Deadheads

This was too sharp for comfort and all Wield could manage in reply was the stock, 'We have to cover every possibility, sir.'

'Well, I certainly don't know anyone who'd do this kind of thing,' said Daphne firmly.

'I see,' said Wield. 'And you, sir? Is there anyone you can think of who might have a grudge against you? In your work perhaps?'

Aldermann shook his head slowly as much in disbelief as negation.

'I'm an accountant. I work for Perfecta Ltd. I can think of no one there, or indeed in any department of my life, who might bear a grudge sufficiently strong to make him vandalize my wife's car and then set about several more to cover up his deed.'

The man's tone was still perfectly polite but it was approaching the politeness of farewell. It was saying that unless this idiot policeman could produce some reason even slightly above the moronic for continuing this interview, it ought decently to draw to a close.

Wield could only agree, even though it meant he was going back to Pascoe empty-handed. He had heard nothing and seen nothing worth commenting on.

Suddenly the little girl who had been sitting all this while playing a game with Police Cadet Singh which involved peeping at him through her fingers and shaking with internalized giggles whenever he caught her eye and grimaced in reply, said, 'Mummy, can I play on the swing?'

'Of course, dear,' said Daphne. 'Shall I come and give you a push, if the sergeant is finished, of course.'

'No, I want him to push me,' said Diana, pointing at Singh.

'I don't think . . .' began the woman but Singh rose with his brilliant smile and said, 'I don't mind. All right, Sarge? Up you come, love.'

He swung the girl up on to his shoulder and set off down the garden.

'He sounds like a native. Of Yorkshire I mean,' said Daphne.

'You pick it up quite fast after seventeen years,' said Wield gravely.

'But he can't be more than . . . oh, I see, you mean he is a native?'

Wield who knew the old rule which saidDon't be cheeky to the customers unless they're nicked, or you're Dalziel, said, 'He's a nice lad. Lovely roses, you've got, sir.'

Aldermann's face lit up with a smile which equalled Singh's.

'Yes, it's promising to be a good year. They've made an excellent recovery after that awful winter. Are you a rose man, Sergeant?'

'From afar,' said Wield. 'I live in a flat. The best I can manage is a couple of houseplants and they're likely to die from neglect.'

'Have you thought of a window-box and some of the miniatures?' asked Aldermann. 'They can do astonishingly well, so long as the box is well drained and preferably south-facing.'

'Is that right?' said Wield, alert to the change from watchful reserve to lively enthusiasm, though it was so marked that he didn't need to be very alert. 'What varieties would you recommend?'

'That's hard,' said Aldermann. 'I can point out growing characteristics, but as for looks, every man's his own arbiter. 'Varieties' in roses means just that. Their variety is infinite; at least it appears so. Every year brings new advances. That's the fascination of being a hybridist. You're never really certain what you're going to get. You select your stock according to the best horticultural principles, you do all the work, everything goes according to plan, but not until you see that first bloom do you really know what you've achieved. It brings a whole new range of excitement and uncertainty into our experience!'

'I get plenty of that in my job already,' laughed Wield.

'Do you?' Aldermann sounded mildly surprised. 'I suppose policing is rather unique. But on the whole, isn't most of life, outside the rose-garden, I mean, surprisingly unsurprising?'

'My husband is an enthusiast and also an evangelist, Sergeant,' interrupted Daphne with a slightly strained laugh. 'I really must see to the dinner, darling. And it's time that Diana was coming in, I think. Would you see to her?'

This was dismissal, polite but clear, and Wield stood up to take his leave.

Aldermann however came to his aid.

'Diana sounds happy enough,' he said, glancing down the garden where they could see and hear the little girl squealing in delight as Singh pushed the swing higher and higher. 'And I must show the sergeant some of the miniatures he's interested in. I've got a few in a raised bed down here.'

He set off down the steps which led from the terrace into the garden. Daphne Aldermann said, 'Goodbye then, Sergeant,' and held out her hand. Wield shook it, wondering where this well-bred lady drew the line. Would she shake hands when saying goodbye to a uniformed constable, for instance? And was he right in sensing an enthusiasm to be rid of him that would have made her shake hands with a leprous cannibal?

He followed Aldermann down the garden along a narrow path between two clumps of exuberantly colourful rhododendrons to a long windowless outhouse in rustic brick. As if the shrubbery were not screen enough, the building was almost covered by a huge climbing rose which seemed to support the walls rather than vice versa. It was laden with large, ruffled, soft pink blossoms which exhaled a rich perfume.

'You like my Madame Gregoire?' said Aldermann as he fitted a key in the door. 'You're seeing her at her best. Another month and she'll be down to a handful of blooms.'

He opened the door and went inside, snapping on a light switch.

'It's very nice,' said Wield, following, though to tell the truth he was finding all this colour and scented air a little cloying. His thoughts somehow drifted to his mother, a generously rounded woman who had been much given