collection of porcelain?'
'Oh, blast your porcelain, Hartley. Miss Soper isn't a child to have her mind diverted by a bag of sweets.'
Culpepper turned away and busied himself removing the foil cap from a fresh bottle of scotch. One two-thirds full stood in full view on the sideboard. Marianne glanced over at him with a faint pucker of worry between the eyes.
'We're all shocked by what's happened,' Pelman continued. 'They were nice people, our neighbours, members of our community.'
'Which not everybody made them particularly welcome to,' murmured Culpepper. 'Let me freshen your drink, Mr Pascoe.'
'Meaning?' demanded Pelman.
'That business at the Eagle, for a start,' replied Culpepper.
'That was between JP and the Hopkinses,' intervened Bell. 'Nothing to do with anyone else. They were well out of it. It's a much better pint at the Anne, and cheaper too.'
He grinned amiably, the pourer of oil on troubled waters.
'Who's JP?' asked Ellie.
'Palfrey, the owner of the Eagle and Child,' said Marianne Culpepper.
'Who, blameworthy though he is, should not be allowed all the blame,' said her husband blandly. 'And there were other things besides. Eh, Pelman?'
There was a ring at the front door bell.
'Hartley, would you answer that?' said Marianne, separating the antagonists. She tried to consolidate the forced armistice by-changing the conversation and Pelman seemed much readier to accept this from her.
'If this weather keeps up, we'll get some good riding tomorrow. Are you going out, John?'
'No such luck. I haven't reached Hartley's stage of executive elevation yet. I still have to bring my work home with me. Besides, Sandra says riding gives you a big bum.'
'John!' protested his wife. But she met Marianne's quizzical gaze with the unruffled smile of one whose own buttocks were as compact as a boy's.
'What is your job, Mr Bell?' asked Pascoe, trying to sound unlike a policeman. Nowadays he was never sure when he succeeded.
'I'm sales director of Nuplax, the kitchen utensil people. In Banbury.'
'That sounds very high-powered.'
'Oh, it'll do. But it's small time compared with Hartley. He's a top finance man with the Nordrill group.'
Pascoe looked impressed to conceal his ignorance. Nordrill he had heard of. An up-and-coming oil and mining consortium often in the news. But just what such a job meant in terms of responsibility and reward he could not conceive.
'That must be worth a few bob,' he said knowingly.
'It keeps him comfortable. Eh, Marianne?'
Bell's gesture included the woman as well as the unostentatious luxury of the room. Marianne smiled, but with little humour.
'I didn't realize Nordrill were centred in the Midlands,' said Ellie.
'Oh, they're not. But London's no distance with a decent car and a pied-a-terre if you don't fancy the drive back.'
Lucky old Hartley, thought Pascoe.
Lucky old Hartley re-entered accompanied by Dr Hardisty who, from the length of time they had taken, must have been giving as well as receiving information. With him was his wife, either younger or better preserved, with the brisk movements and reassuring smile that Pascoe associated with the nursing profession. It seemed a probable guess.
They hardly had time to express anxiety over Ellie's well-being and regret over Rose's death, at the same time studiously avoiding any reference to Colin, before the bell rang once more. This time Marianne went and after the inevitable delay, reappeared by herself.
'Hartley,' she said quietly. 'Do you have a moment?'
Culpepper left the room. Pascoe wandered over to the sideboard and freshened his drink generously. He was a firm believer in the social maxim from each according to his ability and there was evidence of a great deal of ability here.
Bell joined him.
'Does Palfrey do most of the social liquor trade round here?' Pascoe asked, holding the bottle of scotch like a conversation piece.
'Christ, no!' said Bell with his likeable grin. 'The odd bottle when you're stuck, perhaps. But who's going to pay his prices when you can get the same stuff for 15p less in town? Don't let our outward affluence deceive you, Mr Pascoe. Hartley may have an antique superior wine-merchant tucked away in the City, but the rest of us still push trolleys round the supermarkets.'
'Big of you to refuse to take advantage of your wealth,' said Pascoe, softening the comment with his own likeable grin. He had no desire to antagonize Bell. And he did want to talk about Palfrey. Why, he wasn't sure. Personal antipathy? Well, he had no official standing in this case, so the presence of personal prejudice could for once be ignored.
'How does Palfrey fit into the local scheme of things?' he went on. But his policeman's voice must have sounded through.
'You're very interested in old JP,' commented Bell curiously. 'Is it because of the row? If so, I really don't think I should comment. Not during a casual chat in a friend's house.'
Being without official standing clearly cut both ways. Pascoe tried another smile. It didn't feel quite as likeable as the last.
'Why JP?' he asked. 'Just his initials?'
Or is there some bloody masonic oath which prevents you from answering that?
Bell laughed.
'Yes, they are his initials.' He glanced around and dropped his voice. 'But they do service for other things besides. He's got ambitions to get on to the bench. God help all petty offenders if that happens! But they really stem from our vicar. He's a nice little Welshman, just one step out of the coalmine. He recalls in the old days in his village, a local copper-smelting firm hired a man to go around the streets every morning with two great buckets on a yoke. Everyone would empty their jerries into them!'
He laughed so heartily that the others stopped talking and turned to look. Like a disturbance at a funeral, thought Pascoe, surprised to find himself feeling embarrassed.
They used the stuff in some process at the copper-works,' explained Bell. 'Anyway, this man was known familiarly as Jim Piss! And the vicar, after his first taste of the bitter at the Eagle when Palfrey took over, told the story. The name stuck, but for politeness's sake, it became JP.'
Very droll, thought Pascoe. But it took him no further forward. He wasn't even very sure in which direction forward lay.
The Culpeppers were in the room again, he observed. But there had been no noticeable addition to the company. Which might or might not be odd.
Ellie was talking to the Hardistys and looking desperate. Pascoe could see why. Medical solicitude emanated from them almost visibly. He appproached to effect a rescue, but it proved unnecessary.
'Please excuse me,' she said to the medical twosome. 'I think I'll have an early night.'
Simple as that, thought Pascoe, smiling ruefully at his loss of role. In times of stress, the weakness of others is a useful source of strength. Ellie's self-possession was throwing him more and more into a confrontation with his own emotions, making him more and more of a policeman in order to retain his equilibrium.
But what the hell was there to investigate here? He looked hopefully around the room.
Ellie was at the door, reassuring Marianne that all her needs were catered for. She caught his eye and smiled briefly, then was gone. He felt a sense of relief, edged with guilt. With Ellie out of the way, there might be a chance to provoke some reactions. Pelman seemed the best bet. He had seemed much in favour of plain speaking on his arrival, though now he seemed content to turn the treadmill of social trivia with the rest. At the moment he was complaining about the cost of estate management.
