‘As a good customer, do you mean?’
‘What? Oh, well, not only that. Fiendish had been good to Errol before. One of the reasons I was willing to make allowances for Errol was that he lost his mother last summer. It really upset him: they were ever so close. She was a funny old duck. Do you know that it was only the Christmas before last that she realized that we were gay? We’d been living together for almost twenty-five years, and she hadn’t the faintest idea! My Mum and Dad came down to have lunch with us on Christmas Day, ‘cause really my Mum’s a terrible cook, and Dad’s always saying I’m twice as good as she is. Anyway, we invited Errol’s old dear over as well for a real family occasion — she was a widow — and she and Mum were sitting together sipping their sherry in the living room while Errol and I were in the kitchen cooking, and my Dad was out in the garden smoking his pipe, and suddenly she said to Mum, as if it’d been on her mind quite a bit, “Evelyn, do you think our boys are quite, you know, normal?” and my Mum said, “No, of course not. They’re both queer as coots, you silly old bat.” ‘
Jerry broke into peals of laughter, Kathy joining him, until there were tears running down both their faces.
‘Anyway, she got cancer soon after, poor old thing. They tried all sorts, but in the end they couldn’t do anything for her. Errol was ever so upset. He told Fiendish-Cruel one time he was out at the clinic, and Fiendish was good with him. That’s how he got to know him well, really. Fiendish even went to see the old duck in hospital and afterwards when they sent her home. He gave her some of his organic medicines, but of course they didn’t do no good either.’
‘That’s interesting, that he would do that. He really must have cared.’
‘Yes, I think he does care. I kind of think of him as a bully, you know? But he’s more complicated than that. I think he likes you to be in despair — oh God, that sounds really bitchy, doesn’t it? No, I mean, if you’re in despair and are prepared to hand the whole thing over to him, put him in control, then I think he’ll really go out of his way for you. And Errol was in despair. Only afterwards, when he started fooling around with that Petrou, it must have seemed to Fiendish like a right slap in the face.’
‘Yes, I see.’
‘Anyway, I reckon that was Errol’s mid-life crisis, brought on by his Mum’s passing. There won’t be any more Alex Petrous in Errol’s life.’
Kathy raised her glass. ‘I’ll drink to that, Jerry.’
‘You haven’t told me why you’re down in the dumps, Kathy.’
‘Oh … I think I screwed up. And got a friend into trouble in the process.’
‘Not that nice boy who got on to me in the first place, was it?’
‘Gordon Dowling? No, not him.’ Kathy laughed. ‘You thought he was a nice boy?’
‘Sure of it, Kathy. Can’t see him making a go of it in the police, though. Can you?’
‘Well, he’s not all that bright.’
Jerry chuckled briefly, then checked himself. ‘Sorry, Kathy, but I didn’t think that would be a disqualification. No, I meant his being gay.’
‘Gay?’
‘Yes. Didn’t you know?’
Kathy looked at him, surprised. ‘No, I had no idea.’
‘That’s how he got on to me, you see. At the Jolly Roger.’
‘Of course, yes. I should have thought.’
‘Well, it’s not important anyway. Unless some of those butch bastards he’s got for workmates cottoned on to it.’
Kathy was aware of a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. Kathy had two phone calls on Friday evening. She was sitting in the kitchen with Jill, Mervyn and Patrick, all eating a Lancashire hot-pot which Patrick had cooked, when Penny Elliot rang. She had little new to tell Kathy. According to one of the clerks in Personnel, Gordon Dowling had left for three weeks’ leave about ten days before. No one seemed to know where he’d gone. Penny had a couple of addresses of next-of-kin taken from his file. She had discovered next to nothing about the progress of Rose’s murder investigation, beyond a rumour that rope identical to that used to hang Petrou had been found somewhere — the stories were conflicting as to precisely where — that appeared to incriminate Parsons.
Kathy, puzzled, thanked her and returned to the kitchen. She chewed a mouthful of stew, then said suddenly, ‘Patrick, this is really good. Maybe we could do a deaclass="underline" you cook and I’ll clean the kitchen.’
‘Done.’ He smiled.
A few minutes later the phone rang again. Jill ran out to the hall, hoping it was her boy-friend, with whom she’d had a quarrel. She reappeared a few moments later, barely hiding her disappointment, to tell Kathy that it was for her again. It was Brock.
‘He sounds happy,’ she added.
He did sound cheerful, and the line was so clear that Kathy assumed he must have returned to London until he corrected her.
‘No, no, I’m still in Rome. You sound a bit flat, though. Things difficult?’
‘Oh, just frustrating. Have you heard that they’ve arrested Geoffrey Parsons?’
He listened for a few moments as she started to tell him what she knew, then interrupted her. ‘Kathy, I can’t talk long. Look, I’d like you to come over here, tell me everything.’
‘Over there?’ Kathy didn’t get it. ‘There’s not a lot to tell — ’
‘Your passport in order, is it?’
‘I think so.’
‘Look, get down to Heathrow tomorrow morning, terminal two. You’re booked on an Alitalia flight to Rome leaving at 8.35 a.m.’
‘I am?’
‘You can pick up the ticket at the check-in counter.’ ‘Brock, I — ’
‘You sound as if you could do with a change of scenery. It’s splendid here. The spring’s arrived in earnest. I’ll be waiting for you at the airport. OK?’
The line went dead.
Kathy returned to the kitchen, bemused. ‘All right?’ they asked her.
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I think my friend’s gone round the twist. He wants me to meet him in Rome tomorrow morning.’
‘Wish I had friends like that,’ Jill said wistfully.
After they had cleared up, they dispersed to their rooms, the other three to prepare for a Friday night out. Kathy hesitated at her door, then called out after Patrick. She pulled something out of the pocket of her jeans and gave it to him.
‘I had a spare key cut,’ she said. ‘Maybe you’d look after it for me, would you? In case some waif needs a room while I’m away.’
He grinned and gave her a peck on the cheek. ‘Have fun,’ he said.
21
Brock was right about the spring. The sun was blazing down over Rome and sparkling on the aircraft bodies on the tarmac. The sense of unreality, of not knowing what she was doing there, whether on a treasure hunt or a wild-goose chase, was heightened by the sight of Brock waiting for her beyond the barrier, beaming in shirt-sleeves and a pair of dark glasses like one of the Blues Brothers or a mafioso.
‘Any bags?’
‘No, just this. I wasn’t sure how long I’d be staying.’
He gave her a big smile and led her out to the short-stay car park, where he fished out the keys for a Polo convertible and threw her bag in the boot. She noticed his cases were in there too. From the airport they drove out towards the autostrada and on to the Ai, heading north.
‘We’re not staying in Rome, then?’ she shouted.
He shook his head. The open top discouraged conversation, so she settled back in her seat to enjoy the unfamiliar countryside sliding past in the bright sunlight, happy to substitute the Autostrada del Sol for the usual Motorways of Murk.
After less than an hour he signalled right and took the exit for Orvieto, and she sat up and watched as the little city, perched on the flat top of its volcanic plug, came into view. They wound their way up the surrounding cliff and parked behind the cathedral.
‘I thought you might be ready for some lunch before we go any further. Let’s stretch our legs.’