Agatha groaned. She began to have an uneasy feeling that this might be the one case she could not solve. She would not admit to herself that her defeatist feelings were because she now felt a fool for having so blatantly pursued George.
That evening, Toni braced herself to clear up matters with Bill. He wanted her to come to his home for dinner, but Toni said she would rather have a quiet drink in a pub because there was something personal they needed to discuss.
Bill met her, looking wary. His previous girlfriends, the few that had been straight with him before dumping him, had always said seriously that they wanted to discuss something personal.
After he had bought them drinks, he said wearily, “Out with it. We’ll always be friends, and yakkety-yak.”
“It’s just that I don’t love you—meaning, I’m not in love with you,” said Toni bravely, “and what’s more, you’re not in love with me.”
“That’s not true!” protested Bill. “Mum and Dad were so pleased. Dad was even going to find a house for us …”
His voice trailed away before the startled expression on Toni’s face.
“Look, Bill,” she said gently, “you can’t marry someone just because your parents like them. And any girl you turn out to be really in love with won’t want your parents butting in to choose where you are going to live once you are married. We’ve never even been to bed together. And that’s because neither of us has been carried away by passion.”
“What do you know about passion?” asked Bill sulkily.
“Nothing. But I’d like to. Think about it, Bill. You must have come across someone at some time you felt you couldn’t live without.”
Bill sat in silence, remembering at least two girls he had yearned after, dreamed about, but somehow, after he had taken them home, romance had died.
“You’ve been trying to suit your parents,” Toni went on. “Next time, try to find someone you want and don’t take the girl home until after you’ve got the ring on her finger.”
“I love my parents,” said Bill.
“And I envy you that,” said Toni. “At least you know who your father is. My mum will never tell me about my father and sometimes I even wonder whether she knows herself.”
“Is she still sober?”
“Yes, and doing very well.”
“Well, that’s that,” said Bill. “I mean—us.”
“I know you don’t want to hear about the friends bit,” said Toni. “But honestly, I think we were really meant to be friends.”
Bill gave a reluctant smile. “Sometimes, Toni, you seem older than Agatha.”
Chapter Four
AT THE END of the following working day, Toni was filing her notes on a case, glad it was over. Because of previous successes, she was often given work for women who wanted to make sure their husbands were not having affairs.
Jimmy Wilson strolled in. “Evening, babes,” he said. “Fancy a pint?”
“No, thanks,” said Toni. “Not tonight.” Jimmy was chubby and somehow he seemed to fill the small office with an oppressive, sweaty presence. Toni had already decided she did not like him. Phil Marshall was a gentleman. Patrick Mulligan looked and behaved like the hard-working copper he used to be, but there was something unhealthy about Jimmy. Toni wondered why he had taken early retirement. It was supposed to be because he had contracted cancer, but she felt sure, somehow, it had been because of some other reason. She moved towards the door. He barred her way.
“C’mon,” he said. “Just one drink.”
The door behind him swung open, banging into his back. He stepped aside as Agatha strode in, her bearlike eyes darting from Toni’s embarrassed face to Jimmy’s grinning one.
“I’m just off,” said Toni.
“Coming with you.” Jimmy moved to take her arm.
“Run along, Toni,” said Agatha. “You. Jimmy. Stay.”
When Toni had left, Agatha said, “What was all that about?”
“About what?”
“She looked nervous and embarrassed. You were blocking her way.”
“I only asked her for a drink.”
“Look here. That girl is eighteen and you are too old. If I catch you bothering her again, you’re out. Get it! Now sit down and tell me if you’ve found out anything else.”
“Nothing. You told me to leave it for a bit.”
“Well, get back on it tomorrow. Good night!”
Toni hurried along in the direction of her flat. She saw a group of her friends, all dressed up, heading in her direction. “Hi, Toni,” said Sandra, who was in the lead. “We’re off to that new disco, Naughty Nights, out on the Evesham road. Come with us.”
Toni had a sudden mental picture of Bill’s sad face, followed by one of the leering Jimmy Wilson. She wanted to feel as young as she was, and free.
