That would be Victor, Mr. Montaigne.'
'He hasn't been in touch yet, has he?' said Joe. 'I know the police were keen to let him know what's been going on.'
'Not so far as I know. But it doesn't surprise me. The other partners made a point of leaving a contact number whenever they went away. He made a point of not leaving one. He said he didn't want his holidays spoilt by some idiot client making a fuss about nothing.'
She clearly didn't approve. Joe said, 'Yeah, puts a lot of responsibility on the others when one opts out.'
'Precisely. A team needs internal loyalty. I mean, it doesn't matter what the members say about each other so long as they're loyal. But without that
'Bit mouthy, was he?' said Joe. 'I know the type. Little cracks, nothing to take offence at, but very irritating.'
He wasn't being clever, he really did know plenty of folk like that, but if his sincerity made her talk ... 'You're so right. He had these nicknames for us all, German, from some opera. You know, the kind of thing a lot of people pretend to like because it's fashionable. I prefer a good musical myself, but Sandra once explained it all to me. He said the one thing that held us all together was gold, meaning money, I suppose. Mr. Pollinger was Wotan, the King of the Gods..'
'Wagner,' said Joe. 'The Ring.'
Rev. Pot was an enthusiast and on one of the choir's annual outings, he'd organized a trip to London to see Das Rheingold. Aunt Mirabelle had walked out after Act One, denouncing it as pagan nonsense. But Joe had quite enjoyed it. He hadn't seen any of the other operas in the cycle, but he'd borrowed the Rev.'s discs partly because he liked a lot of the singing, but mainly because he couldn't bear not knowing how it all turned out.
That's right,' said Mrs. Mattison. 'He called Mr. Naysmith and Mr. Potter Fas and Faf, after two giants. They'd played rugby together, you know, and were still very athletic and interested in sport. And the girls who worked in the office he called Rhinemaidens. And me he called Briinnhilde, because I was in charge.'
'And what about Ms lies?'
'Freia, because he said she was determined to stay young forever. Sandra didn't seem to mind.'
'And the others? Did they mind?'
'Apparently not,' she admitted. 'Perhaps I was the only one who really minded, but it wasn't for myself. I could see it was disruptive. But the others just pretended they thought it was rather clever.'
Joe noted pretended again. Like a lot of people with strong opinions, Mrs. Mattison couldn't really believe any sensible person could disagree with her without some hidden agenda.
'Did Mr. Montaigne have a part for himself?' he asked, trying to recall the legend.
'Sandra sometimes called him Logic, I think it was.'
Of course. Loge, the crafty god, the wheeler-dealer.
'But why are you asking me all this, Mr. Sixsmith?' she said, looking at him shrewdly.
He said, 'No harm in asking a good-looking woman about her work, is there?'
'Oh, I see. What they call chatting up, is it?' she asked, laughing.
Joe was professionally pleased though personally unflattered by her amusement. One thing for him to say, 'No harm,' another for her to show she thought him harmless.
He said, 'Mr. Pollinger's taking his time.'
She said, 'He could have come in the back way and gone straight up to his office, I suppose.'
Joe said, 'He asked you to come in special because of what's happened?'
'Well, it does mean there's a lot to do,' she said vaguely. 'But I would probably have come in today anyway, just to make sure everything was ready for the New Year. Dates changed, machines serviced, stationery stocks high, that sort of thing. In the run-up to Christmas it's easy to let things slip.'
'Don't believe it,' said Joe smiling. 'Not you. You in charge of stationery, you say? That would be Freeman's?'
'Yes. How do you know that?'
Joe wasn't sure how he knew.
He said, 'Girl I know works there. Or rather, daughter of a friend. Doreen McShane. You ever come across her?'
Though that wasn't how he knew. He'd hardly exchanged more than two words with the girl, all of them unfriendly.
Mrs. Mattison wasn't looking all that friendly either.
'Flighty-looking young woman with a lot of make-up?' she said shortly. 'Yes, I remember her. She used to come with deliveries. Haven't seen her for a while.'
'I think she works in the office now,' said Joe.
'You surprise me. My impression was she could hardly spell her own name.'
An understandable if uncharitable impression, thought Joe, seeing Sexwith in his mind's eye.
'She's dyslexic, I think,' he said.
Mrs. Mattison looked embarrassed.
