He scribbled: Skinny. Insubordinate! ‘Look – remove your hat, will you?’
She took off her hat and placed it on her lap.
Joe stared at her hair in surprise. ‘Always interesting to see what you’re hiding under those domes. Glad to see it’s just a dolly-mop of hair and not a bomb.’ He glanced again at her thick bob and scribbled a note on a pad. ‘Tell me – again for the record – how would you describe the colour of your hair? Blonde?’
‘Say straw, sir. If it could possibly be of any interest to anyone.’
Joe thought Miss Wentworth’s shining flaxen hair would interest any man. He busied himself for an annoying moment or two, unconvincingly jotting a further note: Hair – fair, fashionably cut. Brows and lashes darker. Green? eyes. V. pretty … and cut himself short.
He was making a pig’s ear of this.
Should he have delegated the unwelcome task to his super? To his Branch man? Joe reassured himself by remembering both men’s lack of experience with the fair sex and their declared antagonism to the Working Woman. No, neither officer could have gone one round with this sample. He was becoming increasingly certain his choice was a good one. He just had to make the right approaches.
He settled back in his chair, trying for friendly and approachable. ‘Now, before I tell you why you’re here …’ he indicated the file with her number on the cover, ‘I’d like to congratulate you on your prompt and decisive action at the station. I’ve entered a commendation on your file. Would you like me to read it out for you?’
‘Thank you. Very good of you, sir. I’ll take it as read.’ And, sweetly: ‘I’m sure my commanding officer could have passed that on and saved you the trouble.’
And, of course, she was right. A man of his rank didn’t concern himself with the actions, however creditable, of a lowly policewoman.
‘Quite. But I did have, you will recall, a personal interest in the episode. And I’m the chap, for the moment, in charge of hiring, firing and redeployment, not your CO. Redeployment, Wentworth. Which brings me to the second reason for calling you in.’
She startled him by leaping to her feet, triggered, Joe thought, by the word ‘redeployment’. With automatic good manners he rose also, registering surprise.
‘I know what you’re up to. Before you proceed with this, sir, I have to tell you that I will not accept redeployment. I will not be sent to some northern city with the likes of Constable Halliday.’ Her eyes narrowed to a glare. ‘Nor will I stand here and be sacked.’
Joe listened in astonishment as she forged on: ‘This would seem to be a bad moment for both of us. I’m leaving now to go away and write out my resignation from the force. It will be on your desk within the hour. It will make mention of the impossibility of suffering any longer the prejudice and arrogance the women are confronted with at every turn. To say nothing of the low pay and the long hours. And the questionable company of tarts, drug fiends and corrupt coppers.’
She must have been aware that her words sounded undignified. Pre-prepared words, he guessed, that she’d been mulling over and getting together while she’d been sitting in the corridor expecting dismissal. Well, the girl showed some spirit and he wasn’t looking for a doormat. He decided to take her insubordination on the chin.
She hurried to finish, eager to be away. ‘I’m sorry, sir … not the Ciceronian speech I’d planned. A bit light on concessive clauses and qualifying phrases.’
‘And possibly charm, Constable?’ he teased.
‘It’ll have to do. You must excuse me. Good day to you, Commander. I’ll leave you to your sorrows and … more demanding concerns.’
Petulant, foot-stamping stuff. Good girl. But it was decidedly inconvenient for him. Joe began to think he’d mishandled the whole thing. He’d allowed her to provoke him. He’d certainly raised her hackles and now they risked losing her. In what looked very like a rush of light-headed recklessness, she turned without waiting for his dismissal and made for the door.
His voice, lazily enquiring, snaked after her, catching her by the ankle, staying her step. ‘Don’t you want to hear what became of the children in the case?’
It seemed he’d come up with the one formula that would have stopped her from leaving the room. She hesitated.
‘And the villain whose head you sat on? Were you aware you broke his nose? Resume your seat and hear me out. That’s better,’ he said as she settled on the edge of the seat. ‘Ah! Here’s our tea. Put it on the desk, will you, Jones? Thank you, that’ll be all.’ He heaved a layer of files and boxes on to the floor to accommodate the tea tray, then he took up the pot and filled two cups. ‘Drop of milk, one sugar, I understand? You always pay for it. And these are your favourite biscuits. Do have one.’