Alibi

“Dad,” Richard said, suddenly close to the back door.

“Yes?”

“Are you going to tell mum about the suspension talk?”

“I don’t think so,” said Roger. “I think she has enough on her hands with Scoop at the moment.”

“Okay,” said Richard, and his eyes lit up. “Mum’s the word for mum!” He strode ahead of his father and into the house, calling, “Hallo, Mum —the pride of the family’s home. Moth-er! Where are you?”

Roger was in the doorway in time to see Janet appear at the passage door looking at her most attractive. She was smiling, apparently not weighed down by the prospect of Martin’s coming emigration. Richard gave her a hug, exerting mock strength, and then held her at arm’s length.

“Where’s my dinner? I break my neck trying to get home for little mother’s daily dinner deadline, and what do I find? Mother—dolled up in her best. No apron, no floury hands, no dinner.”

“Idiot,” Janet said, obviously revelling in this. “Ten minutes.”

“But I’m hungry now!”

“You stay hungry for ten minutes,” Janet ordered, and Richard allowed himself to be pushed aside. “Hallo, darling,” she said to Roger. “I’m sorry I’m late but I’ve been going through Scoop’s clothes, we’ll simply have to buy him some new ones, we can’t have him going round Australia like a tramp.”

“But that’s exactly what he’ll be,” put in Richard.

“Oh go and telephone Lindy or find some other way to fill in your time.” Janet pushed her son towards the door, Roger touched her shoulders and gave her a light kiss on the cheek. “It will be nearer twenty minutes,” she amended, and then looked intently into Roger’s eyes. “You haven’t got to go out again, have you?”

“I may have to, later,” Roger answered, “but I’ve at least a couple of hours.”

“That’s something,” Janet said in an artificial voice betraying a bitter word. “Why don’t you take the papers and have a drink in the sitting room while I’m finishing off?”

Roger washed, slipped on an old jacket and worn leather slippers, had his drink, and went into dinner. Scoop arrived late, obviously pleased with life; and the boys kidded a great deal. They cleared the table between them, then Richard went up to his room to do some work on his Irish trip and Martin up to a box-room where he painted. Roger went into the kitchen and dried up as Janet washed. She was preoccupied, presumably about Martin, so they said very little. Roger allowed his thoughts to roam, from Richard and his startling question, to the case, to Artemeus’s offer, and to the simple fact that he couldn’t make up his mind whether to tell Janet about that or not. If he told her, she would almost certainly want him to leave the Yard, and he would readily understand why. Her anxious “You haven’t got to go out again, have “ you?” was a vivid reminder of her constant complaint. They could never plan to go anywhere or do anything together with any certainty, he was so often called out. A job which paid a fortune and which would leave him free at weekends would be a dream to her.

She had often been edgy over the past few months, and if that was hardly surprising of a woman in the late forties, it wasn’t the easiest situation to live with, especially in a household of men. Scoop’s doubts about telling her directly, Richard’s only half-pretended apprehension about being late for dinner, his own doubts about telling her of the Allsafe offer, were all indicative of the home problems. They weren’t acute but one could never be sure when there would be some kind of emotional upheaval. And so far they had escaped lightly over Scoop’s plans.

He put the last of the china on the kitchen dresser, she wiped the last burnished saucepan and hung it from a head-height shelf. Then she turned and asked with sharp intentness, reminiscent of one of her edgy moods. “What is it that has to be so “mum” with mum? What were you talking to Richard about? What can you discuss with him and not with me?”

Chapter Twelve

CLASH

 

Roger looked into her face, and felt a sudden surge of love for her. At times such as when Richard had been fooling with her, she looked exactly like the girl she had been when they had met and married. Now, she was tense and anxious. She was, of course, bound to suffer some delayed action from the shock of last night’s news; whatever else, he thought protectively, he must soothe and help her.

So, he laughed.

“You think it’s funny,” she exclaimed.

“I think it’s very funny,” Roger said.

“Well, I don’t think it’s funny at all.” Her eyes were over-bright, and they sparked with anger which must have been brewing all the evening. “Are you going to tell me what it is? Or are you going to hold a family conference to decide whether I can be trusted with the information?”

Roger suddenly felt very tired. He’d hoped to keep it from her—hadn’t wanted to worry her with this particular problem—but he’d have to tell her about it now, of course. He slipped an arm round her shoulders.

“There’s a rumour in Fleet Street, one that reached Richard’s studio, that I have been or am about to be suspended by the commissioner,” he explained. “I went to a room expecting to find a man and instead found a woman. The situation was somewhat compromising.

Richard heard something about this at his studio, otherwise I wouldn’t have said a word to him.”

As he talked, her expression changed from anger to anxiety, then to alarm. She didn’t relax, didn’t speak immediately, and Roger made himself go on, “The whole thing might blow over in a day or two and be forgotten, so I didn’t think there was any point in worrying you about it. Where were you when you heard what Richard said?” he added, in an attempt to take the tension out of the situation.

“In the bathroom.” That was immediately above the path at the side of the house. “Why have you been in disgrace?”