by K. J. Frost
“Do you need anything from me?” he asks.
“I told your sister that we’d leave a man on patrol,” I explain. “So I suppose we’ll need to arrange that.” He nods his head. “Other than that, we’ll just proceed with our enquiries as usual. I’m waiting for Edgar Prentice to give me his report on the fingerprints…”
“They wore gloves, you say?” he interrupts.
“Yes.”
“Professionals, then?”
“No.” I shake my head. “I don’t think so. They didn’t go equipped to restrain the householders, and they only stole small items, which suggests they were on foot. Thompson thinks they might be youngsters… they certainly look like amateurs.”
He nods his head. “Thank you for keeping me updated, Inspector,” he says and I get to my feet. “Let me know if anything else develops, won’t you?”
“Of course, sir.”
Back downstairs, Thompson is still hard at work at his typewriter.
“Shall I go and get us both a sandwich?” I suggest, going over to his desk. I could do with a break, and I’ve got an errand to run. It’s an important one too – and it’s something I need to do by myself.
“I can go if you feel like a rest,” Thompson offers, looking up.
“No, it’s fine. I haven’t decided what I want to have yet, and the fresh air will do me good.” I’m not about to tell him that I have an ulterior motive for being so obliging. I’ll never hear the end of it. “Hopefully, by the time I get back, Prentice might have come up with a name and we can make an arrest before tea time.”
“Does everything revolve around food with you?” he asks, smiling.
“Yes, but I don’t have to bring you back anything, not if you’re not hungry.”
“Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” he says. “Are you going to the tea room?”
“Of course.” ‘The tea room’ is just down the road from here. It’s a small establishment, probably seating no more than fifteen or twenty people. They serve sandwiches, light lunches and cakes – as well as a very good cup of tea, and while they usually expect their customers to eat on the premises, they allow us the luxury of taking our sandwiches away with us. It’s a perk of the job. It’s not one we indulge in every day though. In fact, we quite often skip lunch altogether, but if we’re here and we’re hungry, why not?
“In that case, can you see if they’ve got any sausages?”
“I’ll ask.”
“Ask nicely,” he says. “I could just do with a thick, juicy sausage sandwich.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
I go back out and down the stairs, and onto London Road. The tea room is a few doors down and I enter, and stand in the queue of people who are waiting to pay. It’s waitress service in here normally, so the only people at the counter are those who’ve already eaten. The lady in front of me settles her bill and I step forward.
“Inspector?” Emily, the lady behind the counter, looks up at me over the top of her half-moon glasses. She’s probably fifty years old and runs this place with her identical twin sister, Eleanor. “It’s lovely to see you again. And looking so well. We were so worried when we heard about what happened to you.”
“Thank you, Emily,” I reply and she smiles. Most people can’t tell her and her sister apart, but I noticed quite early on when I moved back here and started frequenting their establishment, that Emily has slightly whiter teeth than her sister. I haven’t, however, revealed my secret, so I think they’re of the opinion that I’m a genius, and I’m not going to disillusion them.
“What can I get for you today?” she asks.
“My sergeant would like a sausage sandwich, if that’s possible?”
She smiles. “For Sergeant Thompson, I should think we can manage that.” She makes a note on a small pad. “And for you?”
“Cheese, I think.”
“We’ve got some home-made apple chutney, if you’d like some with it?” she offers.
“That would be perfect.” She gives me a smile and makes another note on her pad. “And can I call back for them in about half an hour?” I ask.
“Of course you can.”
“Thank you, Emily.” She grins this time, showing me her white teeth, and I raise my hat, leaving the shop and turning to my right.
About half way along the road is my next port of call. It’s a small jewellers I’ve been meaning to come to for a while now, except that my short stay in hospital and subsequent recuperation have made that impossible. But now that I’m back on my feet, I don’t intend waiting much longer to propose to Amelie, and if I’m going to do that, then I need a ring. A very special ring.
I push open the door, a bell sounding above my head, and a short, rather portly, grey haired man appears through a green curtain that covers a small doorway in the far wall.
“Can I help?” he says, letting his hands rest on the counter that surrounds two sides of the interior of the shop.
“I—I’m looking for a ring,” I stutter, feeling unaccountably nervous, even though I have actually done this before. I wasn’t nervous that time though, which I suppose just goes to show that it means so much more now than it did then.
A knowing smile appears on his face. “Oh yes?” he says.
“An engagement ring,” I clarify, as I step over to the counter towards him.
“Well… let’s see what we can find, shall we?”
He moves away to the other end of the room, returning a few moments later with two full trays of rings.
“These are some of our most popular styles,” he says and I scan them closely, shaking my head.
“No,” I murmur. “I wanted something more… unique.”
“Did sir have a budget in mind?” he asks and I look up at him again.
“Not really. If the ring is right, I don’t mind how much it costs.” His smile widens and he scurries away again.
“We do have these,” he says, returning with two much smaller trays, featuring just six rings each – none of which are priced up, I notice.
I stare down at them. Nine of them I instantly dismiss; the stones being huge and unwieldy and nothing like the kind of thing Amelie would wear, and I’m reminded of when I did this last time, immediately prior to almost making the biggest mistake of my life and marrying the wrong woman, certain in the knowledge that all I had to do was think of size; the larger the ring, the better. Amelie isn’t like that though – thank goodness. And that makes my choice so much harder. I can’t just choose the most showy, expensive-looking ring in the shop. I have to choose something that’s right for her; something that’s perfect.
The ring in the bottom left of the tray catches my eye and I lean down, focusing on it.
“Can I have a closer look at that one?” I ask, pointing it out.
The man pulls it from its nest and hands it across to me. It’s beautiful, there’s no denying it; a square cut diamond sits in the centre, with two smaller, circular ones either side. However, I’d expected to feel something when I held it… and I don’t.
“Hmm…” I hand it back to him, sounding as non-committal as I can. “I still don’t think it’s quite right.”
“Did you need it before Christmas?” the man asks, tilting his head to one side.
“Why?”
“Because I’ll be getting some new stock in during the first week of January. You might like to come back then?”
I don’t really want to wait that long, but if needs must… I gaze down into the glass counter, which contains all manner of jewels and trinkets, and something twinkles at me.
“What’s that?” I point.
“That’s a necklace, sir.” He obviously thinks I’m incredibly stupid.
“I know, but it’s beautiful.”
He smiles again, clearly sensing a sale. “Yes, it is.” He opens the cabinet from the rear and pulls out the necklace in its small box, holding it out to me.
I take it from him and admire the jewel… or should I say jewels, be
cause the pendant that hangs from a simple gold chain is made up of coloured gemstones, in the shape of a daisy. It may not be a ring, but it would make the perfect Christmas present for Amelie.
“I’ll take it,” I say to the man, looking up again.
“Very good, sir,” he says, holding out a hand for me to give him back the box. “That will be eighteen pounds.” I swallow hard and wonder if I’m being foolhardy. I’ve still got the ring to buy, as well as paying for a house, and furniture… but I don’t care. I don’t care at all.
I pick up the sandwiches on the way back to the station, feeling rather pleased with myself, even though my mission to find a ring was actually a failure.
“Did they have to bake the bread from scratch?” Thompson asks as I place his sandwich on his desk, and I glance up at the clock and realise that I’ve been out for nearly three quarters of an hour.
“No. I had something else I needed to do.”
He looks up at me. “Oh yes?”
“Yes. I had to get Amelie’s Christmas present, if you must know.” I don’t mention the ring, but reach into my pocket and pull out the box, opening it up and showing the necklace to him.
He lets out a long whistle. “Lucky Amelie.”
“You think she’ll like it?” I’m suddenly feeling a little uncertain, perhaps because I’ve never really been one for grand, romantic gestures – and this feels like just such a thing. I hope I haven’t miscalculated.
“Well, I don’t know her that well, but I can’t think of a woman alive who wouldn’t like it,” he replies. “Just ask her not to show it to Julia, will you? I’ll never live it down.” He smiles up at me, unwrapping his sandwich and taking a large bite.
I shake my head, grinning, and close the box, pocketing it again, then take my sandwich through to my own office, feeling a lot more confident now.
Edgar Prentice walks through my open door at just after five o’clock, with a file in his hand. He doesn’t knock, but just coughs from the other side of my desk.
“Edgar,” I say, trying not to smile.
“Rufus.” He lays the file down on my desk and I look up at him, noticing that Thompson has appeared in the doorway and is leaning against it, listening.
“Anything?” I ask Prentice.
He shakes his head. “No. I’m sorry, but I think we’re going to have to assume that the burglars kept their gloves on. Or that the only things they touched were the items they removed from the premises.”
“Absolutely marvellous.” I can’t disguise my sarcasm, and I nudge the file to one side, without even looking at it.
“Did you rule out Doctor Tierney as well?” I ask him.
“Yes,” he replies. “I called in at the hospital on my way back here and took his prints. He wasn’t best pleased about it.”
“Really?”
“No.” Thompson moves further into the room as Prentice thinks through his response. “I’m no detective, as you well know, but I’d say he was trying to hide something.”
I glance at Thompson. “Well, I think tomorrow morning, we should perhaps pay a visit to Doctor Tierney, don’t you?” I suggest. “We’ll let him have a nice quiet evening with his wife, and then go and find out what he’s keeping from us.”
“Assuming he is,” Prentice says, his cheeks reddening. “I might have got it wrong, Rufus.”
“Even if you haven’t, I’d still like to see him anyway.”
“Well, don’t blame me if I’ve misunderstood it all,” he says, shrugging his shoulders and going back out into the main office.
Once he’s gone I turn to Thompson. “Close the door, will you?”
He doesn’t reply, but goes over and shuts the door quietly, returning to my desk and sitting down in front of me.
“There’s another reason we’re going to see Doctor Tierney,” I say quietly, even though I know no-one can hear us.
“Oh yes?”
“Yes. And I haven’t mentioned this to Webster yet, so keep it to yourself.” He raises his eyebrows. “It may be nothing, especially considering that two other properties were burgled last night, but I think it’s odd that the break-in happened on the first night that Doctor Tierney ever stayed away from home. Considering how poorly planned and impromptu these burglaries seem to have been, I’d quite like to know how many other people were aware of his change of plan, who else he might have mentioned it to, or who might have overheard his telephone call from the hospital.”
“You’re thinking that someone might have hatched this plan after hearing he wasn’t going to be at home?”
“I don’t know what I’m thinking.”
“It only accounts for the robbery at his house, though. What about the others?”
“Maybe they decided to try their luck.” I sit back, letting out a long sigh. “As I say, it may be nothing, but it’s a bit of a coincidence… and I don’t like coincidences.”
“Are you going to see Amelie tonight?” My mother puts down her knife and fork, moving her empty plate away from in front of her, just fractionally, and looks up at me.
“Yes. Why?” I narrow my eyes at her, wondering what she’s going to say next. When I first moved back here, and developed a very keen interest in the young lady who resides across the street, Aunt Dotty decided I shouldn’t be seen entering Amelie’s house at night, for fear the neighbours would gossip. She ignored the fact that the blackout makes such surveillance activities much harder, even for the most serious minded of scandal-mongers, and – more importantly – that I’m not giving up my evenings with Amelie, for anyone. As a result, now that I’m recovered from my injuries, for the last few evenings, I’ve been going over there for an hour or two, just so that I can stay vaguely sane.
“Oh, no reason, dear.” She exchanges a look with my aunt, across the table. Dotty has a mischievous expression on her face, which isn’t at all unusual and belies the fact that she is, in reality, a ‘Lady’, her late husband, my Uncle Sam, having been knighted towards the end of his career as a diplomat. I try to not to smile as I notice the pencil tucked into her dark blonde hair, or the specks of pale blue paint on her soft cheek. She may have removed her painting smock before dinner, but you don’t have to be Sherlock Holmes to work out that my aunt is an artist. And a busy-body. In the nicest possible way.
“Okay… now I know you’re up to something.” I rest my hands on the table and glare at them.
“Well,” my mother says, leaning forward, “we were just wondering if you’d made any plans for Christmas yet?”
“Plans?”
“Yes, dear,” my aunt joins in. “You know… where you’re going to be spending it; whether you’d thought about inviting Amelie over here for lunch, or anything?”
I shake my head. “No. No, I hadn’t.” It hadn’t even occurred to me, actually, but now I come to think about it, I suppose it is something we should discuss. I don’t really want to spend the day without her, but I’m sure we both have family commitments which are bound to get in the way. “I’ll talk to her,” I say, getting to my feet.
“Marvellous.” My mother claps her hands together and I know she’s already making plans of her own. God forbid.
“How was your first day back?” Amelie asks once I’ve released her from our first kiss of the evening. It won’t be our last, I know that, and she leads me to the sofa where I sit in the corner, bringing her down with me, so she nestles against my chest, my arm tight around her.
“Tiring.” I’ve told everyone else, including my mother, that the day went well, and I enjoyed being back, but with Amelie, I have to tell the absolute truth.
“You’re alright though, aren’t you?” She looks up at me and I lean down and kiss the tip of her nose.
“I’m fine, darling. It’ll just take a bit of getting used to, that’s all.” We sit in silence for a few moments, listening to the crackling of the fire and our own harmonious breathing, before I remember my mother and Aunt Dotty’s suggestion about Christmas, which I put to Amelie.
“Oh, I’d love to come and have lunch with you,” she says, sounding a little sad, despite her words. “And it’s very kind of your mother and Dotty to think of it, but how can I?” She moves, so she’s lying along the length of the sofa, her head in my lap, looking up at me, while I stroke her hair. “It’s only a couple of months since Beth died. I think my uncle and aunt will need me to be here, even if Uncle Gordon would probably rather be in London, with her.” Amelie still hasn’t grown used to the idea of her guardian’s infidelity, which came to light when I was called in from Scotland Yard to investigate his daughter, Beth’s, murder. Gordon Templeton’s ‘affair’, as some people might term it, is in reality, a little more than that. During the week, while he’s working at the War Office, he lives at his Westminster flat, which he shares with a young woman named Abigail Foster, who is only a few years older than Amelie herself. I’m not sure whether it’s his duplicity, Miss Foster’s age, or the nature of their relationship that makes it most difficult for Amelie to accept. In reality, it’s probably the situation as a whole, but the fact that she and Beth grew up as sisters makes his deception so much harder to swallow, and she cannot bring herself to forgive him, or even to understand that having a wife who has confined herself to bed for more than half of their marriage has proved testing beyond words for the man. I’m not saying I approve of what he’s done. I don’t. But then it’s not so personal for me.
“I doubt that very much, Amelie. Whatever you think of his actions, he does care about you.”
“I know, but I still don’t like it. I don’t like what he’s doing, Rufus, and I can’t pretend otherwise.” She moves a little closer to me, which is rather a relief, considering what happened when she discovered I was aware of her uncle’s infidelity and hadn’t told her about it – namely that she ended our fledgling relationship. Obviously, we worked things out again, and we did so quite quickly, I’m relieved to say, but I can still remember the utter emptiness and despair of that brief time without her.
“No-one says you have to like it,” I reply, reasonably. “No-one says you have to pretend, or approve, or even discuss it with him, but you can’t change it either.”