'I think so. And I thought he seemed pretty fit considering.'
'Considering he's been murderously assaulted by a man he thought of as a friend?' she replied sharply.
'Yeah, well, the physical damage, I meant really. That'll soon mend.'
'You have a medical qualification, do you?'
'No, ma'am. Just some practical experience,' said Joe, gingerly touching his stitched-up skull.
For the first time she seemed to notice that he too was damaged.
'You've been in an accident,' she said.
'Sort of,' he said. 'But I was luckier than your husband. At least I didn't lose any teeth.'
'Teeth?' she echoed.
'Yeah. You know. His top fronts. That must be really painful.'
To his surprise she laughed and said, 'Oh no. That hasn't just happened. Another rugby souvenir. He always takes the plate out while he's sleeping. You mean, he's been talking to you without it in. That makes him sound like Violet Elizabeth Bott!'
'Don't know the lady,' said Joe. 'But I'm glad that's all it was. Look, try not to worry too much, Mrs. Naysmith. I really don't think there's any more danger.'
'Really?' she said sceptic ally 'Why not?'
'Because your husband was presumably attacked to keep him quiet. Now he's had plenty of chance to speak to the cops, no point any more in trying to shut him up, is there?'
She thought about this, then the nearest he'd yet seen to a smile touched her lips.
'You could be right, Mr. Sixsmith. Thank you. Thank you very much.'
He left, feeling pleased with himself for having brought a little cheer into Lucy Naysmith's life. Always good to do good. Even if it took a lie.
Whoever it was, Montaigne or anybody else, who'd tried to silence Naysmith, he'd done it after the guy had talked to the police, so whatever reason he'd got could still be valid.
Also, until Naysmith got his memory back fully, switching it off forever could seem very attractive.
'Sandy,' he said to the young cop in the car, 'if Sergeant Chivers checks you out, he's going to want to know how often you took a look round the back of the house too.'
'Yeah, yeah,' said the Scot with an attempt at a teach-your-grandmother inflection.
But as Joe drove away he was pleased to see in his mirror the young man climbing out of his car and heading up the drive.
Twenty-Three.
The year seemed eager to anticipate its own end. The sky was so overcast that early afternoon was already shading to dusk and a sharp blustery wind whipped leaves and crisp packets around Joe's ankles as he walked across Bessey Park.
The only other occupants seemed to be a man with a dog and a pair of youngsters in the bandstand, their hands deep into each other's clothing. Who needs central heating? thought Joe.
He'd made up his mind that Molly and Feelie had had more sense than he had when he saw them by the pond. The little girl looked impervious to weather as she scattered crumbs on the bank, then retreated shrieking as the hungry ducks advanced to peck them up. Her grandmother sat hunched on a bench, gloved, scar fed booted and hatted, and still looking cold.
'Joe, there you are, I'm sorry you've been dragged out on such a day, and all for nothing.'
'No sign of her then?' said Joe.
'No. She may be mad but she's not stupid,' laughed Molly. 'Probably sitting at home with a cup of cocoa and a good book, which is where you and me ought to be. Come on, darling, or you'll catch your death and then what'll your mammie do to me?'
The child left her ducks with great reluctance and only after a promise of ice cream.
'Ice cream!' said Molly. 'Oh what it is to be young.'
As they walked out of the park, they talked of many things. She was an easy woman to chat with and Joe felt attracted to her on many levels, from basic lust up. Not that he was going to do anything about it. While not yet sure if his relationship with Beryl Boddington had passed the fidelity marker, he had no doubt about his relationship with Merv Golightly. In any case, even if the code of the Sixsmiths had permitted him to try and cut a friend out, Molly spoke of Merv with such obvious affection it didn't look a possible strategy.
'Will you come on up and have a cup of tea, Joe?' she asked when they reached the door of her flat.
'Don't think I've got the time,' said Joe with genuine regret.
She opened the door and the little girl rushed in and started gathering up some advertising leaflets which had been pushed through the letter box.
'That's right, darling, see if there's any coupons. By the way, Joe, those leaflets Merv got Dorrie to run off, they doing you any good?'
For a second Joe imagined a sexual innuendo, then he remembered that Merv had been adamant that he didn't want Molly to know about the Sexwith cock-up.
'Early days,' he said, recovering. But the second had been significant.
