was just the same, Cyril as obsessed with travel problems as ever, Onions as nastily arrogant, Vernon as Celtic-ly cynical, Mickey Carter as adolescently malevolent, and Maisie Uppadine as pectorally superb.

  As an engaged man, discretion demanded the abandonment of the Maisie-poem, but art would not be denied. It had to be finished before it could be forgotten.

  He finished it early one evening, laboriously typed out a fair copy, and read it through, nodding with satisfaction at the last stanza.

  Then live with me and be my love

  And all our days and nights shall prove,

  Whatever lying poets claim

  Of modern doll or ancient dame,

  (Diana, Venus, Welch, Monroe

  Whose charms may swell till they o’er flow)

  THE BIGGEST TITS I’VE EVER SEEN

  BELONG TO MAISIE UPPADINE.

  He went into the kitchen to pour a celebratory drink. When he returned Maggie, now the possessor of his spare key, was standing over his desk, reading the poem with great interest.

  ‘Ars gratia artis,’ he said. ‘Purely aesthetic. A platonic interest in the forms of beauty.’

  ‘So I see,’ Maggie said. ‘And this is your considered opinion, is it?’

  She waved the sheet of paper at him.

  ‘No. Yes. Well, the thing is, she rhymes, doesn’t she? And you don’t.’ He looked at her speculatively, thinking of his mother’s still-to-be-tested reaction to Cohen. ‘You wouldn’t think of changing your name to Uppadine, would you? It’d only be for a few weeks, till the wedding.’

  ‘Certainly not. What’s wrong with Cohen anyway? Ti-tum-ti-tum I’ve ever known belong to lovely Maggie Cohen. How’s that?’

  ‘I’d need to examine the claims of your ti-tum-ti-tum at length,’ he said.

  ‘No time now,’ she answered, moving round the desk out of his way. ‘You don’t want to keep Cess waiting, do you?’

  No. No. Whatever else he had put behind him in the past couple of weeks, he had not lost his instinctive awe of Cess. There had been no contact at all with any member of the gang since the affair and Joe had begun to hope his liaison with the underworld was going to fade quietly away. But suddenly the summons had come, a simple phone call from Lord Jim, giving time and place of the meeting. No more. When Joe tried to question him, the phone went dead.

  He told Maggie, who had been with him at the time. To his surprise she had urged that he keep the appointment.

  In addition, she insisted she was coming along herself.

  The rendezvous was in the usual pub. Joe pa
rked the VW in the car-park and they found Lord Jim waiting for them just inside the door. He expressed no surprise at seeing Maggie, but held the saloon door open for her.

  ‘We’ll be through in a minute,’ he said. Maggie went in without demur, rather to Joe’s surprise, while Jim steered him into the public-bar.

  ‘Hello, Joe,’ said Cess.

  ‘Hello, Cess,’ replied Joe looking uneasily at the brutal face before him. He had experienced one or two qualms lest Cess should somehow have decided he was to blame for the balls-up at Averingerett. But the man looked friendly enough. In fact, if anything, he looked more conciliatory than Joe had ever seen him before.

  ‘How are the others?’ Joe asked.

  ‘Bertie’s gone back south. The other two are keeping low for a bit. Have a drink.’

  Over their beer, the story of Cess’s escape came out. He too had seen the opportunity offered by the confusion. They had clambered down from the roof after the lions had made their dramatic appearance, and got out simultaneously with the fire-engines’ coming in. Their journey home had been a lot easier than Joe’s and Jim’s as Killer had still been waiting in the exchange car at the pre-arranged spot.

  ‘But the alarm, who set the alarm off?’ asked Joe, ignoring a warning tap from Jim’s foot under the table.

  ‘Me!’ said Cess challengingly. ‘Me,’ he echoed gloomily. ‘We were on our way back when I saw this old dagger on the wall. Nothing much. Didn’t seem worth enough for anyone to fix an alarm to it. I thought Mickey would like it, you know how kids like that sort of thing. So I pulled it down. And all hell broke loose!’

  He sipped his drink despondently.

  ‘It was lucky in a way,’ said Joe comfortingly. ‘It helped me and Jim out of a tough spot.’

  Yeah,’ said Cess, without much conviction. ‘That’s one way of looking at it. Not everybody’s though. Not by a long chalk.’

  ‘So you got nothing out?’

  ‘Not a bloody sausage. Nor you, says Jim.’

  ‘No,’ Joe remembered his precious book. He’d had it in his hand when they scrambled through the window. It must be lying in the garden somewhere. He hoped it would be found.

  ‘We dumped our stuff in Chubb’s room,’ he added. ‘Aye. Luckily he got to it before the police, and shifted it some-where else to be found.’

  ‘So it was all for nothing.’

  ‘Nothing!’ Cess laughed bitterly. ‘Nothing! Except what it costs to set up something like this. A small bloody fortune, that’s what it’s cost. Nothing!’

  There was a long silence. They finished their drinks.

  ‘Well,’ said Joe finally, ‘if that’s our business done, I’ll get back to Maggie.’

  He began to rise.

  ‘Wait,’ said Cess. Not a command, more of a plea, thought Joe amazed. ‘What I really wanted to ask you Joe, is … well, Mrs Carter, my wife, she’s leaving me.’

  Joe sat down with a thump.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘But I don’t see …’

  It was true. He didn’t see. Either what he could do; or, for that matter, why Cess should be so upset. Surely he must have known for some time he’d been stretching their relationship to its limits?

  ‘I’m sorry,’ he repeated. ‘She’ll be taking the boy?’

  ‘Aye,’ said Cess dully. ‘That’s what I thought … I mean, I wondered if you’d have a word with her, tell her it would be bad for the boy, like. Us splitting up. She might listen to you, she thinks a lot of you.’

  This was the last thing Joe had expected to happen. He was totally unprepared and could think of nothing to say. Except perhaps that, on the surface, it seemed the wisest move Mrs Carter had ever made.

  But, despite this present evidence of Cess’s humanity, he was not yet brave enough to say that

  ‘If you think it would be any good …’ he said hesitantly. ‘Thanks, Joe,’ said Cess fervently. ‘I’d be very much obliged. Here, look. This is for your trouble.’

  He pushed an envelope into Joe’s hands. It contained a bundle of bank-notes.

  ‘Look here,’ said Joe, ‘I don’t want paid for doing it …’

  ‘No, lad,’ said Carter. ‘That’s for your work on the job. It’s nowt compared to what we expected. But you were promised payment and you deserve something. Say no more. Just talk to the old lady, do your best.’

  He stood up, more like himself again.

  ‘And talking of ladies, let’s get through into the saloon and see what’s what.’

  He strode on ahead aggressively, Jim and Joe following at a more sedate pace.

  ‘Jim,’ said Joe. ‘That night after we got back. You went outside again and said something to a chap in a blue Cortina. Who was it? I’d begun to think it was the police.’

  ‘No,’ said Jim. ‘Private detectives.’

  ‘God! But why? Who’d want to watch me?’

  ‘Not you. Alice. Though it might have involved you. It was her husband’s notion. After divorce evidence.’

  ‘Her husband! I had forgotten she was married.’

  ‘Aye. Any road, I spoke to him. He saw reason.’

  He smacked his hands lightly together.

  ‘I don’t doubt it,’ said Joe with a shudder. ‘Thanks.’

  Jim looked at him unwinkingly.

  ‘Not for you,’ he said. ‘For Alice. I look after them as is going to work for me.’

  ‘Alice is going to work for you?’ asked Joe incredulously.

  ‘Well, not for me,’ said Lord Jim. ‘A business acquaintance. Runs an escort service. Legit. High class.’

  He glared at Joe as though challenging contradiction.

  ‘I’m sure,’ said Joe. Something rang a bell here. ‘You mean like the one Cyn works for?’

  ‘That’s it. Same one. Me, I just see there’s no trouble. From no one. I mentioned it to Alice after …’

  ‘After you had my supper,’ Joe completed.

  ‘Right,’ said Lord Jim with one of his rare smiles. ‘She were quite interested. Nice work, meet lots of people, bit of spare cash. Your girl, Maggie, think she’d be interested?’

  ‘No,’ said Joe, hurriedly. ‘She’s really very anti-social.’

  ‘Pity,’ said Jim. ‘Nice girl. She could do well.’

  I’m sure she could, thought Joe looking at Jim with fascinated horror. It had been amusing to think of him finding it difficult to cope with Alice’s needs. But the little man had turned the tables nicely. It was the first principle of capitalism. Take what you need for yourself, then flog what’s left to those who find it hard to get hold of! He hoped Alice knew what she was doing.

  They had paused to finish their conversation in the passageway between the two bars. Now the saloon door was pushed open and Cess stuck his head out.

  ‘Come on, you two. Get a move on! Are you going to stand there yakking all day?’

  He held the door open to let them pass. Joe half expected what he was going to see, but the actual sight was no less a shock to his system.

  Sitting together round a table like old friends were three women who, as far as he was concerned, possessed one significant common denominator.

  Maggie and Alice and Cynthia.

  ‘Hello, Joe,’ said Cynthia.

  ‘Hello, Joe,’ said Alice.

  ‘Hello, Joe,’ said Maggie. ‘We were just talking about you.’

  The last time he had felt like this, Joe recalled, he had been facing the lions of Averingerett.

  There were two more women to face before he could relax.

  The first was Mrs Carter. She listened to him stonily as he stumbled through a lot of nonsense about Cess turning over a new leaf and the importance of parental harmony at this stage in a boy’s development. Her only interruption came when he made a passing reference to other women.

  ‘Women!’ she said scornfully. ‘You don’t think this has owt to do with that Cynthia cow!’

  Joe was ready to believe her. It had seemed very odd to him that the Cess and Cyn relati
onship was still going strong even when Carter was so distressed at the prospect of losing his wife.

  Joe finished what he had to say and stood up to go. He had no hope of success, but the knowledge that Cess might be somewhere in the house, even listening, made him try a final parting shot.

  ‘I don’t think he’s altogether a bad man, Mrs Carter,’ he said. ‘Out of your influence he’d be really lost, whereas at the moment I think he’s learned a lesson and will be that much more ready to do what you consider best for you all.’

  To his surprise his words seemed to be having some effect.

  ‘Mebbe,’ she said. ‘I suppose I am responsible in a way. All right. I’ll talk to him, I can’t say fairer. And thank you for coming.’

  Cess was standing in the hall, smiling broadly. He’d almost certainly been listening.

  ‘Thanks, Joe,’ he whispered and went in to his wife.

  Joe let himself out, realized after a few steps he’d left his raincoat in the hall and silently re-entered the house to collect it.

  He could hear voices from the living-room.

  ‘How was I to know the bloody thing’d be wired?’

  ‘Know? You’re not supposed to know nowt unless I tell you! You just do, Cess. That’s all. Just do!’

  ‘But it weren’t my fault the police had come!’

  ‘Oh no,’ snarled Mrs Carter. ‘It’s never your fault, is it? Four years I’ve kept you out of gaol, living comfortably. A little bit here, a little bit there. Then you start getting fancy ideas! Doing the school was daft enough in itself. But doing it while I was setting up the Averingerett job were bloody stupid!’

  ‘I wasn’t nicked,’ said Cess surlily.

  ‘Only because I dumped the stuff in the river. Then you go off by yourself and nearly get nicked at the house.’

  ‘We were doing a recce,’ protested Cess. ‘I thought you’d be pleased.’

  ‘Pleased? You’ve done nowt to please me since you last got sent down. Listen to me, Cess. I don’t mind your drinking and I don’t mind your fancy woman. They can come in useful at times even. But when you start thinking, you and me had best part ways. If I take you back now, it’s the last time. Do you understand me? By yourself you’re nowt, you know that, don’t you? That’s the only reason you come crawling. You know that, don’t you?’