Spanish Inquisition (13 page)

It happened sooner than he expected. After playing a lovely cascading impromptu which was a favourite of his, Clare closed the piano lid and stood.

‘That's it! I'm too tired to continue, Max.'

He got to his feet, deeply disappointed. ‘It's been a wonderful evening, like we used to have when you came over to Spain for a long weekend. This was even better because I'd waited so long to see you again.' He walked across to her. ‘That's why I came back early. I'm sure you know that.'

She smiled up at him. ‘I thought it was to escape Mollie Hubbard.'

It was not the response he had hoped for.

‘Or to get back into harness with your detectives.'

While he feverishly struggled to think up the right words, she took his hand. ‘If you want my approval for that you have to prove to me that you're now fully fit, and I know the perfect way for you to do that.' And she led him towards the door leading to her own apartment.

As so often happens, morning brought problems, created by the passion of the night before. Max had foreseen these weeks ago. He was unsure whether Clare had. Consequently, when he awoke at the usual time of six a.m. to find she was still sleeping he fought his instinct to wake her in the most satisfying way, slid from the bed, gathered his clothes and went to his own apartment, crossing the room where they had eaten last night. The dishes were still on the table; the candles had burned themselves out.

After an invigorating shower he dressed in a track suit, made tea and carried it back across the large room. Reaching her door he hesitated, then knocked quite firmly before entering the square hall off which her sizeable bed-sitting room lay, then on to the kitchen exactly like his own but in reverse. There was no sound from the main room, so he peered in. Clare was still asleep, but her alarm suddenly buzzed bringing her awake and aware of his figure at the doorway.

‘I've made some tea,' he said from where he stood.

She smiled dreamily. ‘And toast?'

‘Can do.' Busy with the toaster, Max heard her shower running and was grateful that she had not stayed in bed. It would make what had to be said easier if they were well away from it. As he set out their breakfast he heard the hum of a hair drier and recalled that she had washed her hair in the shower every other morning during her brief visits to the Spanish villa. Feeling that the tea would be stewed by now, he made some fresh by which time she was standing beside him in her bathrobe, hair smelling of apples.

‘You've used that shampoo that always reminds me of scrumping in a neighbouring orchard as a boy.'

She made a face. ‘And you a future policeman!' Putting her arms around his neck she went on tiptoe to kiss him, quite thoroughly. ‘Good morning, my fully fit and active friend. Pity we're not at the villa with a long, lazy day ahead.'

She sat on one of the tall stools and began buttering toast, the bathrobe parting enough to reveal her crossed legs. Max sat on the other stool, but ignored the food.

‘Thank you for last night, Clare. You were very generous.'

She grew still, her knife deep inside the marmalade jar, and frowned. ‘You make it sound as if I gave a performance for charity.'

Oh, God! He was making a dog's dinner of this; then he made it worse next minute. ‘No, it's just that I need to get clear why. I mean, you said . . . well, I know that was . . . that you were joking . . .'

‘You're asking if well and truly shagging a patient is one of my range of medical treatments?
No
, Max.'

‘I'm asking if it was just a spur of the moment decision to end a wonderful evening.' Her subdued anger rid his mind of jumbled thoughts so he could tackle the issue clearly and concisely.

‘I don't want to embark on a casual affair, tumbling into bed together now and again if we both feel in the mood. I've loved two other women. Neither of them were as fully committed as I was. I don't want a repetition with you.'

She put her hand over his which rested on the worktop, but he pressed on. ‘I realized the depth of my feelings for you on the evening your ex tried to rape you, but next day I was blown up in a garden shed. Since then I've been in no condition to take things any further. Last night strengthened my belief that it could be possible.'

As she made to speak he hurried on. ‘I wanted marriage, a real home and children with Livya Cordwell. She wanted those things with my father, not me. With Susan I almost had all three, and I choose to believe the child she was carrying was mine, not her lover's. I lost everything in a matter of minutes when she died beside him.

‘I don't want sympathy, Clare,' he added sharply as she abandoned the toast and marmalade to put her other hand also on his. ‘And I don't want to continue living here if your interest in me is transitory. I've always been a one-woman man. I don't do one night stands.'

Clare leaned forward to gaze steadfastly into his eyes. ‘I fell in love with you on the night you jumped in the river to rescue a student.'

He could hardly believe what he was hearing. That incident had happened so early in their acquaintance.

‘You were then beneath the spell of a woman who rated her career higher than she rated you, and I hid my jealousy better than you've hidden yours of Duncan MacPherson.' She squeezed his hand. ‘If you're trying to say you want marriage, a real home and children with
me
, nothing would make me happier because it's what I want, too, darling.'

Wednesday brought the buzz of activity that always arose when troops were arriving back from Afghanistan. Those men and women who had spent six months in action in a warzone were returning to wives, husbands, lovers, children, houses or rooms in accommodation blocks which they regarded as home, and a normal routine which would seem almost unreal until the urgency, the sense of danger, the adrenalin-charged courage slowly drained away. It was not easy to adjust. Those who were single and uncommitted overcompensated for half a year without alcohol and sexual adventures, which kept the uniformed squad very busy.

However, a strict procedure had first to be carried out. All clothing, kit and weapons supplied for a Middle East sojourn had to be handed in and checked. The personal possessions of soldiers living in the accommodation blocks had to be collected from stores where they had been held securely during their absence, and regulation debriefing sessions were a priority before leave was granted.

The Drumdorran Fusiliers had moved into the base while the personnel of the West Wiltshire Regiment had been away, and the Bandmaster saw an opportunity to parade his beloved pipers for a musical welcome to the tanned, weary, stressed-out, saddened troops returning without eight of their number, two having been flown home in coffins a month earlier.

Tom, who hated the sound of bagpipes, declared it was more likely to cause the West Wilts to climb back in the coaches and return to face the Taliban, but he was in a minority of one and the familiar six-monthly turnaround became almost a party occasion, a huge crowd turning out on a beautiful sunny day to make merry. The stirring tunes played by the massed pipes, the musicians' kilts swinging, their plaids over their shoulders fluttering in the breeze, had spectators clapping to the drumbeat, and drove small boys and girls to march alongside them in delight.

The members of 26 Section continued their work of interviewing and eliminating every person who had even the frailest links with Maria Norton and the opera performances she had excelled in. They encountered much frustration. The musicians were parading around the base, and many people who had attended classes at the Recreation Centre on the same nights as rehearsals for
Carmen
were watching the band or embracing a loved one returning safely to them.

Connie Bush had better luck. Having been advised by a nurse at the private clinic that Staff Sergeant Andrews would not be brought from heavy sedation for another twelve hours, she had gone home for the night and revisited the patients after breakfast this morning. Andrews had still not emerged from sedation, so she talked to Sergeant Ted Griffiths about his two friends.

A lean, freckle-faced man with thinning light brown hair, the least injured of the three, he had a multitude of bruises which ranged from black through purple to blue and yellow, a broken toe and a four-inch laceration on his left leg.

‘Talk about bloody luck,' he said to Connie, pointing to the other bed in the side room. ‘My mates are well and truly mucked up. Only consolation is they won't remember anything about how it happened. I was out for a few minutes but, apart from that I saw and heard the whole appalling business.' He frowned. ‘Wish I hadn't. It'll give me nightmares forever.' Responding to Connie's gift of encouraging confidences, he added, ‘I mean, warfare's one thing. It's what we're trained for. But there were women and kids screaming out for help. And all that fire! Christ, it was like dying and arriving in hell.'

She nodded with understanding. ‘I remember seeing as a child one of the thatched cottages in our village burning. It was the
sound
of flames roaring in the cold night air, the crackle and popping, like gunfire, that terrified me more than the fire itself. Fortunately there were a number of vehicles between yours and the centre of the pile-up on the autobahn. Have the
Polizei
visited to get a statement from you?'

He shook his head against the pillow. ‘Once they realized who we were they were happy to get shot of us.'

Connie gave a faint smile. ‘Sounds about right. Once all of you are fit to give an account we'll take notes and send a report to them. How's Sergeant Hibbert in Intensive Care? Have they told you the latest?'

‘Yes, they're very good about that, even though they treat us like aliens from another planet most of the time. Hibby's doing OK. P'raps two more days, then he can join us. Trouble is, I'll be discharged by then and won't see him.'

‘Surely they'll let you visit him before you leave.'

‘No, Sarge, the only person allowed in there is his missus. They gave her a lounge chair with a pillow and blanket for the night.' He grimaced. ‘She speaks good German. Probably gets better service.'

Thinking that the hospital visitor chatting had gone on long enough, Connie embarked on what she had really come for. ‘Staff Andrews' wife and children in Ireland, have they been told about his condition?'

‘Doubt it. When she upped and left, he saw the company commander and told him she was only to be notified if he was killed. Otherwise not. She really did the dirty on him. He hates her. I mean, really sodding
hates
her. But he misses the kids. Always sending money and presents. Never gets any replies, and they're all old enough to do that.' He gave a heavy shuddering sigh which was probably due to remnants of shock. ‘On a hiding to nowhere, if you ask me. He's got no visiting rights, and she's a spiteful bitch who's likely poisoned their minds against their dad.'

‘That's a shame,' murmured Connie, and meant it. Her own father and grandfather were killed in the light aircraft they had bought together and rejoiced in flying. She would give anything to have her dad back. ‘Vince is fond of children, is he?'

‘And some! He lived for his four.'

A fairly common story, thought Connie, although more often the other way round. ‘So his wife tired of being ignored and looked elsewhere?'

Pale amber eyes studied her thoughtfully. ‘You're a real surprise, know that?'

‘In what way?' she asked, certain of his reply.

‘Redcaps! Well, they're hard and mean. All brawn and not much else. But you. You're like a normal woman.'

She laughed softly. ‘Oh, I can be hard and mean, Ted. Come up against me in a back alley on a dark night and you'd be sorry.'

It brought a return grin. ‘I'd gladly meet you in a back alley on a dark night, if it wasn't for my girlfriend back home.'

‘So Mrs Andrews had an affair while Vince spent all his time and energy on his kids?'

‘No! She turned into a bloody saint; always in the church dusting and polishing and lighting candles. But for the kids she'd've taken vows and become a nun. No, it was Vince who had an affair. That didn't bother her for herself, but he'd sinned against the church which was more than she'd accept. So when Father Shannon suggested a short healing separation, she upped and decamped to Ireland and her devout family with every intention of staying there for good.'

Knowing she was getting the information she wanted, Connie was happy enough to be interrupted by a nurse who came to check on the condition of the man they were discussing, then to ask if they would like coffee.

‘Soon he will be wakeful,' she told Connie as she left to fetch the drinks. ‘But you must not make tired.'

Sipping her coffee gratefully, Connie asked, ‘This affair of Vince's, is it still ongoing?'

‘Ended very abruptly coupla months ago. Girl in Signals. Likes singing, so she gets the main part in some show and tells him she'll be too busy to be with him.'

‘Was he upset?'

‘
Upset
? Went ape when she told him that. I mean, it had been really hot. Vince was the happiest he'd been since Moira took the kids back to Ireland.'

‘And now?'

Ted sighed. ‘See, we three had long weekend passes, plans for a mini R and R but Vince, stupid bastard, was set on watching this girl strut her stuff on Saturday night. Couldn't budge him, so Hibbie and me said we'd have our usual pub crawl in town and stay overnight in a
Gasthof
that's not too fussy about the state you're in. We arranged to meet Vince at the Whirligig, but we bloody didn't track him down until three ack emma at Scarz. The bugger said he thought that was the agreed RV, but he was pretty much legless and we guessed he'd been drowning his sorrows after seeing her again. Mind you, we were also well pissed by then.'