Just before reaching The Old Vicarage, Barnard passed a black and white Kentish farmhouse in perfect order, cowsheds that managed to be both functional and neat, and a large herd of Friesians that were paddock-grazing a field. He saw this peaceful rural scene without any sense of appreciation. He had always lived in towns and would be horrified to be condemned to living in the country.
The Old Vicarage was set on the side of a shallow hill and from it there was a view across the intervening land to the Romney Marsh. The atomic station at Dungeness was just visible and occasional quick flashes away to the left of this marked the aircraft ascending or descending in the sunshine from or to Lydd airport.
He knocked on the front door, then looked around himself. The garden was quite large and as it had been levelled out of the side of the hill it must at some time have cost someone a great deal of money. There were a number of flower beds, filled with a great variety of flowers. It was a garden which suggested a gardener was employed to look after it.
The door was opened by a woman.
‘Mrs Scott?’ he asked.
‘Yes.’
‘My name’s Detective Chief Inspector Barnard. I rang you earlier on.’
‘Do come inside, Mr Barnard.’
He followed her across the hall and into the sitting-room. It was a pleasant room, comfortably furnished, but in no particular style. He thought that that just about also summed-up Mrs Scott. He had been expecting to meet a young woman, good looking, thick-lipped, over-ripe. Mrs Scott was about forty, a trifle plump, pleasant looking but certainly no beauty. Barnard was almost shocked: he had a slightly puritanical mind and found it difficult to believe this friendly, homely woman was Astey’s mistress.
‘Do sit down,’ she said. ‘Can I offer you a drink?’
‘I … Thanks.’ He tried to cover up his thoughts. ‘Mrs Scott, I’m afraid I have to … ’
‘Just before that, what would you like? Gin, whisky, or sherry?’
‘Whisky, please.’ Goddamn it, he thought, she acted as if the situation and scene were completely familiar to her. He watched her pour out two whiskies.
As she sat down, after handing him a glass, he studied her more closely. She was wearing a wedding-ring, an engagement ring, and a string of pearls that were small enough to be real. Her clothes were in good taste, but neither especially smart, nor especially well fitting.
‘My husband’s out,’ she said. ‘He’s a very busy man in business and he’s also on a whole lot of committees. We can talk quite freely as I’ve no children and no one else is in the house.’
He guessed, from the tone of voice, that she had always longed for children.
‘You want to know,’ she went on, ‘something about the relationship between Percy and me?’
‘If you don’t mind.’
‘Percy didn’t tell me why?’
‘It’s in connexion with a police matter, Mrs Scott.’
‘I can’t say I imagined it was anything else.’ She waited. ‘Is it important?’
‘If it weren’t, I wouldn’t trouble you.’
She half turned and stared out through the window, at the extensive view beyond. ‘Do I have your promise that anything I tell you is in confidence?’
‘As far as that is possible, yes, Mrs Scott.’
‘It’s not that I worry if my husband should learn everything, in view of the fact … But Percy’s worried.’ She turned back and faced him. ‘I met Percy three years ago. My marriage hasn’t been the happiest and nor has his. After we got to know each other, we decided that as we were both adults, we’d seek some of the happiness that we hadn’t found in our marriages. We’ve found it. Is that what you want to know?’
‘Those are some of the answers, Mrs Scott. Do you and Astey go out together very much?’
A look of sadness crossed her face. ‘We may go for a drive in the car, but not much more. We still have to live with the world and that means appearing to observe some of the conventions.’
This relationship was the last one he had expected to meet. He had been certain he would find a young woman who sold her physical embraces: but Mrs Scott would never demand payment. She was in love with Astey.
There was a further question he had to put, even though he could now be certain what the answer to it was. ‘Does Astey give you presents? Has he given you any recently?’
She shook her head. ‘He often tries to, but I won’t let him. You see, I know pretty well what kind of a financial life he leads and I’m not going to make it worse for him: his wife is careless about how much she spends on dolling herself up. My husband is a successful man and in any case I have an income of my own. No, Mr Barnard, Percy does not give me anything other than himself. That’s all I want.’
He finished his whisky. She might be lying, to protect Astey, but he didn’t think she was.
‘Is there anything more I can help you with?’ she asked.
‘I don’t think so, thanks.’ He put his glass down on a small table and stood up. ‘It’s kind of you to have been so frank.’
She made no answer.
He left. He tried to imagine the husband. How could any man have so neglected a wife like that? Was he fat and hopelessly self-satisfied? Or was he thin and contemptuously ice-cold? Or was he just ordinary, just normal, just one more man who had married the wrong woman and so blighted two lives?
Barnard drove back to Flecton Cross, through the lovely peaceful countryside which he once more ignored, to Larksfray’s house. This, a three-bedroomed semidetached, was in the same suburb, Gorisham, as Simlex lived in, but at the north end where some of the streets were already becoming slummy.
When Barnard parked, behind the abandoned wreck of a car, the lights were on in the front room. The curtains were not drawn and he could see Larksfray, sitting in a clumsy looking arm-chair, watching the television.
Larksfray opened the front door to Barnard. He was wearing an open-necked shirt, under considerable strain across his broad chest, and a pair of dirty grey-flannel trousers.
‘Sorry to bother you,’ said Barnard, without bothering to try to sound sincere. ‘I’d like a quick word.’
‘Come on in, sir. Come on in and meet the little lady.’
Sourly, Barnard thought it was inevitable that Larksfray should refer to his wife as ‘the little lady.’
They went into the sitting-room, small before Larksfray was in it, seemingly minute when his huge bulk was trying to steer a course between the heavy furniture. None of the furniture matched.
‘Vi, this is Detective Chief Inspector Barnard. This is my lady wife, sir.’
God Almighty! thought Barnard, what next? He said hello to the small, thin woman and wondered how she saved herself from being smothered to death when they were in bed. She was plain and unremarkable, except for very large, brown, doe-like eyes.
‘Get us some coffee, Love,’ said Larksfray. ‘That’s all we can offer, seeing as we used up the last of the champagne last night.’ He roared with laughter.
She left the room.
‘We’ve been married a short time,’ said Larksfray.
‘Really?’ muttered Barnard.
‘That’s our wedding picture, up there. Vi was wearing the same dress her mother was married in … Have a seat, sir. Try that chair — the springs in this one are a bit odd … Great institution, marriage, but it’s a funny thing, isn’t it?’
‘Sometimes it’s not so bloody funny.’
Just for a minute, Larksfray’s booming voice was silent and he seemed nonplussed. Then he smiled. ‘I mean when everything’s fine. Two people maybe didn’t know each other a few weeks before, living together in the same house … ’
‘Look, lad, I’m not here to talk about marriages.’
‘I’m sure you’re not sir, but they’re funny things when you come to consider … ’
‘I don’t.’
Larksfray sat down in the second armchair. A spring twanged loudly. ‘Vi’s mother promised us a new chair the
other week, but there’s no sign of it yet. Her mother’s old man … ’
‘I don’t suppose you go out much at night these days, lad?’
Larksfray winked broadly. ‘Like I said, we haven’t been married very long.’
Barnard had the feeling that at any moment the other would start singing some filthy rugger song.
‘Not that we don’t sometimes have a half a pint of wallop at the local. Good stuff, beer. Puts lead in the pencil.’ He winked again.
Barnard wondered how Larksfray’s wife managed to live through such loud, bouncing exuberance? ‘I want some help.’
‘Only too pleased to do what I can.’
‘I don’t suppose I have to spell it out too hard, lad. Sometimes a bloke like you knows a thing or two, but doesn’t like to speak up when all his mates are around.’
‘No one likes sneaking on his mates, sir, but this is different.’
‘Is it?’
Larksfray spoke in a louder voice and there was suddenly a harsh note to it. ‘It’s different when you’re dealing with a traitor.’
‘How different?’
‘This different. If I knew anything, you wouldn’t have to come asking — I’d come running to you, even if it was one of my mates.’
Mrs Larksfray returned to the room with the coffee. Two of the cups, Barnard noticed, were of one pattern and the third was of another. The metal sugar bowl had the hard shine of cheap plating. The tray was chipped. Unless appearances had very carefully been staged for his benefit, the Larksfrays were certainly not living beyond their income.
***
Elwick sat at one of the half-dozen tables in the public bar of The Mermaid and stared angrily at the half-pint glass, now nearly empty. A refill would have gone down a treat, but he hadn’t the money. People who thought him the traitor, out to make a fortune, ought to have seen him as he was, unable to afford to buy another half-pint.
Two youths, in black leather jackets, entered the bar and stared round themselves with challenging contempt. Elwick met their gaze and silently challenged them to start a rough-house. A real fight would give him the chance to vent some of the bitter frustrations within himself. They did not meet the challenge, but looked away, then turned and ordered two double whiskies.
He’d acted like that when he’d been a tearaway. The main object in life had been to make others back down, to make them confess their fear. But he’d never needed companions to give him strength, as wolves who had to hunt in packs, and that had marked him out as of a different character.
A man came into the bar. He was dressed in a check suit, cut to an exaggerated style, that must have cost a considerable amount of money. Yet the net effect was one of cheap slickness. Elwick corrected his thoughts. The net effect to the man’s mates would not have been one of cheap slickness.
The man turned towards him and he suddenly recognised Joe Prater — Stuttering Joe. Excitement flared up within him.
Prater ordered two double whiskies. The two youths in black jackets regarded him with interest, but when he returned their looks they concentrated on other things. It was well known which mob Prater worked for and a man had to be tough or stupid to try to mix it with them.
Prater came across to Elwick’s table, put down the glasses, then sat. ‘How’s life?’
‘It was all right.’
‘Me … me … meaning?’
‘Meaning whatever you want it to.’
‘You’re sharp, Bob.’
‘The name’s Elwick.’
Prater chuckled. ‘I like t … t … to call my friends by a friendly name.’
‘What d’you want?’
Prater didn’t answer, but pushed the whisky across.
Elwick looked at the whisky and became even thirstier than before.
‘It ain’t poi … poisoned.’ Prater chuckled again.
Two men, standing at the far end of the bar, began to sing. They were ignored. The Mermaid was in the slum area of Flecton Cross. Drunkenness was rife, assaults were never-ending, wife-beating was endemic and hallowed by tradition.
Elwick drank. The whisky didn’t taste any the less sweet because it had been bought by Stuttering Joe.
‘Has anything been happening?’ asked Prater.
‘Like what?’
‘Like you know what.’
Elwick searched his pockets for a cigarette. He found a packet in which there remained a single one, badly crushed.
‘ ’Ave one of mi … mi … mine,’ said Prater, bringing a gold cigarette case out of his pocket.
Elwick accepted one of the cigarettes.
‘Nice cigarette case, ain’t it?’ said Prater.
‘It’s all right.’
‘I like gold.’
‘That doesn’t make you unique. What have you got me here for?’
Prater drained his glass. ‘ ’Aving the other ’alf?’
Elwick hesitated. ‘No.’
Prater got up and went across to the bar, where he ordered two double whiskies. When he’d been a tearaway in funds, thought Elwick, he’d ordered double whiskies. Since joining the police force, he hadn’t ordered one. Those who maintained law and order were not supposed to be well paid for their efforts.
Prater returned with two glasses. He pushed one across the table. Then he reached inside his coat and brought out a brown paper envelope. ‘Know what’s in here?’
‘How the hell could I?’
‘F … F … F … ’
‘Spit it out.’
‘Five ’undred quid.’
‘So?’
‘It’s a lot of lolly.’
‘Is that supposed to be news?’
Prater’s face became screwed up in an expression of cunning. ‘What d’you say to ownin’ it?’
‘Stuff it.’
‘F … F … Five ’undred.’
‘Stuff it five hundred times.’
‘You’ve got form … ’
‘Who bloody well told you that?’
Prater grinned. ‘All we want to know is how th … th … the inquiry is going.’
‘Beat it.’
‘Five ’undred for just talking. For a man with a bit of form, that’s … ’
Elwick stood up. ‘Get under my feet again and I’ll smash you.’ He longed for the excuse to hit this man who so crudely made it clear that he reckoned Detective Constable Elwick was an easy bribe. He left.
As he waited at the near-by bus-stop, for a bus which seemed never to be coming, he wondered why they had tried to bribe him? Did they really calculate that just because he had once been in trouble he would be open to a bribe? The police certainly seemed to think that that trouble was sufficient to believe him the traitor.
He clenched his huge fists. A bloke’s past was a millstone, tied round his neck with indissoluble bonds. Then his anger became shot with something that was nearly fear. Someone, and it surely had to be the traitor, had told Prater that Robert Elwick had once been in trouble with the police. The traitor would know that he, Robert Elwick, could not be bribed. Then why had the attempt been made?
CHAPTER IX
Mary was in Grantham, staying with her sister while she visited her father who was in a nursing-home. Joanna had cooked breakfast. The bacon was overcooked, the egg undercooked, and the toast was burned.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said, as she put the food on the table. ‘It all seems to have gone wrong.’
Keelton smiled. ‘Evidently they don’t teach you domestic science at art school?’
‘I just don’t seem to be in sympathy with housework, Dad.’
‘I expect you will be, when you have to.’
‘I pity the chap.’
‘Marry a chef and solve all your troubles.’
She sat down and buttered a Vita-Weat — her only breakfast, since she was still on a totally unnecessary diet. ‘Dad, what would you say if I did marry a chef?’
‘I’d ask him to come round and cook for me when your mother’s away.’
‘
Seriously.’
‘Why are you asking, Jo?’
‘Would you … ’ She stopped, helped herself to marmalade, and carefully spread this over the Vita-Weat. ‘Would you look down on him because he wasn’t out of the same drawer?’
He was about to laugh when, in time, he saw by the expression on her face that laughter would hurt her a very great deal. ‘I’ll tell you, but first just explain how you see me? As a very reactionary Colonel Blimp?’
‘To tell the truth, I’m never quite certain who he was.’
‘Colonel Blimp personified the so-called traditional Englishman who hated all change, believed all foreigners to be objects of fun, the poor to be poor by divine right, and all Englishmen to be divided from birth into classes by immutable laws of nature. I hope I’m not too much like that, Jo? And if you really want to know how I’d treat the chef, I hope I’d have the manners to treat him as I would any other man, chef or millionaire.’
‘And … and how would you treat Bob?’
He did not answer immediately.
She tried to keep the bitterness from her voice, but failed. ‘When it comes to a specific case, it’s different.’
‘No.’
‘Then why … ’
‘You know what’s happened in the force and until we uncover the traitor, nothing’s normal.’
‘All right. Let’s talk about what happens when you’ve found out who it is and that it’s not Bob.’
‘Then if you’re quite certain about your feelings for Bob and that you’re not just trying to cock a snook at me … ’
‘It’s not like that any longer, Dad.’
‘Then both your mother and I will wish you the very best of luck.’
‘What will you wish Bob?’
‘The same sort of luck in his new job.’
‘New job?’
‘If he marries you, Jo, he and I can’t continue to serve in the same force. Youth giving precedence to age, I would expect him to apply for a transfer from the borough force to either the county force or some other force — where I’d expect him to do well.’
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