Luck and Judgement

by Peter Grainger

  Chapter Sixteen

  She had been told that he was always punctual, and that’s why she was now sitting in the Starbucks with just a latte for company – fifteen minutes had been just too early. A group of teenagers sat two tables away, but they were the quiet, earnest, well-behaved sort, probably off to see a film; two older couples sat together by the window, and as she looked out at the street for Smith, she couldn’t help noticing from their body language how comfortable they were together, the four of them, old friends and very easy. That’s a good thing to have, she thought, that sort of friendship.

  It was warm and she took off her jacket, folded it and placed it on the chair next to her. Was this the right blouse? It was semi see-through, chosen to hint at her choice of bra, which itself was red and chosen to show through the blouse. She had to look the part. No point in going to an ‘adult club’ – it was the woman, Sarah, who had emphasized that more than once – and looking dowdy, was there? And the skirt had risen well above her knees. She crossed her legs then and studied the result; she was not displeased. In an inventory of her own charms, they always came top, and she would rarely have an opportunity to wear the Kurt Geiger high heels in public again – why not make the most of it? She closed her eyes and tried to imagine what it would be like doing this sort of thing for real. All over the country, and in this very town, there were people doing it for real this Saturday night…

  When she opened her eyes, she saw Smith looking in through the window, shading his eyes and then catching sight of her. One of the two women near the window looked at him and then at her companions, concealing a smile, and Serena Butler straightened her back and her face as he opened the door and came towards her.

  It was not a bad attempt at desperate. Ten years ago, DI Reeve had said – were black flares in fashion ten years ago, when she was still a sixth former? Agreed, they were not very flared, just enough to make some statement but not one that she wanted to put into actual words. The sporty, zippered, bomber-jacket was a travesty of something but she couldn’t remember what, and underneath that he had a lilac shirt with a pattern along the pleats where the buttons and button-holes were, a sort of stylized flower arrangement of squiggles that might have been trendy not a decade but half a lifetime ago. And on top of that he had a purple tie.

  He stood briefly by her table, asking if she needed another drink and then he had gone to fetch something for himself. He waited then at the end of the counter, not looking at her. She glanced around and saw the women by the window both look away simultaneously, and then carefully avoid each other’s eyes – any number of scenarios might explain what they were seeing, of course; a rather tarty-looking young woman meeting a rather tragic-looking man twice her age in a coffee bar, and she wondered which one they would choose.

  Smith sat down at the table with a black coffee and a serious face.

  He said, ‘What do you think? I spent ages on it and I’m still not sure,’ and then he gestured with one hand in front of his ensemble.

  It was difficult to know where to begin.

  ‘Anything in particular, sir?’

  ‘Well, I know the jacket and trousers are fine. It’s just the tie – should I wear one or not? I mean, I’ve never been to a – whatever it is, and I’ve no idea whether the man should wear a tie. What do you think?’

  ‘I have to point out that I’ve never been to a whatever-it-is either, sir. But to be honest, I think the tie is the least of your problems.’

  He looked down at himself again, and then at her. The serious expression had gone.

  ‘Ghastly, isn’t it?’

  ‘It really is. Well done, sir.’

  ‘That woman by the window – I saw her shrinking away in fear when I looked in. Are you embarrassed to be seen out with me? You can be completely honest – that’s important at my time of life. A man needs to know these things, to be told.’

  It was impossible to keep a straight face.

  ‘I am fairly embarrassed but I should say that I don’t normally sit in coffee bars looking like this either, sir.’

  He studied her appearance for a moment, and she had a flutter of self-consciousness.

  ‘Dressed to kill, I’d say. Spot on. Look, it’s going to sound pretty odd if you start addressing me as ‘sir’ when we’re in there. They’ll be wondering exactly what sort of relationship we do have. They might even suggest we’re in the wrong sort of club, if you know what I mean.’

  She acknowledged it – he had finally found a good reason for her not to address him in that way. The teenagers got up, walked past their table and left; although they had not been noisy, the place seemed even more quiet without them. Smith took a drink of the coffee, pulled a little face to himself, took another sip to be sure and then replaced the cup in its saucer.

  He said, ‘So, DI Reeve thought it would be a good idea if we had this time to get to know each other. We have,’ looking at his watch, ‘thirty minutes to work out how we met, fell in love, got married and went wrong. It has gone wrong, hasn’t it, darling?’

  It was funny, it was even absurd, but somehow he had become someone else. She looked down at the garish red of her long nails and kept him waiting for an answer.

  ‘Yes, David, it has. We need to meet some new people. We need some new experiences. Oddly, that could bring us closer together. We have to be really honest about our needs…’

  Smith said, ‘Gordon Bennett! Can you ease me into this a bit gently?’

  She parked the TDI Quattro in exactly the same place as DI Reeve had parked her own car the evening before – perhaps they would be lucky again. Smith wanted to watch for a moment, to get his bearings, he said, but she wondered whether he was just steeling himself for what lay ahead.

  She said, ‘There’s a camera over the outside door, so we need to be married by the time we cross the road.’

  ‘What exactly does that involve, do you think?’

  Her silence suggested that she hadn’t thought it through that far yet.

  ‘I’m not sure. Arm-in-arm? Holding hands?’

  ‘I think we’ll go for arm-in-arm – I’ve never been big on the other one. But you’re right. A couple in this situation for the first time would be a bit clingy, I expect…’

  She made a slight move then, as if to go, and Smith placed a hand on her arm.

  ‘Serena, I know you’ve been over this with Alison Reeve – but it’s asking a lot, and it was my idea, so I feel responsible. If you’ve got doubts, we can pull it now, without any problems – you have my word on that. And if it turns a bit odd inside, or you feel you’ve had enough, you just say so, and we’ll be out of there in a flash. Well, not a flash exactly but – there won’t be any of that, will there? I mean, everyone will be dressed, won’t they?’

  His concern was genuine, she knew, but the humour was also there to defuse the situation, to encourage her to go through with it – this was not his way of trying to back out himself. It was an effective combination.

  She said, ‘Just to be clear on the objective then, sir,’ and she smiled when he raised a finger because this time it had been deliberate, ‘we take a look around, weigh it up as to who is really in charge tonight, and then we take them aside and pursue our inquiries, yes?’

  ‘That’s it, just a little deception to get past the door. It’s a private club, and if we just start banging on the door of a place like this and asking about members, we’ll get nowhere. A look around to get the lie of the land and then we’ll ask about our Jimmy. They could, of course, just ask us to leave tonight as soon as we…er…reveal ourselves, so to speak. But to be honest, being thrown out of a place like this could keep me in free drinks until Christmas – hell of a story. Ready?’

  They were outside the car and about to cross the road when he remembered.

  ‘Oh. What surname did you use, just in case they ask, or I have to sign in or something? If there’s a guest-book, I wouldn’t mind a photocopy of it…’

  ‘Yours.’

&n
bsp; ‘Smith?’

  She nodded.

  ‘So I’m actually here under my real name. Good God, if Charlie Hills ever finds out! Do you think they believed you?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘That’s alright, then.’

  ‘Serena is a lovely name, isn’t it?’

  The same thought had occurred to Smith as it happens, but at that moment he was being distracted by the fact that the man who had just introduced himself as Sean did not seem to want to let go of Smith’s right hand as he said it. He shook the hand again and managed to disengage; Sean then turned his attention to Serena Smith, taking her by the shoulders and air-kissing by both of her blushing cheeks. Smith, forewarned by that, was ready when Sarah presented herself in front of him for the same.

  Introductions over, they stepped from the hallway into the office that Serena had already visited little more than twenty four hours previously. The bizarre natures of the place and their purpose in being there were still present in Smith’s mind but his analytical eye seemed to be unimpaired: he took in the expensive furnishings, the impressive IT, all Apple, the box files on a shelf by the desk all labelled with letters and numbers running in sequence, giving nothing away to the casual observer. The carpet was deep and rich red, and the textured scarlet and gold wall-covering must have cost more per roll than he had spent when he last re-papered the house.

  ‘We’re not going to keep you,’ said Sarah, much to Smith’s relief, ‘as Serena has already had the introduction, and I’m sure she has told you everything, David. Just to emphasise that we are a meeting place for people who want more out of their relationships-’

  ‘More out of life!’ said her partner, with a grin at Smith – perhaps he wanted to shake hands again. Perhaps it was the purple tie.

  ‘We believe in offering those opportunities to people of like mind. There is no pressure and there are no expectations, other than that people behave towards each other in a civilized and respectful manner.’

  She paused and Smith thought, well, that all sounds very reasonable, a bit like what you might hear when you became a member of the local Rotary Club or the British Legion.

  ‘Naturally, if people make the decision to join us, and we hope that you will-’

  ‘Absolutely!’ said Sean.

  ‘Then you will see others, and they will see you in a certain light. But, if you didn’t want that then you wouldn’t join, would you?’

  Smith said, ‘No, we wouldn’t. Would we, darling?’

  He looked up at Detective Constable Butler for her approval, and wondered exactly how many inches those high heels added to her height. And she looked down at him, slightly down her nose at him, long enough and silently enough for Sean and Sarah to see for themselves the nature of the relationship between the prospective members. She gave him no answer.

  Instead she turned to Sarah and said, ‘You mentioned something about downstairs and upstairs last night.’

  The woman never looked at Smith again after that – she spoke only to Serena, and with a note of respect that had not been there before; at least, that’s how it seemed to Smith as he smiled a little haplessly at Sean. These are deep waters, he thought to himself, and if ever another job comes up like this one, that’s who I’m sending.

  Sarah said, ‘As our guests this evening, we ask that you stay downstairs in the bar. It’s where everyone meets up, so there will be plenty of people to chat to, and we have a super range of cocktails. Pierre and Simone will be happy to serve you and answer any further questions about the bar, but they are-’

  ‘Off-limits,’ Sean said.

  ‘To be treated with respect by all members and guests. When you have joined us, of course, you might wish to visit some of the upstairs rooms, where people can meet and chat in a more cosy atmosphere. Not everybody does so, of course, and many just meet up here and then go on to their own homes or other venues.’

  Good grief – there are other venues? Lake used to be such an ordinary town.

  The four of them stood looking at each other, which Smith thought a decidedly bad idea for any one of a hundred reasons. Someone had to act.

  He said, ‘Right then. Downstairs it is, just for tonight, eh? Ready, darling?’

  She turned on those heels and left him with Sarah and Sean. He smiled under raised eyebrows, shrugged, turned and followed her towards the dimly lit room opposite the office. Passing through the doorway, he considered abandoning all hope; he did not do so, but it was a close-run thing.

  “Dimly lit” barely did it justice. That there were others present was not in doubt but how many, who they were and what they might be doing was in some doubt for some minutes until one’s eyes had adjusted to the semi-darkness. They sat together on a low couch for a moment, getting their bearings before Smith decided to head for the bar at the end furthest from the entrance; as newcomers, they both realized, eyes would be upon them, and Smith wondered whether that made Serena feel as uncomfortable as it made him feel.

  ‘Will you be alright if I go and get us a drink? I think I need one or three.’

  ‘Should be. I don’t suppose anyone will actually, you know, come up to me or – anything.’

  He sat there a little longer, looking around. They were probably doing a pretty good impression of nervous newcomers without even trying.

  ‘OK, then – here goes. If anything does kick off, just shout out “Police! Lie face down and don’t move!”’

  ‘That might be quite popular…’

  ‘Pack it in. I’m trying to keep a straight face here.’

  ‘Talking of straight, I think you were a hit with Sean.’

  He had to walk away then, thinking of what Reeve had said to him on the phone that afternoon when she was arranging their date – “She might be a bit prickly, DC, but she doesn’t lack bottle. Have fun!”

  Pierre seemed like a nice boy. He greeted Smith with ‘Good evening, sir. What can I do for you?’ which, as he was standing behind the bar and supposedly off-limits, was probably superfluous. Smith studied the cocktail menu, trying to guess which one would have the least alcohol, and also thinking about the young man’s accent; it was sort of foreign-sounding but not quite convincingly so – he might be from Marseille, he might equally be from Manchester. Finally Smith settled for two Whisky Sours – that was as close as he could get to a single malt on this menu. They’d better have the same, too; it wouldn’t do to have either of them more inebriated than the other in a place like this. Pierre set about it, not looking at Smith but working slowly, wanting, no doubt, to show off his mixology skills to their full. Smith had said they would check out the lie of the land once inside but this was already unnecessary, wasn’t it, the having a drink, and he wasn’t at all certain that he would be able to claim this as expenses. Once back at the couch, he would tell DC Butler that after a quick sip, they would return to the office and declare themselves.

  It looked as if these drinks would be another five minutes at least. He rested one hand on the bar and turned around, wondering at all this, whatever it was, and that’s when he felt a chill run right through him. Serena Butler was no longer alone – someone had approached her, had taken the place beside her that Smith had briefly occupied. A woman, which was a relief until he remembered Sean. He tried to imagine what had been said already, and failed. He turned back to the bar and saw that Pierre was in the final stages, arranging and then rearranging his maraschino cherries and orange slices. Fighting back the urge to grab them and make a run for the couch, Smith said thank you and offered up the ten pound note he had taken from his wallet. More delays then as he had to take it back and replace it with a twenty; he glanced up at the board, decided that it wasn’t worth waiting for the change and left Pierre with a more than decent tip. Hopefully he wouldn’t read anything into it.

  He took a seat next to Serena – the other woman was perched on the edge of the couch, half-turned towards them both and quite unruffled by Smith’s arrival, smiling, self-confident and stunning. Blonde an
d tanned, the hair quite short but expensively cut – even Smith could see that – she held out a hand towards him, the back uppermost as if he were to kiss it rather than take it briefly in his own. He chose the latter course, and she smiled more broadly, a smile disconcertingly full of knowing.

  She said, ‘And this your husband, David, isn’t it?’

  They don’t hang about here, do they, he thought as he nodded and engaged in the usual, introductory small-talk that happens out there, back in the real world of real bars, real parties and real barbeques, where you actually meet new people and go through these rituals. This whole evening was surreal enough in itself, of course, but the fact he had recognised her, that he knew in that first glance exactly who she was, gave him a surge of adrenalin that he had not experienced in at least a decade.

  He must always have been good with faces, though that’s not the kind of thing you realise about yourself as a child or a teenager. But when you are twenty two or three, living undercover in a strange city where at least a third of the population would pull the trigger if they knew who or what you were, then you become very good indeed with faces if you intend to make it to the end of another week. You learn to glance around as you walk along the street, the pavements crowded, a sea of faces, and say to yourself, that one there, he was behind me waiting to be served in McMahons last night…

  The woman was saying, ‘So, I’m Marion, and I’m sure we’ll meet again once you’ve joined. I’ll leave you alone now but if you have any more questions, just pop over to our corner. Or come over anyway if you’d like some company. Lovely to meet you both.’

  She stood and walked away, not as tall as most of the women he’d met lately, Smith thought, but still rather elegant in fitted jeans and a dark blue blouse. Those jeans said something, didn’t they? A regular member, not another newcomer going over the top to make an impression - someone who felt at home here. She disappeared into the shadows where at least three other people were sitting – Smith thought it was two couples and then realized that he too might have been recognised. He waited, watched, ignoring for a moment whatever Serena was saying beside him, and then breathed again; neither of the men in the corner was heavily built, and that was enough – he didn’t need to see their faces.