Peter Lovesey - Swing, Swing Together

Cribb had either, as he claimed, planned this in the first place, or he was a very agile thinker indeed. Since the outcome was satisfactory, she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. “But what will the constables have for breakfast?”

“Eggs and bacon,” said Cribb.

“That’ll be nice,” said Thackeray, perking up.

“Yes, there’s a couple of hard-boiled eggs in the hamper and a slice of porkpie you can divide between you.”

If Cribb was expecting a chorus of outrage at this, he did not get it. He got a silence that lasted until they reached Shiplake, as though Thackeray and Hardy had agreed to let the remark stand in isolation, parading its meanness. Even at Shiplake they said not a word, and there was a hint of contrition in Cribb’s, “Streatley as soon as you can tomorrow, then,” as he stepped ashore and marched away to look for a cab. Hardy stood in the boat, keeping it against the landing stage with an oar until Cribb’s footsteps had receded. Then he doffed his boater ironically in the same direction and pushed powerfully against the oar. The skiff cruised back into the deeper water.

They had not been rowing long when it occurred to Hardy that in Cribb’s absence they need not be encumbered with rank. “My name’s Roger,” he announced.

“Ted,” said Thackeray.

“And Miss Shaw’s, I learned not long ago, is Harriet,” Hardy volunteered for her.

She blushed, remembering the circumstances.

“That’s nice,” said Thackeray. “You answered the sergeant beautiful, if I might say so, Harriet. He’s not an easy man to mix words with.”

“I reckon we got the better of him, between us,” said Hardy. “By Shiplake he was lookin’ a sight less corky than he was at Marsh. He was so quick to step ashore that he left his book behind, did you notice? It’s on the seat beside you, Harriet.”

He used her name with a familiarity that disturbed her. The embarrassment would certainly show unless she made a determined effort to overcome it. She reminded herself that he was still a policeman and that his boating costume was just another kind of uniform. She would find it easier to accept if he conducted himself like a policeman, without staring in such a familiar way.

“You’re a keen-eyed young fellow, Roger,” said Thackeray. “I’m sure I didn’t notice whether he’d got the book with him. A man of your talents ought to be taking up detective work. Have you never thought of coming to London? There’s room at the Yard for anyone who can exercise his optics to good effect.”

“I’ve no ambition to work for the likes of Sergeant Cribb,” said Hardy.

“Cribb isn’t quite so obnoxious when you know him,” Thackeray said for his superior. “I dare say there’s one or two that would run him close here in the Thames Valley. If you’re thinking of going into plain clothes I wouldn’t let a liverish cove like him put you off.”

“Truth of the matter is that I’m quite content being a country copper,” said Hardy. “Watchin’ out for poachers doesn’t have the glamour of stalkin’ Jack the Ripper, I know, but it suits me well. I’d rather walk to work through a river mist than a London peasouper, because I know that when that mist clears, Buckinghamshire is the grandest place to pound a beat in the world.”

“Hold on a bit,” said Thackeray. “You’ll have me asking for a transfer.”

“Ah, but it’s true. Close your eyes for a moment, Ted. Listen to the bird song and the water lappin’ at the side of the boat and the breeze rustlin’ through the beeches. What have you got within five miles of Scotland Yard to compare with it? And that’s just the sounds. The sights along the river are a study in themselves, wouldn’t you agree, Harriet?”

If it was not calculated to offend, it was an ill-chosen remark, but Harriet took the view that it was blatant provocation. Instead of blushing as she had before, she blanched with fury at the boorishness of this man determined to extract the last ounce of advantage from an incident any gentleman would have banished from his conversation, even if it lingered in his thoughts.

She snapped her parasol shut. “I may be your prisoner in this rowing boat, Constable, but that does not give you the right to address me in familiar terms and taunt me with innuendoes. Kindly address me as Miss Shaw if you speak to me again and make certain if you do that you have something civilized to say.” It sounded very like Miss Plummer speaking. Harriet had never reprimanded anyone before, nor realized she could find the words to do it, but Constable Roger Hardy needed to be left in no doubt that he had overstepped the mark. To say that she was disappointed in him was less than the truth. The gallant officer who had lent her his coat on Tuesday night and this buffoon in boating costume were different men. Different men.

The colour had risen to Hardy’s cheeks this time. “I don’t see the offence in what I said, Miss Shaw, though I’m sorry if it was there. I was simply invitin’ you to confirm that our stretch of the Thames offers finer natural sights than any other. Oh, my Lord!”-Hardy’s oars plunged deeply into the water, jerking his arms straight-“I see it all now, miss-I mean-that is to say-I do ask you to forgive me.”

There was no need, as it turned out, for Harriet to consider whether she would forgive Constable Hardy, because they had reached Shiplake Lock and the gates were being held open for them. Four or five other small craft were inside and it required total concentration on everyone’s part to steer the skiff among them without the rending of wood. Standing up like a gondolier, Hardy paddled them expertly towards the left-hand wall, reached up and fastened the line to a chain. The lockkeeper was already thrusting his back against the beam of the gate behind them to close it. A young man in a yellow blazer was doing the same on the right. When the gates were closed, each man moved to the opposite end and began turning the handles to raise the paddles and fill the lock. Spouts of silver water gushed in, gurgling under the boats as they steadily ascended the gleaming walls.

“How much, Lockkeeper?” Thackeray called when the moment came to pay the toll.

“Threepence, sir, but I’ll not charge you anything if you’ll do me a good turn.”

“What’s that?”

“Take my young friend aboard and put him off at Phillimore’s Island half a mile upstream.”

Thackeray scrutinized the young man in the yellow blazer. “Would you mind, Miss Shaw? He’ll have to share your seat.”

“I have no objection,” Harriet answered. He looked a clean young man, for all his work on the lock gates. He had a neat little beard the shape of Tasmania at the base of his chin.

“I’ll hop in, then,” he said. “Much obliged to you, young lady. Bustard’s the name, spelt with a ‘u,’ like the bird. Just as far as Phillimore’s, if you’d be so kind, gentlemen. I’m in camp there for the night with a friend of mine, Jim Hackett.”

Harriet drew her skirt across to make room for Mr. Bustard and introduced her companions, taking care to prefix “Mr.” to their names.

“Going far?” he inquired.

“We’re hoping to reach Reading by this evening,” answered Thackeray. Hardy had lapsed into silence now.

“Not a pretty place to stop,” said Mr. Bustard. “Gasworks and factories. You’d be better off on an island, like us.”

“We intend to pull up as far as Tilehurst,” Thackeray explained. “Miss Shaw has a room at the Roebuck.”

“You’ll be in clover there, my dear,” said Mr. Bustard. “Better than a night under canvas, what? Somebody has a care for your comfort, I can see. If you bear to the right of the island, gentlemen, you’ll find I’m moored under a willow. Jim Hackett should be boiling a kettle for tea. That’s what I went to Shiplake for.” He tapped his blazer pocket. “Can’t survive without my Indian brew. I cadged a lift on a steam launch that had taken a mooring on the island. Filthy way to travel-I’m not in favour of steam at all-but beggars can’t be choosers, what?” He turned to smile at Harriet and displayed an immaculate set of white teeth. “This is my ideal-a seat beside a pretty girl and two strapping fellows to do the rowing for us.”