“Your Aunt Jules is free to see anyone she wants, Kit. And you know that Sam and Lally weren’t happy when their mum and dad were living together.”
Kit shrugged.
“They’ll be fine, Kit. They’ll all adjust. You’ll see,” Kincaid said, addressing what he suspected was the heart of his son’s disquiet. Kit associated change with loss, and he projected himself into other people’s situations with a fierce empathy that would be dangerous if he didn’t learn to set some emotional boundaries.
Kincaid was beginning to think it was a very good thing that he was going to be spending more time, not just with Charlotte, but with Kit and Toby. He’d have to make sure that the boys got their share of attention.
“Let’s do something special after school one day next week,” he suggested. “Maybe we could go to the Natural History Museum.”
Kit glanced at him. “You’re really going to stay home?” He sounded carefully nonchalant.
“Stay-at-home-dad, that’s me.”
“You don’t know what Charlotte likes for her tea.”
“I’ll find out, won’t I? But I’m counting on you to help me out with this.”
Kit nodded, looking gratified, and Kincaid was about to inquire into Charlotte’s mysterious preferences when his mobile rang. He glanced at the number, swore under his breath, then switched to hands-free. It was his boss, Chief Superintendent Denis Childs.
“Sir,” he said. Then, “Guv, you know I’m taking a few days’ holiday this week.”
But Childs knew that, of course, and had worked out exactly where he was likely to be at that moment. And as he listened, Kincaid realized he might as well give in gracefully. When his guv’nor wanted a personal favor, there was no one more determinedly persuasive. Resistance was futile, and besides, he knew Childs wouldn’t ask if he didn’t feel it was important.
Nodding, he took in the details, then said, “Right. I’ll get back to you,” and rang off.
He felt Kit’s stare even as the connection went dead. “We’ve got to make a stop in Henley,” he explained. “It shouldn’t take long.”
Kit looked away, his face expressionless. “Gemma won’t be best pleased,” he said.
Gemma, Kincaid thought, was not the only one who was going to be unhappy.
The Jolly Gardeners was very jolly indeed, thought Doug Cullen. The front beer garden could double as a nursery, and as they’d not yet had a hard frost, many of the plants and hanging baskets were still in bloom. But the furniture was wet from the morning’s rain, the wind swung the baskets like metronomes, and the only occupants of the patio were die-hard smokers huddled at one of the tables nearest the building.
Ushering Melody inside, he saw that the pub’s interior was as appealing as the outside—brick walls, wood floors, a long, gleaming bar, and simple but comfortable-looking mismatched furniture. There was no television in sight, and the pub was pleasantly busy for a weekday lunchtime.
He breathed a quiet sigh of relief, pleased with his choice. When they’d picked a table near the garden windows—Doug carefully avoiding the snogging sofa—and Melody was examining the menu on the blackboard above the fireplace, he studied her. Now that she’d taken off her coat, he tried to work out what seemed different about her since he had last seen her.
She’d abandoned her usual severely tailored suit, for one thing, and wore casual trousers with a cherry- colored cardigan that set off her dark hair and pale skin. Her hair looked a bit less sleekly tamed as well, but perhaps that was just the wind, or his imagination.
“Very gastro pub,” Melody said, but she seemed pleased. “And I’ve just realized I’m starving. I think I’ll have a burger. And after that, if I’ve the room, the Eton Mess.”
“That’s a summer pudding,” he said.
“Nevertheless, it’s on the menu, and I want it. I thought you were indulging me.”
“So I am.” Unable to concentrate on the menu, Doug opted for a ploughman’s. When he’d ordered the meals and half pints for them both at the bar, he carried the beer back to the table carefully, trying not to slosh it.
“Cheers.” Melody lifted her glass, and he clinked his against it. “To your new house.”
“And your new job.” He touched his glass to hers once more, then sipped. “So how
“I’ve missed Gemma. But when the posting for Project Sapphire came up, it sounded interesting, and I’ve loved it.”
Just the idea of interviewing victims of sexual assault made Doug feel uncomfortable. “Isn’t it hard, talking to women about what’s happened to them?”
“Not only women,” she corrected. “Men, too, although it happens less often, and they’re more reluctant to file a report.” She paused, sipping a little more of her beer as the barmaid brought their cutlery, then continued, “And yes, of course it’s hard. But the fact that they’ve come forward is progress. And besides, I’m mostly working cold cases. I try to find matches between newly reported assaults and unsolved cases. When we get a result, it’s brilliant. We may be able to put away a guy who’s been preying on women for years.”
Their food arrived, and as Melody ate bites of her oozing hamburger with surprising delicacy, Doug wished he’d ordered something a bit less crumbly than the ploughman’s. The Cheddar and Stilton were delicious, the bread crusty and warm, but every time he took a bite he showered himself with crumbs.
Making a futile attempt to brush off his tie, he looked up and saw a glint of amusement in Melody’s eyes. Instead of bristling, he smiled back. “Can’t take me anywhere. Not that I expect to be going anywhere much,” he added, sobering. “They’re sticking me on Superintendent Slater’s team while Duncan’s on leave.”
“You don’t fancy him?”
“He doesn’t fancy Duncan, nor me by association. He’s a by-the-book kind of guy.”
“And you’re not?” Melody looked surprised.
“No, I’m bloody well not,” he said, instantly defensive.
She put down her knife and fork and frowned at him. “Doug, I’ve never seen such a stickler for the rules as you. There’s nothing wrong with that. It’s part of what makes you good at your job.”
“That’s easy for you to say.” His tone was accusing, but he couldn’t call it back.
“I don’t make a habit of breaking rules,” she said sharply. “And when I have, I’ve regretted it. You know that.” The camaraderie between them had vanished like smoke. “And as for Duncan,” she added, “he may bend little rules now and again, but he doesn’t break the big ones.”
“So how do you know where to draw the line?” Doug asked, wanting to reestablish the connection he had so clumsily broken. “I’m not trying to take the mickey here. I really want to know. Every time I think I’ve got it right, I seem to screw up.”
Melody sat back, picked up her cutlery again, fiddled with a bit of lettuce on her plate. She met his eyes. “I don’t know,” she said, without her usual assurance. “Surely it depends on the situation.”
“But you must be able to set some sort of—”
His phone rang. Why the hell hadn’t he put it on Silent? Grimacing, he started to ignore it, then remembered he was still officially at work.
“You’d better answer it.” Melody pushed her plate away.
When he saw the ID, Doug muttered, “Bloody hell.”
“Somehow,” said Melody, “I think you’re going to owe me an Eton Mess.”
Gemma had spent the hour since Kincaid’s phone call alternately grumbling to herself and trying to jolly the restless and increasingly cranky children in the Escort’s backseat. When her phone rang, she’d been a few minutes behind Kincaid on the M4. Toby and Charlotte had insisted on stopping at the first services on the motorway, although she suspected their demands had more to do with the siren lure of sweets than a need for the toilet.
“You simply cannot have let Denis Childs talk you into taking a case,” she’d said, trying to keep her voice level when he’d explained his change of plans. “Not today. Not this week.”
“I’m not taking a case. I’m simply seeing if there
There had been no choice but to agree to meet him, as she couldn’t very well leave Kit cooling his heels at a crime scene. Or a potential crime scene. “And what would he have done if I hadn’t been so conveniently to hand?” she’d muttered when she’d hung up. “Dropped Kit off on the roadside somewhere?”
