Deadheads

'It doesn't sound as if Patrick takes after her much,' said Pascoe. 'Perhaps he's more like his mysterious father.'

'Perhaps,' said Dalziel thoughtfully. 'I'll tell you what, you two. I'm off to this bloody conference tomorrow. And because like as not you'll do what you bloody well want in any case, soon as my back's turned, I'll give you the week I'm away to rummage round in. It doesn't mean you neglect owt else, but if you've a couple of spare moments here and there, well, it's up to you. All right?

Now bugger off. I've got things to do before I go home and get packed. Oh, you might leave me that file to glance at.'

It was either a small concession or a great volte-face, depending how you looked at it. Pascoe was not inclined to quibble.

'Have a nice time, sir,' he said, dropping the file on the desk.

Dalziel grunted, looking down at the untidy surface on his desk on which his spade-like hands were arranging and rearranging articles impatiently.

It was not until he was out in the corridor that it occurred to Pascoe that he was probably looking for the top of his felt tip pen.

10

 

MOONLIGHT

(Hybrid Musk.Cascades of white blossom, full of old-world charm.)

Daphne Aldermann had been openly amused to note that Ellie Pascoe and baby Rose were clearly as well known in the Chantry Coffee House as they were in the Market Caff. Ellie was unabashed.

'I like it here,' she said. 'The coffee's better for one thing.'

'That compensates for the people, does it?' Daphne attacked, glancing round at the clientele which was largely middle-aged and middle-class females with hats and voices to match.

'I didn't say I liked them,' said Ellie. 'People en masse generally get up my nose. But with this lot I can feel irritated without feeling guilty.'

'Whereas getting annoyed at the disgusting habits and awful taste of hoi-polloi brings on an attack of conscience? I see.'

'I wouldn't have put it quite like that,' said Ellie. 'But clearly you understand the principle.'

'It's one you become familiar with when you're brought up in a parsonage,' said Daphne. 'Local ladies squabbling about who did the flowers was infuriating, but no worse than the deserving poor banging on the door just as Daddy was sitting down to his evening meal.'

'Was your sympathy with your father for being disturbed or your mother for having her cooking spoilt?' asked Ellie casually. Daphne smiled and said, 'Catch question. You want me to say how male-centred our house was! I'm afraid I can't help you. You see, my mother died when I was thirteen and thereafter I was very much in charge of the house. We had a woman-who-did, but her cuisine was based mainly on chips and brown sauce, so more often than not it was my cooking that was being spoilt. I used to get furious.'

'And feel guilty?'

'Only when the disturber turned out to be really deserving.'

'Or really poor,' said Ellie. 'It shows up the inadequacies of State care when people can still be forced to beg for handouts from the Church.'

To her surprise Daphne laughed out loud.

'Oh, come on,' she said. 'It wouldn't matter what the State did, there's always going to be people beating a path to the door of a rich parson well known to be a soft touch. It's called human nature, dear.'

Ellie decided to ignore the ideological challenge and said, 'A rich parson? I thought the virtue of poverty was one the Church forced its employees to embrace?'

'So it does. Fortunately it doesn't force them to embrace poor wives also. The money was Mummy's, you see.'

Her voice had a wistful note as at some remembered sadness. Ellie said brightly, 'At least it would mean your father could afford a decent housekeeper when you got yourself married.'

Her effort at cheerfulness failed miserably.

'No. Daddy was dead by then too,' said Daphne, tears starting to her eyes. 'It was awful. He was doing so well, he'd become Archdeacon, you see, and he was responsible among other things for checking on church structures in the diocese when there was any question of restoration work and appeals, that sort of thing. He'd gone out to St Mark's at Little Leven. It was in a really bad state, it seems. And a stone fell from the belfry while he was examining it and killed him.'

'How awful,' said Ellie, genuinely moved. 'I'm so sorry. That must have been a terrible thing to bear.'

Her hand hovered over Daphne's. She wasn't sure if physical contact would comfort the woman or merely precipitate a flood of tears and she hated herself for her uncertainty. Fortunately Rose, far removed from adult inadequacies, was ready with a diversion. A passing waitress stooping over the high chair to goo-goo her admiration brought a plateful of cakes within reach of the little girl and she plunged her tiny fist into the mouth of a cream horn with great accuracy and equal enthusiasm.

Daphne's distress disappeared in the ensuing confusion and Ellie happily sat back and let her take control, only interfering when she started to wipe Rose's hand with a napkin.

'Let her lick it off,' she said. 'It'll save on her next feed.'

It was nearly midday when the two women left the coffee house.

'Which way are you going?' asked Ellie.