When Ed Ogborne went for a drink with Nat, Jenny and Mike to celebrate the successful conclusion of her first case in Canterbury, it was clear that the resentment at her arrival was long forgotten. She’d been accepted by her new colleagues and she was confident that they would continue to work well together. As soon as they were in the pub Jenny, who’d drawn Grieves in the sweepstake, pulled four creased fivers from her bag, but Ed was adamant she’d buy the first round.
‘First off, it’s my shout and I insist it’s a bottle of champagne. After that you can drink what you like.’
Later, at the table, as Ed topped up their glasses with the remains of the champagne, Jenny flashed her winnings for a second time but Mike pulled rank and bought the round, a dry white wine for Ed, a pint of Spitfire for himself and lagers for Jenny and Nat. Finally, Jenny got to spend her cash and Nat went to help her. He returned with their drinks, followed moments later by Jenny with a tray of vodka shots. In an effort to prolong the evening, Ed got a fourth round in without asking the others, but Mike’s heart wasn’t in it. With each round he had become more and more withdrawn. Although his pint was unfinished, Mike made his apologies, saying he had to get home. To Ed’s surprise she thought she detected a touch of anger as well as tiredness in his voice. Mike was barely on his feet when Nat and Jenny made their excuses and the group broke up.
Outside on the street Ed and Mike went their separate ways, leaving Nat and Jenny walking together.
‘Shall we go to a club?’
‘I’ll have to go back and change first.’
Jenny had been tempted by Nat’s suggestion but by the time they’d got back to the police accommodation block the idea of turning out again was less appealing. She couldn’t face clubbing but she didn’t want the evening to end just yet.
‘It’s been a long day.’
Nat looked disappointed.
‘I’ve got a bottle of red.’
Nat’s face brightened.
Mike set off across the city centre towards his home but doubled back to buy a bottle of Chivas Regal, an impulsive purchase he’d contemplated for days. During the investigation he’d found a place of respite. For the past week the feeling had grown that he should make use of it.
Volatile was not a word people sought to describe Mike Potts. He lived life in the middle ground with balanced responses to the world. His mood never soared to great heights nor plumbed the blackness of despair. Ever since his daughter died, home had been a sad place in which his wife continued to grieve their loss. When he first heard the news that his daughter had been killed in the hit and run, Mike had been devastated, but weeks became months and he began to wake each morning prepared to face the day.
Even so, this evening he had been unable to stomach further celebration in the pub with his colleagues. The successful conclusion of a case always caused the return of the anger he felt that his daughter’s killer was still at large, still unpunished. He lived with an accumulation of concerns which had not been faced but which he’d allowed to recede with the years. The memories remained but the pain gradually became less sharp. At home his wife was a constant reminder of that pain.
Clutching his much-pondered impulse purchase Mike rang the bell in St Peter’s Lane and waited for the light to come on in the hallway.
Back at her apartment Ed sat at the kitchen table and poured another glass of wine. With the case no longer dominating her thoughts, she felt a growing sense that something was missing from her life. She thought of Don and Nigel and an unwelcome feeling of regret caught her by surprise. Ed tried to dismiss the thought from her head as she’d dismissed the men from her life. So far, they’d left her alone but her thoughts of them wouldn’t go away. At this time of night, mellowed by a drink too many, she wanted one of them with her. Those bridges were burned but that didn’t diminish her desire.
Ed thought of Schiele’s women captured in effortless black chalk and those startling touches of red gouache. She contemplated getting her grandfather’s book from the shelf but resisted; the remembered images were enough. In the bedroom Ed moved the floor-standing mirror to the foot of her bed. It wasn’t her nature to be passive like the women in the paintings but her heart wasn’t in it. She needed company.
Frustrated, she drank some more wine before selecting a number from her contacts.
‘Hello?’
‘Hi, it’s Eddie. I was wondering if you’d fancy coming round to my place for a drink.’
‘Deakin’s Rules?’
Ed could hear the smile in the voice.
‘Deakin’s Rules.’
‘I’ll be round in ten minutes.’
Ed returned the smile as the line went dead.
God was in his heaven, all was good in Jenny’s world. The team had done well. She was flush from their celebration and pumped with euphoria from saving the girl and getting that bastard Grieves. It had been her first big case as a DC and she was in love with her job. Five years ago her life had been at its lowest ebb. The abortion and split from Mark had really knocked her back. They’d been together since sixth-form college. Passing her police exams and becoming a CID trainee had given her life a boost. Acceptance as a DC had been the icing on her cake.
She had wondered what would become of the team when she heard Brian Saunders was to leave but she quickly found she enjoyed working alongside Ed Ogborne. Together with Mike and Nat she thought they made a good team. Nat could be a bit pushy at times but he was a man – they were all so bloody competitive. Still, Nat was all right. He’d been really nice about Carlton’s paintings, letting her tell Ed what she’d found so she’d get the credit.
She climbed to the third floor of the police accommodation block. It felt warm in her room. Perhaps she’d had a few too many drinks. Never mind, the world was being good to her again. It seemed natural to lie back on her bed, to let Nat stretch out beside her. It had been some time since she’d felt a man’s stubble against her cheek. Jenny turned her head to find his lips. As they kissed she used her free hand to undo the top button of her shirt; it was stiff, inclined to get stuck. You needed the knack.
‘Michael, back so soon.’ Her voice and face registered surprise. ‘You are a bit of a dark horse, I must say.’
‘Hello, Rosie, I’m on foot and I’ve got a bottle of Chivas. I thought we might—’
‘Oh, Michael, love, you should have told me you were coming. I’m afraid I’ll be entertaining in a moment or two. Perhaps you could call round tomorrow about this time.’
Mike’s expectant face dropped. He was already turning on his heel when Rosie added, ‘Bring a bottle of Black, it’s my favourite.’
Walking towards his home on the other side of the city Mike paused beside a rubbish bin and thrust his bottle of Chivas deep down among the day’s detritus. At home he drank nothing but bottled beer. Resigned but not dejected – dejection was beyond the range of his emotions – Mike wondered if he would ever recover the motivation to repeat his visit to the Maison Rose.
Whoa! Nat felt all his summers had come at once. He’d spent weeks manoeuvring to get into Jenny’s knickers, with zero success. This evening, out of nowhere, she was on to him, agreeing to go clubbing, the tease of being tired, and the invite to share a bottle in her room. Now they were side by side on her single bed. She’d turned to kiss him and he felt her hand undoing the top button of her shirt. Increasing the intensity of their kissing, he moved his hand to work on the lower buttons. Determined not to lose the moment Nat pulled the bra from Jenny’s breast and pressed his knee between her legs.
By the time the intercom buzzed, Ed had discarded the grey silk top in favour of a white T-shirt flecked with gold and a pair of loose black Tencel trousers. A bottle of her favourite white wine was chilling in the freezer. She checked the screen, saw the impeccably cut steel-grey hair of Verity Shaw and released the lock.
‘I’m on the top floor, the door’s open. You’ll find me, and two glasses of chilled white, on the balcony admiring reflections from the surface of the Stour.’