Quintin Jardine - For The Death Of Me

‘More fool him, then.’ Our eyes met and we both smiled. . wickedly: we were talking about the death of another human, and grinning.

‘Hold on, though,’ she said, ‘we can’t be all that bad. We made Tom, after all.’

‘That’s true. We’re going to have to keep a close eye on that boy as he grows up.’ I finished the Pinot Grigio.

‘What about you and the girl in Singapore?’ Prim asked suddenly. ‘You were taking a chance, with Mike around.’

‘I didn’t take any chances. Nothing happened. It’s all in Dylan’s lurid imagination. I’m giving Marie a part in the movie of his book.’

‘He said you had her on the casting couch.’

‘He’s dreaming.’

‘You fancied her a bit, though; admit it.’

‘No. I fancied her a lot, but she’s a nice, proper girl and nothing happened.’

‘My God,’ she chuckled, ‘am I listening to Oz Blackstone?’

‘You are now.’

She looked at me for a while. ‘You want to know what I think?’ she whispered, as if someone was eavesdropping, although there were no other occupied tables within earshot.

‘Would it matter if I said no?’

‘Not a bit. I know you love Susie; that’s beyond question. But one of the reasons you do is because she’s safe, sound, solid, loyal and reliable. Did I say safe? Well, I’ll say it again, because that’s what you crave the most these days, safety. But in truth, you’re going against your nature: you might not be the devil, but you’ve got some of him in you. You can act the wholesome home boy all you like, my love, and show the world your funny, user-friendly face, but you can’t hide the other one from me.’

I said nothing as we walked to the lift to go up to our rooms. But I knew full well that she was right. And so I stopped trying.

Next morning, after a deli breakfast in the Stage, just along from the Carnegie on Seventh Avenue, we went for a walk in the park; Central Park, that is. The place used to have a bad reputation, and maybe you still shouldn’t venture in too deep after dark, but on a sunny Saturday morning in summer, as Manhattan is rising into wakefulness, it’s an absolutely beautiful place to be.

I looked around, and upwards: it’s important to look up as you walk at the spectacular skyline that surrounds it, a jagged line of buildings like the Essex House, the Plaza Hotel and, most recently, the towers at Columbus Circle.

I was wearing jeans and my last T-shirt. Prim was in a halter top, her midriff bare, and in a pair of shorts so tight that she couldn’t have slid a postage stamp into the pockets. At some point I realised that we were holding hands, and in public too, but I wasn’t bothered. It didn’t mean anything in the greater scheme of things, and Primavera had hit the nail on the head about that bond between us. I’ve had three wives, and my relationship with each has been special and unique in its own way.

I found myself telling her the truth that I’d discovered about Jan. I don’t know why I did that, for what I was doing was adding to the power that she had over me. Maybe I wanted that. Maybe I needed an excuse for giving in to her and her whims. She wasn’t shocked when I told her. All she did was shrug her shoulders and say, ‘Mac’s a very attractive man, even in his mid-sixties. Forty years ago he could probably have pulled half of Fife if he’d had a mind to. If he was anything like you, he probably did.’

Prim wanted to take a ride in a buggy, but I vetoed that for two reasons. We didn’t have time, although we could have kept Dylan waiting, but most of all I had no desire to spend any part of my day staring at a horse’s arse, watching it fill the bucket, which, in New York, they tie to its tail. I wonder if that was an election pledge of Mayors Bloomberg or Giuliani: ‘Vote for me and I’ll keep the streets shit-free.’

We’d both checked out of the hotel when Dylan arrived, and my wardrobe had been swelled by a few items I’d bought in a clothing store on Sixth. They were packed away in a new cabin bag: I may possess a world-record number of small suitcases on wheels, such is the unpredictable nature of my life, but my inherent Fife instinct never allows me to throw anything out while there’s another mile left in it.

There were more than a few miles left in the car that the boys from Hertz delivered. It was a Cadillac De Ville, complete with satellite navigation, something I never go without in the US.

‘So, where are we heading?’ Mike asked, from the back seat.

‘Not all that far, actually: we’re off for a drive in the country. I’m told that it’s very pretty, although I’ve never been there.’

‘Try me with a clue.’

‘Have patience, my boy.’

‘Since it’s in the country, might there be lots of wild geese around?’ Prim put in.

‘No, but I’m betting that we’ll find a pretty bedraggled bird, who’s flown a hell of a long way to get there.’

I kept them guessing as we set off, crossing Sixth, Seventh and Eighth, before taking a left turn and heading for the Lincoln Tunnel ramp that headed to New Jersey. I cruised on, letting the navigation system take charge and obeying its commands as it guided me on to I-95, heading for Newark.

I drove slowly, below the speed limit, enjoying the comfort of the Caddy on the frenetic highway. We’d been on the road for around forty-five minutes when I took one exit then another and joined US-1 heading for New Brunswick and Princeton.

‘I spoke to Maddy’s mother,’ I told my companions, finally letting them in on our destination. ‘She has an older sister who’s a professor at the university down here.’

‘And you think that’s where she’s headed?’ Dylan said sceptically.

‘This is her last bolt-hole, the way I see it.’

‘What about back home to dear old Mum?’

‘She’s forgotten how to get there, going by what Mrs Raymond said. There’s no fatted calf grazing in the garden in Uxbridge, waiting for the chop. Besides, she wasn’t in London yesterday, she was in New York.’

We had run out of the urban sprawl of northern New Jersey, and into leafy countryside, the way I had been told it would be. A few months before I’d been invited to take part in a debate organised by one of the university drama clubs. I’d almost accepted, but it fell into a period where a movie schedule might have overrun, and I didn’t want to have to withdraw: bad for the image.

After a few miles the car told me to turn off the highway, then take a right on to Washington Road. We drove past the university football stadium on the right and on until I was directed left on to Nassau Street, and immediately left again. We stopped on command, right outside Nassau Hall, the university’s main office. Bloody marvellous, these systems, aren’t they? Sure, but there’s always a downside. We were International Rescue, on the trail of a damsel in distress, but if we’d been the forces of darkness, well, our sinister mission had just been made a lot easier. Nowadays even the Keystone Cops can get where they’re going without mishap.

‘So this is Ivy League?’ said Prim, as she slid out of the front passenger seat into the sunny morning.

‘I believe so.’ I looked around. It was the leafiest town I’d ever seen in America, all neat brick and clapboard buildings, much more rural than Oxford or Cambridge. . or Cambridge, Massachusetts, where Harvard, Princeton’s greatest rival, is located.

It was also very quiet.

That’s when it dawned on my companions that the mastermind who was running the operation had failed to account for the fact that universities tend to be on vacation in July and even more so on any given Saturday. The bloody office was closed, wasn’t it?