“Two occasions when you got very close to pulling off coups, but something went wrong…?”
He nodded, immediately blushing at the recollection.
“Could you tell me a bit about them?”
Wilkinson grimaced. “I wouldn’t normally talk to anyone about this, but, given the situation between us…” (Mrs Pargeter decided it would be prudent to get the information before defining too precisely what the situation between them was.) “I’ll tell you.” He lit a new cigarette from the stub of the old one and ground out the butt on his side plate. “Both of the incidents concerned a gentleman called Mr Pargeter…”
“Oh, really?” She smiled innocently.
“Yes.” Wilkinson again acknowledged the coincidence. “Same surname as you’ve got.”
“Mmm.”
“But, as we’ve established, nothing to do with you.”
“Oh, no.”
“Your late husband was a reputable businessman.”
“Oh, yes.”
“Well, on both occasions I was acting on a tip-off, and –”
“Excuse me, who would that tip-off have been from?”
“It was a regular copper’s nark. Informer who went under the name of Posey Narker.”
“And did you meet him face to face?”
“No, there was just a phone number we rang, and his payment went into a secret bank account.”
“Right,” said Mrs Pargeter thoughtfully.
“So, anyway, the first incident happened in – ” Inspector Wilkinson shuddered – “Chelmsford.”
“Oh?”
“I was duped, led up the garden path –” – He bowed his head – “even made to look a fool.”
“Dear me.”
“I don’t want to go into too much detail, but basically I ended up arranging a police escort to the docks at Dover for what I believed to be an ambulance, but was in fact a van containing a gang of villains and a huge haul of used fivers.”
“Bad luck,” Mrs Pargeter murmured, and then let out a little cough, almost as if she were trying to suppress some other sound.
“Yes, it was. Very unfortunate. Kind of thing it takes a long time to live down in the Police Force.”
“I can imagine.”
“What was really strange about it…” the Inspector went on thoughtfully, “was that only today, I got involved in another case which bore distinct similarities to the Chelmsford operation.”
“How very odd,” said Mrs Pargeter, all wide-eyed interest. “You said there was a second occasion when you had rather bad luck…?”
“Yes. This was again acting on a tip-off…”
“From Posey Narker?”
Wilkinson nodded. “This time I would have got the whole gang. Mr Pargeter was planning a really big raid on a Hatton Garden jewellers. It was going to involve every single person who’d ever worked for him. I could have arrested the lot of them. Whole thing was set up, I’d made detailed plans to entrap them, and…”
“And what?” asked Mrs Pargeter, knowing the answer.
“And the raid never happened. Mr Pargeter died just before they were due to start.”
“Ah.” She looked a trifle misty-eyed. “I see.”
“Anyway…” Craig Wilkinson shook himself out of his retrospective mood. “That’s all in the past. So far as I’m concerned, all failure is in the past. Because now I have you. And together we can ensure that everything in the rest of our lives is successful.”
“Ye-es.” Mrs Pargeter began cautiously. “When you say ‘now you have me’…”
“Sorry.” The Inspector chuckled. “Jumping the gun a bit there perhaps. Yes, we should get the formalities out of the way first, shouldn’t we? Right, here’s the official proposal. Do you want me to go down on my knees?”
“Certainly not. Not on this carpet.”
“Right.” He looked straight into the violet-blue eyes. “Mrs Pargeter, will you marry me?”
“Oh…” Looking at him with an expression that mingled pity, anguish and confusion, and lying through her teeth, she replied, “That’s one of the most difficult questions I’ve ever had to answer. You’re a fine man, Craig…”
“I know.” He nodded complacently. “You said that once before.”
“Did I?”
“Yes. When we met for that drink in Greene’s Hotel. You told me that I belonged to a fine body of men, and that I was a fine man myself…”
“Yes?”
“… and that was the first time I realized that you felt the same way about me as I did about you.”
“Ah. Erm, Craig… Yes, yes, you are a fine man, and – ” she lied again, “there are women all over the world who would give their eye-teeth to have an offer like the one you’ve just made to me…”
He nodded, stroking the line of his moustache with satisfaction.
“… and I really wish that I could say yes to your proposal…”
“You can. It’s easy. Just say it.”
“I’m sorry. I can’t.”
“Why ever not?”
“Because I’m in love with someone else.”
“What?” Inspector Wilkinson looked as if he’d been punched in the face. “Then I’ll go and meet this ‘someone else’ face to face and I’ll –”
“No. No, Craig, you can’t,” she said gently. “No one can meet him face to face. You see, he’s dead.”
“Oh.”
“I’m sorry.” And Mrs Pargeter moved away from lies to the complete truth, as she went on, “I’m talking about my late husband. He was a wonderful man. We loved each other and had a perfect marriage. And, though sometimes it almost annoys me, the fact remains that I can never love another man. There was only ever going to be one love in my life. I’ve been fortunate enough to have had that, to have enjoyed it for many years, and I know it can never happen again.”
There was moisture in Mrs Pargeter’s eyes, and it caught a reflected gleam in Craig Wilkinson’s. “I see,” he said flatly. “Well, that’s it really, isn’t it?”
“I’m afraid it is.”
“Your husband, Mrs Pargeter, was a very lucky man.” She nodded. “And he must have been a very good man, to inspire such devotion.”
“He was,” she agreed. “He was a very good man indeed.”
Wilkinson nodded ruefully. “So you will never be mine. That’s not going to be the way I make my mark on the world.”
“No. I’m afraid it isn’t. Still,” she said encouragingly, “maybe things’ll pick up in your professional life.”
Inspector Wilkinson let out a hollow laugh. “Yes, I can just see it. No,” he continued, cast down in gloom, “some people are destined to pass through life without making any mark at all, and I’m afraid I’m one of them.”
“Oh…” said Mrs Pargeter, trying desperately to think of something that could ease the awkwardness of the situation.
A sound like a choke emerged from Craig Wilkinson’s mouth, and she realized to her horror that he was fighting back tears. And he wasn’t of the generation who would allow themselves to be seen crying by a woman. He rose to his feet.
“I must go,” he announced abruptly, and walked out of the restaurant.
Leaving his folder on the table in front of him.
Mrs Pargeter reached across casually and picked it up.
The waiter/owner/cook, alerted by the sound of the door closing, emerged from the dark recesses of his kitchen. “Are you ready to order now?” he grunted.
