Hidden Power

by Judith Cutler

  ‘Why indeed!’

  ‘Poor old Kate. Anyway, I think I was the only one to notice the expression of relief on your face when Fatima dropped out that Graham was on leave. You didn’t know, I gather.’

  ‘I haven’t been in touch with him for ages,’ she said repressively. ‘Then, reaching for the wine and filling both glasses, she added, ‘Whatever there was between us is over, Colin. Over.’

  He dabbed a spot of wine from the polished wood. ‘Poor bastard. The only chance he has of a bit of joy in his life and he can’t take it. The dear old Seventh Commandment. And the poor bugger’s still going to be in a spot when he comes back—remember that bit when Christ says it’s as bad to look at a woman with lust in your heart as it is to sleep with her?’

  She nodded, biting her lip. Poor Graham.

  ‘You were on to a loser from the start, sweetheart. Remember when Princess Di said three in a marriage was a bit crowded? Well, Graham doesn’t just have a wife he’s got the Almighty checking him out too. He might leave his wife, though in my experience men tend not to. But he’d never give up God.’

  ‘That was more or less what he said. What am I going to do when he comes back to work?’ It was so good not having to pretend: why on earth had she fended Colin off earlier? After all, she’d trust him with her life.

  ‘Let’s hope your inspector’s posting comes through fast. Otherwise you’re going to have to act fit to win an Oscar. And while you may be able to, I doubt if he can. Now, did I see some scrumptious Ben and Jerry’s in your freezer?’

  Kate was loading the dishwasher when the phone rang At a nod from her, Colin answered.

  ‘You’re joking!’ he said after a couple of minutes. ‘Really? My goodness! Let me just tell Kate!’ He put his hand over the mouthpiece and shouted, ‘We’ve won that prize draw! That holiday thing.’

  ‘I don’t believe it!’ Nor did she. They’d completed the questionnaire only a few hours ago, for goodness’ sake. Surely it would take longer than this. Did she smell a scam of some sort?

  ‘Well, we have! Just repeat those options again,’ he continued, for Kate’s benefit, presumably, his voice getting increasingly dubious. ‘A week’s holiday anywhere in the world… Or a fortnight in Europe… Or a weekend in the UK. And we can choose.’ Then he said positively, ‘Yes: sure. We’ll be there. Now, you’ll be writing to confirm all this, I hope. Yes. Kate did the questionnaire, so send it to her.’ He dictated the address, stumbling only over the postcode.

  When he put down the phone, Kate had already slipped the chiller sleeve round a bottle of bubbly. OK, scam it may be, but she and Colin had more personal things to celebrate. And why not do it in style?

  Chapter 2

  ‘Of course winning a holiday’s great news: but I don’t want you to tell anyone else in the squad—preferably anyone else full-stop,’ Sue Rowley told Kate and Colin the following morning. ‘I want to have a word with someone in Trading Standards. And someone else,’ she added thoughtfully, moving the photo of her children a fraction nearer, the middle of her desk.

  They exchanged a glance. ‘Lips sealed, Gaffer,’ Colin said.

  ‘But only for a couple of days,’ Sue conceded. ‘Nice little prize like that—’

  Kate put in, ‘If it’s genuine!’

  ‘—you deserve a celebration. Preferably one that involves taking the rest of the squad to the pub.’

  ‘You too, Gaffer?’ Kate grinned.

  ‘You bet your life. Or your holiday—wherever it is. Meanwhile, if you don’t mind, it’s business as usual. I take it you two would like to be paired up again. Unless you’d rather take Selby under your wing, Kate?’

  ‘Selby! What the hell’s he doing back here?’

  Selby had been one of the most unpleasant officers it had ever been Kate’s misfortune to meet. He was a racial and sexual bully, and had only escaped disciplinary action by going sick on the grounds of stress.

  ‘Nothing yet, thank God. But he’s running out of sick leave, I’d say. I’ve told Personnel there’s no room for him back in my squad, of course.’

  ‘But we’ve got a couple of unfilled vacancies,’ Colin observed, adding, in his best Black Country accent, ‘so that cock probably won’t fight.’

  ‘So I’ll find another that will. Provided Graham Harvey’ll back me.’

  ‘I don’t think there was much love lost between them,’ Kate said. She couldn’t not talk about him, after all.

  ‘But he’s not terribly hot on equal opportunities stuff, is he, for all the courses he’s been on? If a man and a woman tell him different stories, he’ll automatically believe the man’s. All God’s fault, if you ask me, for creating Adam first.’

  Kate raised an eyebrow. She’d had a bit of that treatment herself, before she and Graham had become lovers, of course. And while they were lovers, come to think of it. But she’d thought it was simply because Graham was trying to deny his feelings and ended up being extra hard on her. For Sue Rowley to say it implied that she too had suffered—not a good thing at the hands of your immediate boss. And it could mean trouble for Graham: Sue wasn’t the sort of woman to take prejudice lying down.

  ‘Anyway, I’ll fend off Personnel as long as I can. If you have any thoughts you’d care to put on paper, Kate, I’ll pass them on. Right Now, have you got plenty to do, Kate, or do you want me to find you something special? No. Forget that. You may well have something special coming up.’

  Kate opened her mouth, but shut it again.

  ‘Just go and sort out the Beach Boy’s in-tray, will you?’

  ‘Just a bloke who dressed rather more snappily than-most,’ Colin explained as they walked back down the corridor. ‘And had the sort of perma-tan you only get after hours under the sunlamp and pecs to die for because he worked out and a peachy little bum and hands he got on half the females in Steelhouse Lane.’

  ‘But he doesn’t seem to have been here more than five minutes.’

  ‘Apparently the camera luuurrves him: he’s gone to the press office so next time there’s a crime crisis there he’ll be on all the region’s TV screens, teeth a-gleam and pecs a-twitch. I should imagine he’ll improve our clear-up rate by fifty-one per cent.’

  ‘Fifty-one per cent?’

  ‘All the women phoning in.’

  ‘Ah. Pity they had to choose a man: I hoped Fatima would get a job like that. She’d do it so well, and it wouldn’t half improve our multiracial image.’

  ‘She didn’t want to. Said she wanted to prove herself at the grassroots level first. Now, why aren’t we supposed to talk about our trip round the world?’ At least he’d dropped his voice to conspiratorial level.

  ‘We’ll speculate at lunchtime. Now, lead me to the Beach Boy’s in-tray.’

  Three days later, Kate and Colin spread on Sue Rowley’s desk the letter that had arrived that morning. As Kate had feared, it didn’t come from a consumer research organisation, but from a firm calling itself Sophisticasun. They’d already had a good wince at the name.

  ‘Mr and Mrs Power, eh?’ Sue chortled. ‘Nice to know you’re a new man, Colin, taking your wife’s name. Anyway, what does it say?’

  ‘Well, the week anywhere in the world, all expenses paid, doesn’t seem much of an option: we go where and when they send us. At three days’ notice. Or there’s the free fortnight in Europe—but you have to pay the airfares. Or there’s a completely free weekend—at a location of your choice in the UK.’

  ‘Your choice? They’re letting you choose something?’

  ‘Well, the options are limited. Here you are—the Lakes, the Highlands, Cromer—’

  ‘I didn’t know anyone went to Cromer, these days,’ Colin interjected.

  ‘Devon, Kent, mid-Wales…’

  ‘So what’s the snag there? There’s bound to be one.’

  ‘Well, you have to arrive between six and nine on a Friday. And leave by ten on a Monday. And you have to choose by return of post.’

  ‘I take it you can fax the answe
r? That gives us a bit longer. Anything else?’

  ‘We have to go together to a presentation on Saturday morning. And a presentation at whichever location we fetch up at. Oh, and we fill in this questionnaire about our income and so on.’ Kate put it on Sue’s desk.

  Sue adjusted her reading glasses. ‘They seem very keen on your living together, too. But not your marital status.’

  ‘Thank goodness for tiny mercies,’ Colin said.

  ‘OK. You haven’t mentioned this to anyone?’

  Kate shook her head. ‘Too busy with the Beach Boy’s work.’

  ‘Well, keep it under your hats a little longer. And don’t book anywhere for a celebratory lunch You may be getting sandwiches in here.’

  Colin gave his campest smile. ‘So long as we don’t have to pay for them!’

  They were in Sue’s room hardly long enough to eat them, let alone pay for them.

  Passing over paper napkins as if dealing cards, Sue announced, ‘You go to the presentation on Saturday morning. You are the perfect live-in lover, Colin, and Kate thinks the sun shines out of your, arse. All lovey-dovey. You smile at each other and at the organisers, and you go along as if you’re really keen on what they have to offer.’

  ‘Which is probably a time-share?’ Kate suggested.

  ‘Yes. And you’ll tell them how keen you are on sun and sand and tennis and golf and all the other things that make people buy time-shares. Only one thing: you won’t be going round the world and you won’t be paying to fly to Europe. You’ll be going for a weekend in Devon, just as soon as you can get there.’

  ‘Not Devon! My Gran lives in Devon.’

  ‘I daresay Kate has an uncle, in Cromer. We all have our crosses to bear, Colin, one of which is that you’ll find yourself tangling with the MS just when it’s at its nastiest 4.30 on a Friday evening.’

  ‘Gee, thanks, Gaffer’

  ‘Anything we should know about this?’

  ‘At this stage, Kate, no.’

  ‘Which means there is, but you can’t tell us,’ Colin said.

  Sue sighed, massively. ‘Just go along on Saturday and do everything everyone else is doing. Except at this stage you won’t sign on any dotted lines. Tell them you’ll see what’s on offer in Devon, and make your decision then. Lovey-dovey, remember.’

  ‘Lovey-dovey it is, Gaffer.’ Colin executed a peerless curtsy. ‘And best bib and tucker, too.’

  Saturday morning saw Kate and Colin setting out from Kings Heath—they’d decided that it was easier for him to spend the night in Kate’s spare room. Best of mates they might be, but breakfast had proved they were far from compatible. Kate was showered, dressed and made-up before Colin stirred. He looked distinctly seedy when he crawled down for black coffee and dry toast.

  ‘It’s your own fault,’ Kate informed him, without sympathy. Coming in at four in the morning. You’re too old.’

  He winced as she plonked the coffee mug down. ‘Who said anything about four in the morning?’

  ‘My alarm clock did when I looked at it. It’s an old house, remember, and every floorboard creaks if you so much as look at it’

  He hung his head in contrition. ‘Did I keep you awake long?’

  She shook her head, smiling. But she did rather wonder what he’d taken to keep him active so late into the night, and to drive him so often-to-the loo. It had been well after five before she’d slept again. But she wouldn’t let him know that. ‘We’ve got time for you to shave and shower before we go.’

  He groaned. ‘Bath?’

  ‘The heating and the water are on a combi system—so it takes forever to fill a whole bath. But the shower’s fierce—it’ll really wake you up.’

  Kate took the M40 as far as the turning for Oxford, and then—followed Colin’s directions to what was coyly described as a modern village. She left her car—it was notably the smallest—in a car park tucked discreetly to the rear. Access to the complex was via a keypad door, currently wedged open by a cast-iron shoe-scraper.

  ‘Did you ever go to Butlin’s or whatever when you were a kid?’ Colin asked.

  ‘No. I usually had my holidays with Aunt Cassie. She might have been a working-class Brummie, but she didn’t go for working-class Brummie holidays. Her lover must have put his hand in his pocket for more foreign ice creams for me than he’d ever bargained for. Good job he was stinking bloody rich! What about you?’

  ‘Porthmadog. Every wet summer without fail. Mind you, we had some laughs. I won a talent competition once. Impersonating Liberace.’ He paused and looked around. ‘Hang on; this doesn’t look like Redcoat territory. You wouldn’t have to rise, and shine here.’

  ‘If you did you’d be summoned by some very hi-tech sound system, I should think.’

  Built round a courtyard, in reclaimed bricks, was a pseudo-country, but extremely neat collection of apartments, some with balconies. As if on cue, the sun came out, watery at first, then definitely warm. The raindrops on the pots of petunias and fuchsias shone like diamonds. There were private terraces, cut off from intruders by low, decorative walls. The clear implication was that the type of person who might take undue advantage of their proximity to other people would not be encouraged to purchase property here, be it for as little as one week a year.

  It’s OK, sweetheart, you look the bizz,’ Colin whispered.

  ‘So do you,’ she responded, less truthfully.

  ‘Don’t worry—I’m sure they’ll offer us coffee. I’ll have mine black. Thing is, Bruno just seems to keep going.’

  ‘And how old is he?’

  ‘What’s that got to do with it?’

  ‘It depends how old you are.’

  ‘Which as my little wifey you’re supposed to know. But you’re right. He’s got youth on his side.’ Colin sighed. ‘How long before a bloke can take HRT?’

  There was indeed coffee, accompanied by an assortment of pastries and croissants, offered by a woman a couple of years older than Kate who smiled at Colin as if determined to show off her orthodontic work. Were she not here in her professional capacity, the teeth said, she’d be available.

  He smiled back, a finely tuned smile telling her that but for his commitment to monogamy he’d be available too Kate, amused by the bluffs and double bluffs, opted for fruit juice: supermarket freshly squeezed. The napkins were starched linen. Small enough sprats, true, but they’d perhaps lure the wealthy mackerel. Kate and Colin’s bibs and tuckers might have been their best, but for diamonds and good watches they were simply outclassed They were ready to sit down, when two or three couples arrived late enough to cause a frisson of irritation to cross their host’s forehead For there was a host Genial enough to be a quiz-show compere, his spruceness suggesting ex-army, he introduced himself as Harry, and then the woman in charge of refreshments as Amanda. From nowhere emerged a startlingly handsome man, darkly glamorous enough to have had some Mediterranean or African-Caribbean blood in his veins Labelled Gregorie, he gleamed with self-confidence and good grooming, if unusual spelling. Whatever game it was playing, this organisation was fielding fine-looking players.

  After the presentation—a slick slide-and-sound show of developments all over the world, the first couple to sign up were invited to open their prize on the spot: six bottles of champagne. Everyone clapped enthusiastically, Kate and Colin included. But they’d all been given envelopes guaranteed to contain a voucher for some prize or other. Would people who didn’t sign up be treated with equal generosity? And how would they know who was likely to sign, who not? Possibly Guatemala had given a clue as to her seriousness: yet Kate had still had this invitation, had still won some sort of prize. She touched the envelope, wishing she were sitting at the back and could slide an unobtrusive finger under the flap.

  Those who’d prevaricated were taken on a tour of the complex, almost as if as an afterthought Clearly there’d be another attempt on their willpower later. Kate was glad she’d resisted she’d never seen such well-planned accommodation as this, making the mo
st of available space and light without ever seeming cluttered or contrived Yes, she was impressed by the baby-sized bathroom and kiddie-kitchen holiday accommodation this certainly was, but if she had equipment like that at home—if in a slightly larger form—she’d be as happy as she was with her own new fittings. The colour schemes were as tastefully unobtrusive as in a good hotel after all, striking individuality might offend one inhabitant as much as it pleased another. And no one would be here more than a fortnight a year, presumably.

  Back to the main hall and the next part of the entertainment… and the discovery that she’d won a bottle of ready-made Buck’s Fizz.

  It was obviously the job of Gregorie to fix on Kate, charming her as if his life depended on it. And the sad thing was, he wouldn’t be able to accommodate her and Colin in Devon.

  ‘Oh, what a shame! He was hoping to see his grandmother!’ Kate sighed.

  ‘They’re short of apartments because they’re refurbishing the site,’ he explained, swiftly enough for Kate to feel he might be lying ‘We like to maintain standards But all the other options are open to you—how would you feel about our development near Barmouth? Or Hornsea?’

  Kate shook her head regretfully. ‘It’s a matter of logistics, you see We’re not supposed to finish work till five-fifteen on Fridays, and…’

  ‘Your boss won’t let you off a teeny bit early?’ Gregorie smiled winsomely,-

  ‘Colin’s might—but mine’s a tough woman.’

  ‘Oh, that’s awful’ He ran a concerned finger down an impeccable jaw. ‘Of course, some establishments might be able to deal with a slightly later arrival. Let me just check my file.’ It was true he made a show of opening it and running a beautifully manicured index finger down an index. But Kate was sure he had the answer anyway. ‘I can offer you a late arrival facility at Allonby—or again near Hythe.’

  ‘M6 or M25?’ Colin mused. ‘Oh, let’s go for Hythe, shall we, sweetheart? It can be remarkably cold up in the Lake District in the autumn. When do we go?’