‘But if it comes to swirling emotion, mate, how about you? How did your evening with the Sea Lord’s daughter go?’
‘Elspeth Orr? Champion bore!’ Joe grinned. ‘Won’t do, Maisie. Won’t do.’
Maisie made clock eyes and held out her cup for a refill. ‘You’re too bloody choosy! How old are you now? Thirty-two? Three? Certainly time you were settling down. You should be thinking of moving out of that crazy flat of yours on the river and buying a nice little villa in Hampstead.’
She smiled to see the look of horror on his face. ‘What? Not tempted by the idea of a neat little house . . . up there on the hill? Somewhere to walk the Labrador of an evening?’
‘No indeed! But I’ll tell you, Maisie – I have found the house of my dreams. Yesterday. In Surrey of all places,’ he said conversationally to distract her from her favourite topic of settling his future.
She listened, absorbed by his account of King’s Hanger and its assorted inhabitants. She exclaimed with indignation as he told her of the treatment meted out by Mrs Joliffe to her grandchildren. ‘Some women don’t know when they’re lucky! Undeserving bitch! Two boys and two girls and one on the way? She should be thrilled. What’s the matter with her?’
‘Lord knows! She seems quite determined to make life unpleasant for those children. I had a bad feeling about the whole set-up. There’s more than unkindness in her attitude . . . it’s . . . vindictive. As though she’s holding them responsible for some injury or slight . . . punishing them. The children are as poor as church mice. They run around barefoot . . . No toys . . . the only books they have are the leather-bound tomes in Granny’s library and they’re about a hundred years old . . . Tell you what, Maisie!’ said Joe, struck by a sudden thought. ‘When you next pop into Harrods – could you get some things for me?’
Maisie groaned. ‘Should I be making a list? Go on.’
Well, you could start with . . . yes . . . that’s it! A red dress! Something to fit a skinny twelve-year-old. She’s actually fourteen but you’d never guess. And a book. Let’s think . . . Something the oldest can read to the rest. For fun. How about The Wind in the Willows? Oh, and,’ he gave a wicked smile, ‘a copy of The Constant Nymph and I’ll put a note in saying “This is not the way to live your life.”’
He stopped, catching Maisie’s indulgent and quizzical expression.
‘You’re a great softie, Joe Sandilands!’
Bill Armitage, a short pigeon’s flight away across London, stirred and swam up to wakefulness, hanging on to an entrancing and dangerous dream of a black-bobbed head, sleek as a seal, an elegant straight nose and mocking blue eyes. He clutched at a foam of silver chiffon which melted through his fingers and as the image faded he became aware of the sound that had awakened him and he groaned in frustration and disgust. In an unaccustomed flash of bad temper, he jerked his heel backwards, hitting his companion viciously on the kneecap. A shriek of pain split his skull.
‘What the bloody ’ell do you think you’re up to, Bill Armitage? You meant that to ’urt! What’s got into you? What ’ave I done to deserve a kicking at six in the bloody morning? Eh? Answer me, you great lummox!’
Armitage rolled out of bed and went to stand at the foot, tugging down the hem of his athletic vest and wondering where he’d left his drawers. Wishing he could present a more impressive figure to underline his comment, ‘You snore and you sweat and you stink of fish,’ he said. ‘And your name’s Edith. That’s what.’
‘God’s sake! What’s got into you? I’m human and my old man works at Billingsgate! What do you expect? And you wake me up with a kick at six to complain about my dad’s taste in Christian names? You knew I was called Edith before you started calling round ’ere. I’m not good enough for you any more, am I? That’s what this is all about! Seen it coming for some time. Well, bugger off! And don’t come back ’ere. Frank’s on the other shift next week anyway and if ’e caught you ’ere all your police clout and your posh ways wouldn’t stop ’im rearranging your face! Push off! William!’
The angry face took on a narrow-eyed, vindictive sneer. ‘Just you wait! ’E’ll get his own back on you!’
‘Good. That Frank should get his own back again is exactly what I have in mind. He’s very welcome.’
‘Clever sod! I’ll report you to your inspector. That’s what I’ll do. I’ll go down the nick this morning and tell them what you’ve been up to! Policemen’s supposed to ’ave standards.’