She'd used half a roll of Sellotape on the envelope, but I eventually made it to the contents.
I have a lot of sympathy with the Chinese. I usually read the front page of a newspaper first, then the back page, then work through it from back to front, like they are supposed to do. I'm sure it's more natural. I'm equally convinced that we drive on the wrong side of the road in Britain, and the Continentals and most of the rest of the world have it right, but I rarely put that one into practice. The list was on the type of computer paper with sprocket holes down the edges, in a continuous concertina of folded pages, about a hundred, although I didn't count them. I started at the last name — Younghusband, William Defoe, 'Carrickfergus', Cotswold Manor Garth, Heckley and slowly started to work my way upwards on the long journey towards Abbott, John, 143 Sheepscab Street.
I studied them methodically, unhurried. I'd read each name and dredge my memory for a spark of recognition. One or two sounded familiar, but the addresses were wrong. A couple were policemen I knew. Then I'd read the address and try to visualise where the member lived. I studied them all, but I was mainly interested in the women. If I didn't find anything we'd have to put them in the computer and let that search through them.
Two hours later my eyes were burning. I'd be reading names, flicking through them, and realise that nothing was registering. I'd go back a few places and try again. I thought of playing some music, but when I glanced through my collection I found nothing that wouldn't have been a distraction. Just reading the labels reminded me of Annabelle. After a great deal of dithering I marked the place I'd reached in the list and rang her number. The ansa phone came on. I put the receiver down, had a think about it and dialled again.
'It's me,' I said. 'Hello. Last night… I may have said things that I didn't mean… I'm not sure if I said them or just thought them..
anyway, I take them back. I was upset. The last five years have been the happiest of my life, and I'm grateful to you for that. You're a big girl, and you must do what is best for yourself.' I wanted to say a lot more, but ansa phone tapes are not very long. I finished with: 'I hope it works out for you. Don't write or anything… It's not necessary… But you know where I am, if you need me. Oh, and I meant what I said in the note. Every word. Goodbye, love.'
I'd made another mug of tea and was arranging the sheets on my lap to recommence the search when the doorbell rang. I looked at the clock it said just after ten. I refolded the pages with my pen marking the appropriate place, about halfway through, and went to answer it.
Maggie was standing there, pale and grim, her coat buttoned up around her throat. 'I'd like a word, Boss,' she said.
'Come in,' I invited, holding the door wide.
She walked through into the lounge and sat down, leaning over to see what the printout was about.
'Heckley Squash Club,' I told her. 'Membership list. Dr. Jordan was friendly with a girl there, called Sue or Sheila or something. I was looking through them for inspiration. So, what's happened? Is something wrong?'
'I'm… not sure,' she replied.
'Are you taking your coat off?'
She shook her head.
'Cup of tea? The kettle's just boiled.'
'No. I don't want a tea.'
'Right. In that case, you'd better tell me why you're here. Sadly, I'll assume it's not a social visit.'
The fingers of her right hand screwed up the belt of her coat and smoothed it out again. I've known Maggie a long time. We have a good working relationship but there's something above that between us. She's listened to my problems and chided or encouraged me, as required. I've leaned on her. They say that there's no such thing as a platonic friendship between a man and a woman, but I'm not sure I agree.
'No,' she said. 'It's not a social visit.'
'So what sort of a visit is it?'
'What you just said, a moment ago…'
'What?'
'You said: 'Sadly I'll assume it's not a social visit.'
I shrugged. 'So?'
'It's flirting. You do it all the time, Charlie. I don't think you know you're doing it.'
I was puzzled. 'I'm not flirting with you, Maggie,' I told her. 'I'm being pleasant, or at least I thought I was. If I've got it wrong… if you have a problem with it, I'll change. I'll be an arrogant bastard like most of the others. Is that what you'd prefer?'
'No.'
'Well I'm not in the mood for a lecture on political correctness, Maggie, from you or anyone else. I treat everybody the same, and you know it. I respect our differences, and work round them, but as long as we're all pulling together I don't give a toss about them.'
She unbuckled her belt and unfastened the top buttons of her coat. 'I know,' she sighed. 'It's just that…'
'Just that what?'
'This morning. You went to see Janet Saunders.'
So that was it. 'Oh,' I said.
'She rang me. You scared her, Charlie. Have you any idea what she went through?'
'I like to think I have.'
'No, you haven't. I thought she was pulling round, learning to trust us, but now…'
'Maggie,' I said. 'It was ten o'clock in the morning. You weren't available. No one else was. I played it by the book, and for God's sake, her daughter was there.'
'You commented on her looks.'
'Yes,' I admitted. 'And I meant it. It was an observation, not a come-on. The last time I went to the cinema I made a similar remark about John Travolta's smile, but I've no desire to hop into bed with him. It was a crass thing to say, under the circumstances. I realised that, as soon as the words came out, and I apologised.'
'She said you went up into the bathroom and tried the shower, where Buxton says it happened.'
My elbows were on the chair arms, my fingertips pressed against their opposites in front of my face. I drummed them together in a rhythm that Dave Brubeck never mastered. 'What are you trying to say, Maggie?' I whispered. 'What are you implying?'
'I don't know, Charlie.'
'If you're suggesting that I went round there in the hope of having sex with Mrs. Saunders, I want you to leave, now. Make a formal complaint, if you want, but leave.'
'I tried to tell her that you'd have a good reason for what you did, Charlie. I said you were a person who cared, like nobody else I know, but you frightened her. I told her that if she wanted to make a complaint about you, that I couldn't handle it. There was a procedure … It'd have to be someone higher up the ladder. But I assured her she was wrong, she'd misunderstood. I offered to have a quiet word with you, and she agreed.'
'So that's what this is: a quiet word?'
'It looks as if I've made a balls of it.'
I shook my head. 'No, you haven't. I'm grateful for you coming, and I'm sorry if I upset Mrs. Saunders that was the last thing I wanted.
But I've a job to do. If she's like this after I visit her, how will she be on the stand, with Buxton's brief implying that she's every kind of slag under the sun?'
'Do you think it will come to that? Go to court?'
I looked across at her. 'Trust me, Maggie,' I said. 'Trust me.'
'OK,' she replied. 'That's good enough for me.'
I walked her to her car. Her husband, Tony, was sitting in the driver's seat. She'd brought backup. 'Hello, Tone,' I said.
'Hi, Charlie. All sorted out?'
'I think so.'
I waved them away and slinked back inside, shivering with cold. I closed the door and leaned against it. Not you, Maggie, I thought.
Don't you desert me, too.
