'He just stopped going. One weekend I asked him if he'd played at all through the week and he said he'd stopped. Didn't want to play anymore.'
'When was this?'
'About a year ago. No, more than that. Summer before last, if I'm not mistaken.'
'Where did he play?'
'In Heckley. It must have been near the hospital because he used to play after work or at lunchtime or something.'
'Right,' I said.
'Do you think it's important?'
I shook my head and smiled. 'No, but this malpractice charge might be.'
'I'm sorry. We really would like to help you catch whoever did this to poor Clive. He was a lovely man.'
I asked a few questions about Dales Diary and the music business. It was interesting, and I was reluctant to leave that fire. Before I was in danger of overstaying my welcome I said: 'I'd better go, but there's just one last question I'd like to ask.' She looked at me as I picked her photo from the floor. 'Will you sign this for me, please?'
There was a thin layer of snow over everything, like a dust sheet over furniture, waiting for the decorators to arrive, but the wipers swept it aside easily enough. Genghis advised me to go the long way, through Burnsall, where the hills were less steep, and to come back if I had any problems. A few cars had preceded me and the snow on the main road had already turned to slush, but the traffic was crawling. We must be the worst winter drivers in the world. It was nearly ten when I arrived home. Annabelle had left a message to call her on the ansa phone 'You haven't been working until now, have you, Charles?' she asked.
'Yes,' I replied, 'but you could hardly call it work.'
'Why is that?'
'I've been to interview an actress called Natasha Wilde. She's the leading lady in Dales Diary, on television.'
'Really! And what has she done?'
'Nothing. She was supposed to be the girlfriend of our dead consultant, but she hardly played the devastated fiancee. I've seen greater expressions of sorrow over a spilt drink.'
'Perhaps she was acting being brave.'
'Perhaps.'
'Charles,' Annabelle said, hesitantly. 'About this weekend.'
'I've booked a table at the Wool Exchange, for eight on Friday,' I told her.
'Oh.'
'Is there a problem?'
'No. No. But Xav rang me earlier tonight and said he'd like to introduce me to a designer that he's thinking of engaging. Apparently he's sacked the others they were taking advantage of him and their suggestions were second rate, as you know. He wants me to be there when he talks to these other people. He says he respects my opinion.'
'Well he's right about that. But I thought you were going to do the designs.'
'Umm, well, I thought so, but perhaps it's all a bit too ambitious for someone with my little experience.'
'Nonsense,' I assured her. 'You can do it. The only thing these so-called experts have is confidence.'
'The problem is, he wants me to go up to London, first thing on Saturday, on the early train, so I wouldn't want to be too late.'
'Oh. So do you want me to cancel the table?'
'No, of course not, as long as we are not too late.'
'Do you want me to take you down?'
'That's kind of you, but I'm not sure when I will be coming back.'
'Why? How long are you thinking of staying?'
'Only until Sunday or Monday.'
'So where will you stay?'
'I'm not sure, at the moment. At Xav's, perhaps, or he'll find an hotel for me. He's paying my expenses and a fee.'
There must have been something in the way I said: 'Oh.'
'Charles, what are you suggesting?' she demanded.
'Nothing. Nothing at all. I'm just missing you, Annabelle. Xav knows he's found someone special, and he's got me worried, that's all.'
'Don't be silly, Charles,' she replied. 'I'll look forward to seeing you on Friday.'
I put the phone down and prayed for the biggest blizzard to hit the North since the Great Ice Age. I had a sandwich banana, honey and a sprinkling of cocoa and caught up with the news on TV. They were having it bad down South, but they always are.
I took a shower and went to bed reasonably early. Then I remembered that I had no ironed shirts. I got up and hung a couple over the shower head, in the hope that the creases would drop out overnight. I dreamed about operating on Genghis to remove a piano from his brain, on the deck of an open boat with only an electric iron for a scalpel and big waves crashing over us.
'What have we got?' I asked. We were seating ourselves around my desk again. Nigel carefully lowered three steaming mugs and sat down.
'Custard creams,' Sparky replied.
'Pass 'em over, then, please.'
'Wait a minute,' Nigel said. 'Wait a minute. Where did that come from?'
Sparky followed his gaze to the wall behind my desk and smiled. Natasha had written: 'To Charlie, with lots of love, Natasha Wilde', on her photograph, with four kisses, and I'd pinned her on the wall next to my new calendar from the Bamboo Curtain.
'She's dotted that last i in an unfortunate place,' he observed.
'I hadn't noticed,' I said.
'I take it you had a succesful meeting,' Nigel declared.
'She's a very nice lady.'
'Find anything useful,' Sparky asked, 'apart from her telephone number and her favourite tipple?'
'Mmm. She confirmed that the doc was knocking somebody off at the clinic, presumably the registrar's wife that we already know about; about eighteen months ago he mysteriously stopped playing squash; and, sometime in the past, he's been accused of malpractice.'
'Malpractice?' Nigel said. 'What was that about?' 'She didn't know.
Can you look into it, please? Try the
General Medical Council.'
'Right. And what's so special about giving up squash?' 'Nothing. She was just trying to be helpful. One minute he was a keen player, then he stopped, that's all.'
'Perhaps he had a recurring injury. It happens all the 'Yep.'
Sparky chipped in with: 'You said he was knocking someone off at the clinic' 'Mmm.'
'The registrar works at the General. Was this a different one?'
'Sugar! I don't know. I'm certain she said the clinic Maybe she meant the hospital. What's the difference between a clinic and a hospital?'
'I think your mind wasn't on the job,' Sparky said 'You could be right,' I admitted. 'Let's try to check it from this end. What did you two find?'
Nigel said the parents were bearing up remarkably well Doctoring was the family business they were both GPs He d come away with the names of a few friends and had promised to have a word with the coroner about releasing the body for a funeral.
'And at the hospital?' I asked, turning to Sparky 'Nothing worthwhile. To be honest, there seems to have been a great deal of affection for the doctor, from both sexes. Everybody agrees that he was a fine doctor and a good bloke. He had his flings, but he was a gentleman 'Sounds a bit like me,' I said.
'Just what I thought, Charlie. So I collared the registrar and asked him if he knew that the doctor, or
