Barbara Cleverly - Tug of War

Joe snapped the catch of one of his cases noisily then entered looking distracted. ‘My file? I say, has anyone seen. .? Could have sworn I’d left my file with the luggage last night. . Oh, I see I did. . There it is between the Cooper’s Oxford and the Patum Peperium. . Good morning, everyone! Anything interesting in the papers this morning?’

Marcus and Lydia looked at each other and smiled guiltily.

‘Not really,’ said Dorcas. ‘We had to read your rubbish for entertainment. I can see why you didn’t bother to hide it. Hardly confidential. Not a single body on any page. I wonder when you were intending to tell me of the change in our itinerary, Joe? Sounds exciting — though I’m not sure I’m prepared for a weekend living la vie de château. What do you think, Aunt Lydia?’

‘Oh, goodness! Of course! We must pack your best dress — the blue one you said was too fussy. . so glad we bought it! And you may borrow my pearls. . Stockings! You’ll need silk stockings. Gloves! We didn’t think of gloves!’

Joe groaned and took the coffee Dorcas was handing him. Fortified, he reached out and gathered in the scattered pages of his file, reprovingly scraped a blob of marmalade from the top sheet and replaced them between the covers.

In frantic but silent communication, Lydia and Dorcas rose to their feet, hastily putting down their napkins. ‘Porridge in the pot, Joe. . eggs, bacon. . the usual,’ muttered Lydia. ‘How long have we got?’

‘Half an hour,’ he said. ‘Wheels turning by nine?’

‘Dorcas, scoot along, will you, and find your dress and anything else that comes to mind in view of the change in plans? You’ll need another suitcase — ask Sally to fetch down one of mine. I’ll look out some suitable jewellery and other folderols.’

When Dorcas had charged out of the room Lydia turned to Joe wearing her big-sister’s expression. ‘A word, if you please, Joe.’

He looked at her warily.

‘You may be a senior police officer and a pillar of society, as all would agree, and never think that I’m ungrateful for your offer to escort the child down to the Riviera but — ’

‘My offer! Come on, Lydia! I listen for your next pronouncement in the hope of hearing the words “sorry”, “twisting” and “arm” in that order. “Coercion” would be acceptable.’

‘Don’t be pompous! You ought to guess from my circumlocutions that, just for once, I am actually trying hard to choose my words so as not to give offence.’

He looked at his watch, hiding a smile. ‘Twenty-five minutes.’

‘Very well then.’ She hesitated and went on firmly: ‘In England no one will look with anything less than indulgence at an uncle chaperoning his niece down to her father. And that’s all very well. But I’m not so sure of customs and manners in France.’

‘It’s a bit late, isn’t it? To be having such qualms? Pity it didn’t occur to you when I was trying to wriggle out. . But let me put your mind at rest, Lyd. There’ll be no problems of a social nature. So long as the child remembers to wear her gloves and speak when she’s spoken to, say “yes, uncle” and “no, uncle” at every verse end, I see no problem. People will approve. I’ll be held up as an example from Calais to Cannes of self-sacrificing uncle-hood.’

‘All the same, I do feel myself responsible.’

Joe grinned. ‘You always did, Lydia. It can be infuriating. Look, love, stop fretting. Dorcas always comes out well, you’ve discovered that. She’ll be just fine.’

‘Of course she will! It’s not Dorcas I’m fretting about, you chump! Oh, Marcus! You’ll have to speak to him!’

Left alone, the two men rolled their eyes in affectionate complicity and sank thankfully into a companionable silence, giving their full attention to plates of kidneys and bacon with copies of The Times and the Daily Herald on the side.

‘Stockings?’ Joe looked up, struck by a sudden thought. ‘Hasn’t the child got supplies of socks?’

Marcus seemed to be having difficulty with a piece of toast and coughed behind his napkin. ‘You haven’t noticed, have you, old boy? She’s growing up fast.’

‘Well, of course I’d noticed! She’s put on about two inches in every direction since you had the keeping of her. Good food, regularly offered. Makes a difference.’

‘Exactly A difference. Glad you’re aware. Lydia couldn’t be quite certain that you were. Well, there you are then. I’ll tell her. “Joe’s aware,” I shall say!’

Joe pondered on this for a moment. ‘I say, do I consider myself spoken to?’

‘Can’t imagine you’d want me to elaborate. I will venture to add a word of advice of my own though. . a thought or two from a man of the world, family man, father of girls and all that: if our perusal of the file is correct, I assume you’ll be taking young Dorcas with you to stay with this family? Yes? Well, you could hardly park her in some hotel in war-torn Reims while you go off by yourself. There’ll be a warm reception and — Lydia noticed — the company of the young son of the house. Dorcas will want to make a good impression. Wouldn’t expect her to come down to dinner in the shorts and sandals she’d packed for the south of France, would you? The whole thing may be a bore and a distraction for you, Joe, but I can tell you, for the girls it’s a romantic interlude. Let them enjoy it and don’t be so stuffy!’

‘And that’s your advice? You hand me the fruits of your years of fathering and it amounts to — “Don’t be stuffy”? Wouldn’t fill a book, would it?’

Marcus gave Joe a long look over the table and spoke in a voice of rough affection. ‘It’s a long way down to Antibes. It will seem twice as long if you antagonize Dorcas.’ And, seeing Joe was about to explode with indignation, ‘Take it easy, old chap. You’re wound up tight as a spring. Can’t help noticing. I’m saying she’s rather like a partly trained little wild creature — think of a ferret. . Remember Carver Doone?’ he added lugubriously. ‘Lyd’s done her best — so have I — but there’s some way to go yet before we can present her at Court. Or for tea in a Joe Lyons Corner House, come to that.

‘Well, that’s it. I’ve said my piece.’ Marcus sat back, relieved to hear no riposte from Joe. ‘Listen, old man — those buggers at the Yard work you too hard. Lydia and I are always concerned for you, considering the life you lead. . always mixed up in murder and mayhem of one sort or another. It will be a relief to us to know that for the next three weeks at least you’re not dicing with death.’

‘Did you lay this on specially, Joe?’

Dorcas, sitting in the passenger seat of the Morris Oxford cabriolet, looked up from her guidebook and stared with disbelief at the scene in the street before them.

‘Certainly didn’t,’ said Joe impatiently. ‘The street’ll be blocked for hours!’ He glanced at his watch. ‘We’ll be late. You’d have thought my opposite number. . what’s his name? Inspector Bonnefoye, that’s it. . would have warned me this was happening. He must have known.’

‘I expect he did know,’ said Dorcas easily. ‘You’ll find it’s a dastardly Gallic wheeze to put you in your place and, for the French, your place would always be one step behind and on the wrong foot. It’s manipulation. . Joe, what are those beasts we’re looking at? What are they doing in the middle of the city and how fast do they go?’

‘Rather splendid, aren’t they? Oxen. White oxen. Eight of them pulling each dray at about a hundred yards per hour and there would appear to be drays as far as I can see until they disappear round the corner of the Avenue. Look, this one’s dedicated to the wool trade and the next is the biscuit-makers’ float. Champagne houses after that. .’