“Why not? She always enjoyed a good laugh. Presumably she still does.” He reached for a tea towel and held it to his head.
“Don’t worry, I’m not going to die on you. Head wounds always look worse than they are. You’re very beautiful.
“From the east to western Ind, No jewel is like Rosalind.”
“It’s Roz and I’d rather you didn’t quote that,” she said sharply.
“It annoys me.”
He shrugged.
“As You Like It.”
She sucked in an angry breath.
“I suppose you think that’s original.”
“A tender nerve, I see. Who are we talking about?” He looked at her ring finger.
“Husband? Ex-husband? Boyfriend?”
She ignored him.
“Is there anyone else here? Someone in the kitchen? You should have that cut cleaned.” She wrinkled her nose.
“In fact you should have this place cleaned. It stinks of fish.” The smell, once noticed, was appalling.
“Are you always this rude?” he asked curiously. He rinsed the tea-towel under a tap and watched the blood run out of it.
“It’s me,” he said matter of factly.
“I went for a ride on a ton of mackerel. Not a pleasant experience.”
He gripped the edge of the small sink and stood staring into it, head lowered in exhaustion, like a bull before the coup de grace of the matador.
“Are you all right?” Roz watched him with a perplexed frown creasing her forehead. She didn’t know what to do. It wasn’t her problem, she kept telling herself, but she couldn’t just walk away from it.
Supposing he passed out?
“Surely there’s someone I can call,” she insisted.
“A friend. A neighbour.
Where do you live?” But she knew that. In the flat above, the young policeman had said.
“Jesus, woman,” he growled, ‘give it a rest, for Christ’s sake.”
“I’m only trying to help.”
“Is that what you call it? It sounded more like nagging to me.” He was alert suddenly, listening to something she couldn’t hear.
“What’s the matter?” she asked, alarmed by his expression.
“Did you lock the door after you?”
She stared at him.
“No. Of course I didn’t.”
He dowsed the lights and padded across to the entrance door, almost invisible in the sudden darkness. She heard the sound of bolts being thrust home.
“Look-‘ she began, getting off her stool.
He loomed up beside her and put an arm around her shoulder and a finger to her lips.
“Quiet, woman.” He held her motionless.
“But-‘ “Quiet!”
A car’s headlamps swept across the windows, slicing the darkness with white light. The engine throbbed in neutral for a moment or two, then the gears engaged and the vehicle drove away. Roz tried to draw away but Hawksley’s arm only gripped her more firmly.
“Not yet,” he whispered.
They stood in silent immobility among the tables, statues at a spectral feast. Roz shook herself free angrily.
“This is absolutely absurd,” she hissed.
“I don’t know what on earth is going on but I’m not staying like this for the rest of the night. Who was in that car?”
“Customers,” he said regretfully.
“You’re mad.”
He took her hand.
“Come on,” he whispered, ‘we’ll go upstairs.”
