was particularly brisk for a Yorkshire cap presented by the county's greatest post-war cricketer, but silence fell after a voice jumped the offer from ?550 to a thousand.
'No advance?' inquired the auctioneer. 'Then sold to Mr Philip Swain!'
Pascoe followed his gesture and for the first time saw Swain. Whatever Dalziel's threats and Picardy's hopes, locally his credit must once more be good. He looked relaxed and at his ease as he accepted the congratulations of those at his table. Pascoe could put names to most of them except one young woman, good-looking in a heavy- featured way, who looked familiar but defied identification till he spotted Arnie Stringer beside her. It was Shirley Appleyard. She didn't look as if she were enjoying herself very much. As he watched, she rose and moved across the ballroom till she reached Dalziel's table. She caught Dalziel's attention, he got up and moved aside with her a little way, they talked, then both went back to their seats.
'Very interesting,' Pascoe said half to himself.
'What?' said Ellie.
'What some people will pay for a second-hand hat,' he answered vaguely.
'Second-head, you mean, surely,' said a would- be wit.
'Which would you prefer, a second head or a second cock?' interposed another.
'Depends if you're buying or selling.'
They could spin skeins of this pedantic waggery. Pascoe excused himself and went to the loo. As he came out, he walked into a very English low-voiced, high-keyed scene. A woman, whom he recognized as Mrs Horncastle, must have just emerged from the Ladies to find her husband waiting to intercept her.
'But it's so early,' she was protesting. 'And you agreed yourself it was a good cause.'
'I'm not sure if the end altogether justifies the means,' said the Canon. 'In any case, I feel we have done our duty. Our presence will have been noted.'
'So will our departure,' she replied. 'I can't possibly leave without saying goodbye to the people on our table.'
'I have made the farewells for both of us,' said the Canon.
At this point he became aware of Pascoe's presence and glared at him indignantly. Pascoe smiled back and said, 'Good evening, Canon, Mrs Horncastle. It's going rather well, I think. Perhaps we can have a dance later, Mrs Horncastle.'
She smiled pallidly and he left them to their synod.
Back in the ballroom the dancing had started again and the first thing he saw was Dalziel doing a nifty quickstep with Chung. The second was Ellie in the close clutches of the mediaeval vegetable man. Before he could analyse what he felt about either of these conjunctions, a bleeper went off. It said much for the atonality of the band that at first no one noticed. Then all eyes focused on a stationary couple, one of whom was fishing angrily through his pockets. It was Dr Ellison Marwood, and his partner was Pamela Waterson. The bleeper was found and switched off. He spoke apologetically to the woman. Pascoe walked over to them and said, 'Duty calling, Dr Marwood? I know the feeling. Don't worry about Mrs Waterson. I'll take over while you find a phone.'
'You' re too kind,' said Marwood satirically. 'I'll get back soon as I can, Pam. Sorry.'
She came into his arms and danced lifelessly till the quickstep ended. A ripple of applause was enough to send the band off into a tango.
'Do you?' said Pascoe.
'Not if I can help it. You haven't found him, then?'
'No. You haven't heard anything, I suppose?'
'No. I don't think I will. I think he's dead.'
'Good lord, no need to talk like that,' said Pascoe, genuinely shocked. 'He'll turn up just now, believe me.'
'I don't think so,' she said. She spoke without emotion but, as last time he spoke to her, he got that sense of black despair not far beneath the surface.
Could it be the kind of despair which would make her write letters to a stranger? He hadn't forgotten the letter-writer's hints that she would be here tonight, but it had hardly seemed worth exercising his mind on. There were getting on for two hundred women here, all wearing their most public faces. What hope of penetrating to the pain beneath that cosmetic finery?
Now here was someone who didn't, or couldn't, keep it hidden. Would a direct question surprise an honest answer? And how would he know? To ask would be to warn. Better to watch and ward.
He escorted her back to her table which seemed mainly medical. When he returned to his own, he found Ellie had just abandoned the fray, limping heavily. The vegetable man was most apologetic, but there was a glint in his eye which made Pascoe wonder if after all he had identified the toe which cracked his shin.
On the dance floor Dalziel and Chung swept from side to side in what should have been a parody of a Valentino tango but somehow wasn't. As if inspired by their togetherness the band was playing almost in tune.
'It's like the last night of the
'Or the Waterloo ball,’ suggested another.
They could be right, thought Pascoe. Except that the silent icebergs and the blazing cannon were not external but had probably been brought right into the middle of this merry rout in the minds and the hearts of some of the revellers. Oh Christ. Two glasses of anti-freeze and his mind was turning purple!
He felt Ellie's gaze on him.
'Penny for them?' she said.
