believe it came from someone connected with this Club.' Evans let out a long whistle. The others merely looked stunned. Then Noolan and Sid Hope both spoke at once.
'What grounds have you…?'
'What did it say…?'
They both tailed off.
'Your ball, I think, Willie,' said Hope. I'll answer you both. Or rather, I won't,' interjected Connon. 'I won't reveal my grounds. Nor will I tell you what the letter said. The writer already knows. It concerns no one else.' 'Well, Connie,' said Noolan expansively, 'I'm sure we're all very sensible of the strain of your situation and the shock this kind of thing, whatever it said, must have caused both you and Jenny. But I don't think that a committee meeting is the proper or best place to discuss this, do you? Let's close the meeting, then we can talk informally. This isn't the kind of thing we'd want to see in the minutes, is it?' 'Yes,' said Connon. 'It is. I'd like to propose that the writer of this letter when known should be barred for life from the Club.' 'You're being a bit bloody silly there, aren't you, Connie?' snorted Arthur Evans. 'I mean, how can you bar him from the Club if you don't know who it is, then?' He looked round, acknowledging the triumph of logic by a small rocking movement of the head. The others were looking at Connon, however, each doubtful what to say. Certes, the first team secretary and the youngest there, the man most likely to succeed Hurst as captain, had a rather different problem. He was the least well acquainted with Connon and had no intention of saying anything at the moment. His problem was knowing what to write. His pen rested, unmoving, on his notebook. 'Connie,' said Noolan finally, 'I don't think this is an admissible proposition. Firstly, Arthur's right. We can't bar someone we don't know.' 'I didn't say I didn't know him,' said Connon. Now jump, you buggers. Now stare in wild surmise. This is that thing called change. Things will never be the same again. Till I let them.
Noolan was the only one who did not react.
'Then it is your plain duty to inform the police of your knowledge.'
'Haven't I just done that, Willie?'
Now there's one in the breadbasket for you, you old goat, thought Evans. That's got you nonplussed. Spend all your life hanging around on the edge of the scrum and it comes as a bit of a shock to get a pair of fingers up your nostrils. 'Our discussions at these meetings are minuted, Connie, and as such are published to our members.' 'I know. I haven't noticed Reg writing much for the past few minutes, though. Have you made a note of my proposition, Reg?'
Still without speaking, Certes began to scribble.
'Very well, Connie,' said Noolan resignedly. 'We have a motion proposed by Mr Connon. Is there a seconder?' The blare of music from the social room came in very loud. Connon felt a drum start beating in his head. The edge of pain began to intrude between the muffled notes. He put up his hand and began to massage his temple.
'Are you all right, Connie?' asked Hurst.
'Yes, fine. Just a headache.' The wheels were turning now. He hadn't felt anything for three days now. But it was back. McManus would have to do something. Old fool. Long past it. What can he know about…
I'll second it.'
Well, that's scuppered you, Willie.
It was Arthur Evans's distinctive lilt.
'In that case, unless there's any further discussion we'll take a vote.' 'Just one point,' said Hurst. 'What does it mean if we pass this motion?' 'Nothing until they catch this fellow, whoever he is. Then if he's in the Club, he gets thrown out. If he's not in, he can't get in.' 'We're still very much in the dark though, Connie. Can you assure us that the contents of this letter were such as make such action reasonable?' 'You know my daughter? They caused her very real distress. Actionable assertions were made.'
'Right-oh. Go on, Willie.'
'Let's have a vote then. Those in favour?' Firmly, Arthur's hand went up, Hurst's. Certe's. More slowly Hope's.
'And you, of course, Connie.'
'Of course. And you, Willie?' 'It's not part of my function to vote here, unless the meeting is deadlocked. Carried unanimously. Anything else? No? Then I declare the meeting closed.' They sat still for a second, then Evans stood up and pushed his chair back and the others followed.
'Let's get a drink,' said Evans.
'Just hang on a moment,' said Certes. 'I've got the tickets we ordered for the Welsh match at Twickenham next month. They're a bit scattered around – we must have been near the bottom of the pile, I'm afraid.' 'Bloody inefficiency,' said Evans. 'It wasn't like this when I was secretary. Eh, Sid?' Too true. The nearest we ever got to Twickenham was Cardiff.'
Certes grinned amiably.
'Anyway, I've sorted them out so we can all sit next to our nearest and dearest.'
'With the best seats for committee members, of course?'
'But of course. Here you are Sid. Three it was, eh? One for you, Peter. Two for you, Willie.' He hesitated and a note of uncertainty came into his voice.
'And you too, Connie. There's two here for you.'
'Two?' said Connon. 'Let's go and have that drink,' said Noolan over-loudly. 'All this talking!' That's right,' said Connon, reaching over and taking the tickets. 'It was my turn to get Marcus's this year. I hope we can see this time. I was behind a post last year and the Irish scored three tries right on the other side of it.' Trust the bloody Irish. Second only to the Welsh in low cunning,' said Hurst. 'Are you sure you're OK, Connie?' he whispered to Connon as the others went ahead through the door. 'Yes. Just a bit of a head, that's all. I don't think I'll go through just yet, Pete. I'll catch you up in a minute or two.'
'OK, Connie. See you do. It's good to see you around again. We missed you at the selection meeting earlier. There's copies of the teams on the board there. I'd be interested to hear what you think.'
'I'll have a look.'
'Right. Don't linger too long, though. There's not much drinking time left.' From the far end of the social room, Superintendent Dalziel noted with interest the order of emergence from the committee meeting. 'Sit down, Willie,' he said to Noolan who was so deep in thought he'd almost walked past the table. 'What kept you so long?' Pascoe found Jacko Roberts fascinating and Roberts himself seemed to be almost obsessively interested in the (to him) paradoxical situation of a well-educated man joining the police-force.
'You went to college, did you?' he asked again.
'Yes. University.' 'Like them posh-talking bastards over there in the corner?' 'Yes. That's right. Beneath this rough exterior lies the education of a posh-talking bastard.' 'But they'd make you a sergeant straightaway? No uniform or anything?' 'No. I had to spend the usual time on the beat, in uniform.'
'Directing traffic?'
'Yes. That too.' That's what your boss should be. Directing traffic. I can understand him, but your 'What's a nice guy like me doing in a dirty job like this? Well, I'm trying to get information out of you for a start.' For a while as Jacko's interest grew, Pascoe had seen the outline of a softer, happier, younger face beneath the deeply etched misanthropy of his usual expression. But now the mask returned – or the illusion faded.
'It's your round.'
Pascoe brought Roberts two pints.
'It'll save time.'
'What do you want to know?' 'Simple questions, really. Who'd want to harm Mary Connon?'
'Next question?'
'Who'd want to harm Connon?'
'Next?'
'Who's knocking off Gwen Evans?' He jerked his head slightly towards the other end of the bar where someone was describing to the lady in question some event which seemed to involve a great deal of grappling with her unresisting frame. It could have been anything from a dance routine to a loose maul.
'Anything else?'
That'll do for starters.'
Another half-pint gulp.
'I'm no bloody oracle. And I don't see why I should help you. But I'm big-hearted. That's why I'm so poor.
