After some readjusting the DC complained: 'She's got her back to us.'
'I know,' Jeff replied, 'but can't you just imagine her little skirt riding up her young thighs?'
Somebody added: 'And her tiny breasts thrusting against the thin material of her blouse.'
Dave said: 'And her knicker Tastic cutting into her like a cheese wire.'
'Perverts!' I shouted. 'You're all perverts!' and retreated into the sanctuary of my little office. The file from South Wales was on my desk. I looked through it then rang Rosie's number.
'How are you?' I asked when she answered.
'Fine, Charlie. And you?'
'I'm OK. Can I come over and see you tonight?'
'Of course you can. Have you made any progress?'
'I'd hardly call it progress but I've spoken to a couple of people. About eight-thirty?'
'Mmm. Eight-thirty. I'll bake you a cake.'
'Did you know that Gareth was a country and western fan?' I asked Dave as we drove over to Grainger's supermarket headquarters.
'You're joking.'
'He bought a Garth Brooks CD in HMV this morning.'
'Well, well. That should be worth something, one day. We still owe him for nabbing the knicker thief.'
Sharon Brown saw us in her office, after telling her secretary — a gawky girl with a ring through her nose and shoes the size of paddle steamers — to take a break. She didn't offer us coffee and sat behind her desk twiddling a pencil between her fingers. The jacket for her power suit was over the back of her chair and it was easy to see where the attraction lay for Sir Morton.
'What's company policy on shoplifters, Miss Brown?' I asked.
'We prosecute them all,' she replied.
'Without fear or favour.'
'That's right.'
'Old ladies — and gentlemen, I suppose — sometimes become confused. Don't you make any allowances for that?'
'Those confused old ladies, Inspector, are usually wearing fur coats with big pockets, and it's always a tin of best salmon they just happen to slip into one, never the tuna.'
'Are you saying that there's no such thing as Alzheimer's, or senility?'
'No, of course not, but it's up to the court to decide that.'
'It's rather stressful for them, don't you think, going to court for what is most likely the first time in their lives.'
'That's their problem.'
I turned to Dave. 'A girl called Rebecca Smith worked for Grainger's, here at this store, Miss Brown,' he began. 'She left under a bit of a cloud. We thought you had a policy of retraining and redeploying people who didn't immediately settle in.'
'We have,' she replied. 'Dismissal is absolutely a last resort.'
'What about bullying? Where does that come in the Grainger's management development programme?'
'If we were aware of any bullying we would take steps to deal with the causes of it.'
'You didn't in this case.'
'I wasn't aware of it.'
'Miss Smith has been advised to sue for constructive dismissal.'
Sharon Brown rotated the pencil between her fingers, glanced up at the clock and shuffled in her chair. 'That will be between her and our solicitors. I'm not familiar with the case.'
'But you must accept some responsibility.'
'I'm not familiar with the case.'
I cleared my throat and asked: 'Where were you last Saturday evening?'
She switched her gaze from Dave to me. A lock of dark hair fell across her spectacles and she brushed it away.
'Last Saturday,' I reminded her.
'I… went away for the weekend.'
'Where to?'
'I don't see that it's any of your business.'
Back to Dave. 'How long have you been shagging the boss?' he asked.
Miss Brown dropped the pencil and jerked her head to face him. 'I don't know what you mean.'
'Right,' he said. 'We'll start at the beginning. There are birds, and there are bees. And there are little birds and little bees. Shagging is what the big birds and bees do to get little birds and bees.'
'What about Mr Robshaw, the manager here?' I asked. 'Are you having an affair with him?'
She turned to me again, throwing her head back and laughing in an exaggerated manner, relieved to be on safer ground. 'Tim Robshaw!' she scoffed. 'He should be so lucky.'
Dave came straight in with: 'So it's just Sir Morton?'
She retrieved the pencil and carefully placed it on the blotter on her desk, exactly parallel with the edge. She stared down at it and readjusted its position, but we could see that her face had turned colour under the makeup and her lips were moving silently, as if she were chewing something unpalatable.
'We know that Sir Morton didn't go to Scotland,' I said.
'So where did you spend the weekend?' Dave added.
'Paris,' she whispered. 'I went to Paris.'
'With Sir Morton?'
She didn't reply and we didn't press her, content to see the devastation on her face, like some mediaeval merchant who'd just learned that his ship laden with bullion had sunk to the bottom of the ocean.
Chapter Nine
Rosie baked me a chocolate cake. 'It's a pity you didn't come earlier,' she said. 'It's a lovely evening. I've been sitting outside.'
'I wanted to spend an hour on my paintings,' I explained. 'You can only do so much at a time, then you have to wait until the paint dries.'
I didn't mention the long phone call I'd received from Cambridge. 'How did it go?' I demanded as soon as I realised who it was.
'I'm engaged, Uncle Charles,' Sophie told me, her delight evident in her voice.
'Oh, I'm so pleased, Sophie. I'm so pleased. I told you it would be all right. You told Digby about… you know?'
'About the baby? Yes, he's delighted. He was a bit shocked at first, thought he'd let me down, but he soon came round.'
'And you're engaged?'
'Unofficially, yes.'
'A big ring?'
'Not yet. I'm not bothered about one.'
'Congratulations, Sophie,' I said. 'I hope you're deliriously happy. I think you will be. Meanwhile, I'll just have to take this pair of tickets to Antarctica back to the travel agent.'
'Uncle Charles…'
'Mmm.'
'About Saturday. Thanks for looking after me. I'm glad I came to you, and I'm glad… well, I'm just glad.'
And so was I. My feelings had been mixed, just a little, but Sophie wasn't reduced to just another notch on my bed head, and that made me happy. We were still friends, something that lovers often can't say.
'Listen,' I said. 'I'm invited to lunch on Sunday but I'm scared stiff that Digby will say something to indicate
