`Lucky bitch!' interjected Rose, dead-pan.
Old grinned self-consciously, as he advanced into the room, closing the door behind him. 'That is, he seemed pleased as Punch by a visit from the big boss. Began with a hug and ended with a handshake.
Skinner pushed himself up from his chair. 'Right. Tough that it seems to leave us with nothing to pin on that wee shit Cocozza. We'll have to spring him. Maggie, give Alison Higgins the word, will you, please. While you're doing that, I'll observe the niceties and call Jose Pompo, the Spanish Consul. It'll give you added clout if I fix up your trip through him. And then get the translation job under way. But make sure you're ready for the press conference at nine-thirty.'
That's earlier than usual, isn't it?' said Roy Old.
`Maybe so,' said Skinner, beaming. B ut the hacks can dance to my tune for a change. I've got a wife and son to collect from the Simpson by ten-thirty, and nothing — not even the assembled Edinburgh media corps in all its glory — will make me late for that!'
Fifteen
‘You fancy your new room, wee man, don't you?'
The baby's eyes were wide open as Bob cradled him in the crook of his arm. They seemed to follow the movement of the brightly coloured - mobile suspended above his cradle, as it swung in a slow circle in response to Sarah's touch. That, and the American-style satin-lined cradle, had been her choice. Bob had picked the nursery-rhyme motif of the wallpaper. A huge stuffed panda, which he had bought in John Lewis that morning, en route for the Simpson, filled a high-backed rocking-chair by the dormer window.
Bob carried his three-day-old son over to the window and showed him the mature back garden, flooded in midday sunshine. 'See that tree down there, Jazz? That nice silver birch with the strong branches. That's where we'll hang your swing in a year or so. The climbing frame can go on the grass just over there, and the sandpit can go up against the garage. You'll be a lucky lad, 'cos there's the same again in your other house out at Gullane, the very swing and frame that your big sister Alex had when she was a nipper. She didn't have a sandpit though. There was hardly any point, was there, with a beach out there.'
Sarah reached up and ruffled her husband's hair. 'You're really looking forward to all this, Pops, ain't you?'
Too right, I am. His first childhood, but my third. What I'm looking forward to is doing all the things right this time that I might have got wrong with Alex. There's not too many guys my age get that chance.'
`From what Alex says, you didn't get too much wrong. Come on, set him down in the cradle. Let him get used to it.'
Gently, Bob laid the bright-eyed child down in his crib. For a second it seemed as if Jazz would cry at the breaking of the contact, but then his eye was caught once more by the blue-painted balsa-wood birds of the mobile, and he stared following their movement. Quietly, mother and father backed away from the cradle, and stood together by the window.
`It's a dream, isn't it, honey?' said Sarah softly.
Bob said nothing. He could only grin, happier than he could express in words.
`What's a dream, too,' she went on, 'is the idea that you'll actually be off work for a few days. How long are you taking?'
`Best part of a week. I've cleared my diary until Tuesday morning. Roy Old's looking after things. It's just you and me and Jazz, apart from tomorrow night. Remember, I told you about it — a meeting of Murrayfield and Cramond Rotary Club. Peter asked me to do it a while back. It's in their programme, so I don't like to back out. Is that okay? They start at half-six, so I should be back around eight-thirty.'
Sarah smiled. 'Well, since you're taking us to Spain in a couple of weeks, I don't really think I can bitch about it. Anyway, Alex is coming through for the night, and Andy said he'd look in later. You'll be back for him, won't you?'
`Mm, sure. Listen, about Spain. You sure it's okay, with Jazz being so young?'
Sarah turned to face him. His arms circled her waist as she placed the flat of her hands on his chest.
`Listen, you can be the fussiest Dad of all time, but trust me on the medical side, just like I leave the detecting to you. I told you already, before we set off I'll take him back to the paediatrician for a 500-mile check-up. If there's the slightest flicker of disapproval on her face, we cancel the ferry and stay home. But worry not, my love. That boy of ours is the thrivingest baby you'll find in a day's march.'
`It won't be too hot?'
`Would it be too hot for a Spanish baby? It's early summer, and so it won't be baking. Believe me, he'll be fine. He'll be in shade all the time. That buggy you bought for him has got everything save air-conditioning, and the house does have that. As for his food, I carry my own supply, remember.' She tapped her chest with a long finger. D-cup these days, boy. Tits like racing Zeppelins!'
Bob laughed and hugged her, gently. 'Right, I'm convinced. He'll be fine. But how about you? Will you be all right by then?'
She smiled slyly as she looked up at him. 'Three days after the birth might be a bit soon, but before long, you'll have found out just how all right I am. And that, my love, is a promise that I will surely enjoy keeping!'
Sixteen
‘T he bar service is better than usual this evening, Bob. They must have noticed that you were coming!'
Peter Payne held a brimming pint of lager in each hand as he approached the alcove in the Barnton Hotel's main bar where Skinner was waiting. He was a tall ruddy-faced man with a shock of black hair which belied his fifty-something years. The two had met some years before, not in Edinburgh but in L'Escala, in Catalonia, where each had a holiday home. The normally reserved Peter, fuelled by alcohol, had introduced himself towards the end of a party. In the years since then they had met more frequently in Spain than in Edinburgh, since their trips there often coincided, although they found time for golf at Skinner's club in Gullane or in Edinburgh at least once a year.
Anthea and I were delighted to hear about the little chap. You'll give Sarah our congratulations, won't you?'
`That's kind of you. Of course I will.'
`What's his name? What did your Scotsman notice say - again? James Andrew, that was it. Which will it be?'
`Neither. Jazz is the name, my friend. Mark it well. He's going to be a star!'
Peter's eyes glazed for a second, while he sought an appropriate response. 'Jazz, eh.
Bob grinned at his friend's reaction, then moved him on to the evening's business. 'I have a fairly bog-standard presentation for evenings like this, Peter. The changing role of the police, then the role of the CID, that sort of thing. Alternatively I can talk about experiences: great moments in a memorable career, that sort of self-effacing stuff. Which would your members prefer, do you think?'
The latter, I should think. I'm sure they'd love to hear the inside story of that affair last year.'
Skinner smiled. 'Okay, I'll give them the blood and thunder!'
`Great!' Peter took a swig of his beer and glanced at his watch. 'Look, let's go in to supper. Bring your pint with you.'
He stood up to lead the way, then paused. 'Oh, before I forget, there's a chap here you must meet. A new member. Apparently, he has a place in Lar Escala' — Peter's English accent rolled the vowels together as he used the Castillian form of the name — 'but he always goes in June and September. He said he was keen to meet you too. I'll introduce you after your address.
They moved into the function room which had been set aside for the meeting. Skinner, a regular speaker to Rotarians and Round Tablers, smiled to himself when he saw the two-course menu of minestrone soup and steak, standard fare at such events. The speed with which the meal was consumed was standard practice also, as if it was a chore to be completed, rather than fare to be enjoyed. Forty-three minutes after they had entered the dining room, Peter Payne introduced his guest, succinctly but generously.