“Thank you for not pushing me.” Nancy rested affectionate eyes on Pole.
“There is no need for me to be impatient.”
“Still, you have given me a lot of your time and hard-earned information, of course.” Nancy toyed with a piece of broccoli that looked inviting, yet she seemed to have lost her appetite.
“I expected to discover that my father had completely severed his links to the Chinese Communist Party, so the hint of a connection came as a shock.”
“I suppose he never spoke about his continued connections with China when you were in France?”
“That’s right. After we had escaped from China and settled in Paris he never said anything about the people he knew back there … He spoke with me about China as a country, about its art and history, but not about its politics. I never realised that until now. Perhaps he commented on what was happening there with the artist friends he engaged with and talked politics with, but I would not have been party to those conversations.”
“It’s heartbreaking to leave the country one loves and to leave everything behind, especially friends and family.” Pole stopped eating and waited a moment. “There was perhaps an element of guilt.”
“There must have been … Survivor’s guilt is sometimes stronger than …” Nancy chewed and swallowed her mouthful of food before finishing, “… the blood ties of love and family.”
“You are making assumptions now … as I am and I apologise. We still don’t know what his motivations were for returning to China.”
“You are right and I should not assume that he was simply a selfish bastard.” Nancy clenched her fork a little too tight, the sinews of her hand prominent under the strain.
“I can think of another explanation.”
Nancy gave Pole a dubious look. “Which is?”
“Perhaps he hoped that China would soon become a better place and that he would be able to return with you and you mother … and re-introduce you to your country of birth.”
“That’s a generous interpretation, Jonathan.” Nancy gave Pole a bitter yet kind smile. “I fear things are not going to unfold in a way I am going to like … the links to China’s communist party is just the beginning.”
“I’m still holding out for that interpretation.”
“In order to be convinced I need to learn a lot more about my family and the friends he spent time with.”
Pole was about to renew his offer of help, when Nancy interrupted. “You have done so much already. Let me see whether I can gather some information from my own contacts.”
Pole could not argue with that, not yet anyway. Perhaps this was a way for Nancy to slow down the process she had found painful from the very beginning. Whatever he did, Pole was convinced that Nancy would soon realise that the intelligence he had produced and gathered did not come from police archives, not even those of Interpol.
“Always happy to help and …” The ping of Pole’s smartphone interrupted Nancy’s reply. A text had arrived.
Superintendent Marsh needed him urgently.
* * *
DS Branning had been offered a cup of tea and a biscuit which he accepted gratefully. He hardly stepped into the flat to retrieve the beverage, and disappeared outside for what appeared to be a much-needed fag.
“You think we should offer him one of ours?” Johnny flopped onto one of the old sofas they had rescued from a junk shop and revived with patterned throws and colourful cushions.
“I doubt DS Branning smokes pot when he’s on duty.” Beth said, bringing in the tin of biscuits from the kitchen. Charlie was balancing their cups of tea on the large green chopping board that doubled up as a tray.
“Do you think he’ll be able to smell it?”
“What … the grass we smoke or the one that we grow on the rooftop?” Charlie plonked a mug in front of each of them.
“Cora da’ling, you’ve said nothing since you arrived.” Johnny extended his arm towards his friend and laid a bejewelled hand over her forearm.
“Don’t be a dick … she only arrived a few minutes ago.” Beth took her mug and retreated deep into one of the armchairs.
“Not true … it was …” Johnny consulted with a great flourish his brand new Patek Philippe watch. “A whole half hour ago.”
“Sorry guys, it’s just that everywhere I look, I’m reminded of Ollie.”
Everybody went quiet for a moment.
“We’ll help in any way we can.” Charlie had dragged the old leather chair he favoured next to Cora’s.
She straightened up and gave a short sigh. “Thank you … I know you are his friends and you are missing him too.” She leaned forward to pick up her mug, blew on the hot liquid that was sending curls of steam into the air. She managed a smile. “And you even remembered which is my favourite cup.”
“Of course, my lovely, us gay men are good at that stuff.” Johnny gave a little wave of the hand, mocking the conventional wisdom on gay mannerisms.
A ring of the doorbell interrupted their conversation.
“DS Branning must have finished his smoke and his tea.” Beth stood up slowly. Her pink corduroy overall and matching striped pullover brought out the colour of her dark skin. She had just returned from Guyana where she had unashamedly enjoyed the sun, ignoring her mother’s complaints about her skin tone.
Cora’s thoughts were transported to a happier time. She had shared a holiday with her friend, still remembering the quiet argument with her mother. “So what, mum … I’m black and black is beautiful. And I don’t need strange creams to make it look lighter.”
Charlie went to the door and Beth took the opportunity to switch chairs.
The voice that came from the corridor told everyone that DS Branning must still be on his break.
Nat walked into the flat wrapped up in a emerging designer winter coat, created by one of her friends.
“No bike today then?” Johnny eyed the coat with envy.
“I didn’t feel like biking with a box of
