“Doctor’s orders,” he said. He thumped his chest. “Dodgy bellows, plus high blood pressure.”
Meantime, his album collection had risen from three thousand to nearer five, most of the records bought secondhand, few of them more contemporary than 1972.
The conversation was stilted, awkward. They were at the same time recalling past events and attempting to evade making mention of them. They both knew they were doing this, and smiled a few times in embarrassment as the conversation lapsed into silence.
“So,” Charlie said at last, “what can I do for you, Dom?”
Dominic Elder ordered two more pints and a couple of filled rolls. “I’m looking for a Dutchman,” he said.
“Uh-huh.”
“I thought maybe you could do your sniffer-dog routine.”
“Long time since anyone’s said that to me: ‘sniffer dog.’ Private matter, is it?”
“No, strictly company business.”
“Uh-huh.” Charlie sipped his drink thoughtfully, then shook his head. “I’m not sure, Dom. I mean, after that last time...”
“This is a team effort.”
“Yeah, but so was that. Didn’t stop you going off and... I don’t know. I’d be worried, that’s all.”
“About me?” Elder smiled. “I’m touched, Charlie, but I meant what I said, this time it’s a team effort.”
“No individual skills, eh? Playing for the team.”
“That’s right.”
“Yeah, well...” He straightened his back, scratched his nose, slumped again, studying his glass. “All right, then, can’t do any harm. Mind, I don’t have the eyes and ears I once had.”
“Just do what you can.” Elder handed over one of the descriptions of the Dutchman. Charlie read through it.
“Dutch pubs?” he said.
“We’re already covering them.”
“Clubs, restaurants?”
“Those, too.”
“Wonder if he’s hired a car while he’s here...”
“We’ll check.”
Charlie nodded. He refolded the piece of paper and put it in his back pocket. “Like I say, Dom, I’ll do what I can.”
“What’s the going rate these days, Charlie? I’m a bit out of touch.”
“You and me both. We’ll sort the money out later. Don’t worry, there’s a discount for friends. Where can I find you?”
Elder gave the name of his hotel.
“Using your own name?” asked Charlie. Elder nodded, then thought: I shouldn’t be, though. I shouldn’t be using my own name. How long would it take her to find him, phoning all the hotels alphabetically, asking for him at reception? A day, two at most... if she wanted to, if she didn’t have anything else to keep her busy.
“Have another?” said Charlie. Elder shook his head.
“Better get back,” he said. “I want a clear head for tonight.”
“Oh, yes? Still up to your old tricks, eh? Who is she?”
“Never mind.”
“Dinner, is it?” Elder nodded. “Listen, do me a favor. After you’ve bought the forty-quid bottle of wine and you’re tasting it, just ask yourself this: does it taste any better than the pint I had this afternoon? I can tell you now what the answer’ll be.”
Elder laughed. “You’re probably right, Charlie.”
“That’s me, Dom, a right Charlie. Come on, I’ll give you a lift back.”
Joyce Parry came naked from her bathroom into her bedroom and stood there again, hands on hips, staring at the clothes laid out on her bed. She just couldn’t make up her mind. Two dresses and a skirt and blouse: she could not for the life of her choose between them. And until she’d decided that, she couldn’t decide on her color of tights or stockings, which meant she couldn’t yet choose her shoes, never mind her accessories.
She was used to dressing to suit the occasion. Perhaps that was the very problem: she wasn’t sure just what the occasion tonight actually was. She wasn’t sure of Dominic’s intentions, of how he felt. Was her confusion his fault or her own? She was nervous as a cornered rat, and afraid of coming to wrong conclusions. If she dressed one way, perhaps he would come to some wrong conclusion, too.
It was so easy usually. For the office, she dressed hard and efficient, because that was what the office required. For a dinner party, she would be elegant and intelligent. Receiving friends at home, she was just slovenly enough so that they felt comfortable in her house.
And for an intimate dinner with a man...? That depended on what she thought the man felt about her, and what she felt — if anything — in return. There was her long ice-blue dress, covering most of her body like a shield. Then there was the jersey dress, which came to her knees and showed a lot of her arms and shoulders too. Or there was the skirt and blouse. The blouse could be worn open-necked, or else clamped shut and tied at the neck with a bow.
Decisions, decisions. She turned and went back into the bathroom. If she left the choice of outfit until the last minute, she’d have to make a snap judgment. So be it. God, he’d laugh to see her getting in such a state. The unflappable Joyce. She’d flapped all right, the first time she’d met him. They’d become lovers only several years later, and then for a matter of weeks. He’d still been married then — though only just. It didn’t work. It could never have worked. But that hadn’t stopped it being good at the time.
She cleaned her teeth, rinsed, spat. Turned off the tap and stared at herself in the mirror, her hands on the rim of the washbasin.
Silverfish had aged Dominic, but she wasn’t looking so young herself. She patted her hair self-consciously. She still wasn’t sure whether bringing Dominic to London had been such a good idea. He certainly seemed full of energy and ideas, his mind sharp. He’d covered good ground in Folkestone, Cliftonville, Brighton. He got results from people, mainly because he looked like he was there to be obeyed and impressed. Even the Special Branch pair worked well with him. Not under him, but with him. That was another thing about Dominic, he consciously underplayed his role. He didn’t need to brandish his authority in anyone’s face. Yet all the time he was manipulating them.
Maybe there were still a few things she could learn from him, a few of his strengths that she’d forgotten all about. But she knew his weaknesses of old, too. The way he bottled things up, always thinking more than he said, not sharing. And now Witch had threatened him: what must the shock of finding that note have done to him? She’d find out tonight, she’d sit at the table and ask him outright, and she’d go on asking until he told her.
She’d considered putting a guard on him. After all, he was the one real and actual person so far threatened by Witch. But Dominic wouldn’t have agreed to a bodyguard. Besides, he was working most of the time alongside two bodyguards of a sort — Doyle and Greenleaf. But she’d phoned Trilling anyway, and had asked him to have a quiet word with his men, telling them to keep an eye open for Elder’s safety. Trilling had been sympathetic, and had given her a progress report.
Too many fish, all of them possible red herrings. They were heading towards confusion rather than clarity. It wasn’t Joyce Parry’s way. The phone rang in the bedroom. Maybe Barclay and another of his too-vague reports. Maybe Dominic to say there was a fresh lead and he was canceling dinner. She sat on the edge of the bed and picked up the receiver.
“Joyce Parry speaking.”
She listened for a moment, frowned, shifted a little on the bed. She pulled the corner of the duvet over her lap, as though her nakedness suddenly embarrassed her.
“What?” she said. She listened to more. “I see,” she said. “Yes, I quite understand. Thank you.” But the conversation lasted for several more minutes before she hung up.