She brought out his order on a tin tray and set it briskly on the table. She was wearing a sleeveless black dress and beneath it her small breasts rolled nakedly.
‘Some sauce?’ she asked him.
‘Just pepper and salt.’
‘You’d better let me fill your cup up.’
Her voice was neutral-toned, fastidious, with a slight contralto huskiness. Several of the men had an eye on her, including the one who was reading a paper. He lowered the paper at the sound of her voice, stared furtively, raised it again. She wasn’t pretty. She had a slight figure. She wasn’t young. Her expression was unpromising. But her eyes smiled, sometimes. From the whole depth of her body.
‘You’re sure you wouldn’t like some bread and butter?’
She hesitated by the table, stooping towards him. The sergeant suddenly put his glass down hard, straightened himself, made a dab at his tie. She looked at him indifferently.
‘Oh — are you going now, Johnny?’
He picked up his hat and pulled it on before replying: ‘I reckon I am.’
She shrugged slim shoulders. ‘You weren’t here for very long!’
‘No,’ he said. His mouth was petulant. ‘Think I’ll be on my way,’ he said.
‘You can stay if you like.’
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Think I’ll be on my way.’
‘Just as you like.’
He made a business with his tie. ‘Goodnight, Wanda,’ he said.
‘Goodnight, Johnny.’
He finished with the tie, walked out smartly, looking at nobody. A moment later came the racket of the moped and the sound of it being fiercely accelerated.
‘He’s jealous of you,’ Wanda muttered, but without looking at Gently. ‘He’s a damned little fool, as he’ll find out. I didn’t ask him to come up here.’
‘Why should he be jealous of me?’
She shrugged again. ‘They get ideas, these kids. They all think you’re going to sleep with them. What about that bread and butter?’
‘No thank you,’ he said.
Her eyes found him, smiled. ‘You don’t have to worry about your figure.’
‘I’m not that hungry,’ he said. ‘It’s warm.’
‘Well, don’t be backward in asking for anything.’
She took the tray, retired to the counter, began to wash and dry saucers and cups. The drivers who sat together, and who had fallen silent, now resumed their conversation. The man beside the jukebox came for another cup of tea. The snorer woke up, stared, went back to sleep. The man with the ring tilted his newspaper to get a good look at Gently eating. He was sitting at the far end of the room and was wearing what appeared to be brand- new dungarees.
‘That’s a fresh egg,’ Wanda said. Gently’s table was nearest to the counter. ‘I get them from a man up at Everham. Are you certain I haven’t seen you before?’
Gently grunted, drank some tea.
‘You’re not a film star,’ Wanda said. ‘I shall probably place you, if I think hard. You’re not in a hurry to go, are you?’
‘No,’ Gently said. ‘My time’s my own.’
‘I’m glad,’ Wanda said. ‘I like company. I never keep open later than eleven. Sometimes, if it’s slow, I close earlier. I shall probably close early tonight. You’re the type who smokes a pipe, aren’t you?’
Gently nodded. ‘I smoke a pipe.’
‘Yes,’ Wanda said. ‘A real pipe-smoker. A man should always smoke a pipe.’
Gently smoked his pipe. The trucks, the articulated, left. Eventually the man by the jukebox, a neckless cockney, looked at a pocket-watch and woke the sleeper.
‘Time to roll, Alf. We got to see a man.’
The sleeper came to himself with a start. He stared at Gently, blinked his eyes, picked up his cap and took from it a tab end. He lighted the tab end and coughed.
‘I been asleep, Len,’ he said.
‘Blinking telling me,’ Len said. ‘Like a flipping diesel you sounded.’
‘Snoring was I?’ Alf asked.
‘That’s being polite,’ Len said. ‘Never met a bloke like you. But on your feet chum. We got to roll.’
Alf rose, yawned, stretched, coughed again, drank some dregs from a cup. Wanda, who’d been behind the curtain, ducked through it again. She’d a comb in her hand.
‘With you,’ Alf said. ‘Bye, Wanda. Might be through here again Tuesday.’
‘Don’t do anything I wouldn’t,’ Wanda said.
‘Do us a favour,’ Alf said. ‘Bye for now.’
‘He’s got his old woman back,’ Len said. ‘You don’t have to worry about him, Wanda.’
‘Bye,’ Wanda said.
‘Bye,’ Len said.
They went out. Len slammed the door.
‘Regulars,’ Wanda said, coming out from the counter, putting the comb through her hair. A scent of sandalwood came with her. She had touched up her lips with pale red lipstick. ‘We used to be a smart place here, you know, until the war put an end to it. My husband ran it. We’re divorced. He divorced me. The place has gone down. Is that 105 yours?’
‘Yes,’ Gently said.
Outside the furniture van was moving out of the park.
‘They’re a nice car,’ Wanda said. ‘Not showy, just nice.’
She leaned at the table, looking down at him. She had powdered her face very slightly. She touched her lips with the tip of her tongue and her eyes smiled. She rocked a little towards him. The man with the newspaper rustled the newspaper. Wanda looked sulky, looked towards him.
‘Is there anything I can get you?’ she asked him.
He fumbled the newspaper nervously.
‘I’m just closing,’ Wanda said. ‘If you want anything you’d better ask for it.’
‘No,’ he said. ‘Nothing I want.’ He got the newspaper together. Besides the dungarees he wore a khaki shirt and a slouch cap which also seemed new. He rose from the table. He didn’t look towards them. He made for the door. When it closed Wanda went quickly across to it and shot the bolts at the top and bottom. She came back shrugging, laid a hand on Gently’s shoulder. The hand laid still, very light.
‘Is he a regular?’ Gently asked.
‘Him? I’ve never seen him before.’
‘Can I use your phone?’
‘Of course you can. It’s through here, in the parlour.’
She led him behind the curtain and into a small kitchen, switching off the lights in the cafe as she went. From the kitchen a door led left into a larger room which was dimly lit by a low-wattage lamp. The room was carpeted and furnished with a studio couch and three fireside chairs; two tables, a larger and a smaller, a pouffe, a bookcase, an old radiogram. The furniture was not new but it had been of good quality. On the wall hung a photographed nude. The subject of the photograph was Wanda. The telephone stood on the smaller table.
‘There you are. Help yourself. It’s a local call, isn’t it?’
‘Yes,’ Gently said. ‘Offingham Police Station.’
‘Oh, that’s all right, that’s local.’
She leaned her elbows on the table and watched him hook off the number. Her breasts were compressed between her arms and hung enlarged and defined. He was connected to the desk.
‘Gently speaking,’ he said. ‘I want you to trace the owner of a black Mini-Minor, registration number XOL 7397. Yes. Probably from the town. Yes. Everham 86. Otherwise when I come in. Thank you, sergeant.’ He hung up.
