Quintin Jardine - A Coffin For Two

‘But I’m a business success already, as far as I’m concerned. You and I, we are a business success.’

She shook her head. ‘Oz, what will you be like when you’re old?’

I looked at her, puzzled. ‘Knackered, probably. I’ll be like my dad, I hope, although he’s still a few years away from old himself. What do you want me to be like?’

She stepped up and seized me by the shirt front. ‘I want you to be fighting against being old. I want the flame of ambition always to be burning inside you.’

It dawned on me. ‘You want me to be like Davidoff, don’t you.’

For an instant, she looked defensive, then she tugged my shirt again, yanking out a few chest hairs in the process. ‘And why not? Most men his age … whatever that might be … have given up the ghost, but not him. He looks after himself. He’s fit, he’s charming, he’s funny and he’s full of life.’

‘Not all of him, according to Shirley.’

She flashed her eyes at me. ‘Whatever the truth of that, he isn’t a boring old fart. You could be one of those by the time you’re forty.’

This was getting near the bone. ‘Only if I’m bored myself, dear,’ I retorted. The flames in her eyes went out instantly, and were replaced by hurt. I grabbed her and hugged, and she pressed her face against my chest, as if to smother any more anger. ‘Sorry, Prim my love,’ I said. ‘This is a daft argument anyway. It shouldn’t be about what I want, or what you want, but about what we agree together that we want.

‘Tell you what. This weekend, we’ll draw up a business plan, and maybe when we go back for Dad’s wedding, we’ll see about taking someone on in Edinburgh, to market the business for us. Long-term decisions can wait till then.’

She was mollified, but there was still tension between us when we arrived at Shirley’s three hours later. We found that we knew all of the other guests. Ma and Pa Miller were among them, no longer in the shadow of Steve, now that he had gone back to England.

Fortunately, the whist turned out to be optional; good news for me since I hate card games of any form, and good news for Prim, since it meant that she could allow herself to be whisked into the garden by Davidoff with a clear conscience. I watched him nosing his Cava and nodding his approval as they headed for the door. When he was with Prim he always seemed a wee bit taller, his back a wee bit straighter, his shoulders a wee bit wider.

I heard his voice drift back to me. ‘Ah, these unspeakable people. Had it not been for you, I think I would have gone today.’

‘Where would you have gone to, Davidoff?’ I heard her ask. ‘Where do you live?’

I strained to hear the answer, but it was lost as Adrian Ford caught my elbow, with a cheery, ‘Hello!’

I turned towards him, leaving Prim to her fate with a smile. ‘Glad you could come,’ he said at once. ‘My sister didn’t give me a choice about tonight. She said I was co-host and that was it.’ He paused. ‘Are you a cards man, Oz … or would you prefer a game of snooker?’

I grinned at Shirley’s amiable brother. ‘Anything but bloody cards,’ I whispered.

‘Excellent. Let’s grab some food from the buffet, and I’ll show you the table. Clive had it shipped over from England.’

The snooker room was in the basement level of the house, off the vast garage. In the corner there was a small fridge, from which Adrian produced two Sol beers. He uncapped them, handing one to me. ‘No limes to suck with them, I’m afraid, though I always think that’s a bit of a pose.’ I agreed. Beer was beer, whether it was Mexican, Spanish or made in Fountainbridge.

Adrian’s snooker seemed to be on a par with mine. After half an hour, there were still four reds left on the table, one for each empty Sol bottle on top of the fridge. ‘I never could take this game seriously,’ he confessed at last. ‘Clive used to regard me as cannon fodder, and Shirley used to say that she could wipe the floor with the pair of us.

‘Golf’s my game, really,’he added, suddenly slamming the twelfth red into the right middle pocket. The white spun back behind the blue, on its spot. He rolled it away very gently, then edged a red along the cushion into the top left pocket, finishing on the black. It went down, followed by the last two reds, two pinks and all the colours.

I looked him in the eye as the last black thudded against the back of the pocket. ‘Are you as big a bandit at golf?’

Adrian smiled, his beard spreading out in a funny kind of way. ‘Not a bandit, Oz. I just don’t like to show all I’ve got. Bit like someone else around here,’ he added, almost absent-mindedly. ‘The thing was,’ he went on quickly, ‘I could hardly have screwed poor old Clive into his own table, could I. It wouldn’t have been courteous. Old man, you’re a better player than he was. When we were down here I used to miss in a way that would set balls up for him to pot. You should always keep a bit back, whatever you do in life. Just a little extra in the tank, for when you really need it.’

I wondered about the ethics of that approach. ‘Where do you play your golf?’ I asked him.

‘When I’m here, at Torremirona, mostly, although I’ve played all of the courses in the province at one time or another. Back home I play at the Belfry, off six.’ Having seen his snooker, I wondered how genuine his golf handicap might be. ‘How about you?’ he went on. ‘Do you play?’

I’m always modest about my golf, with good reason. ‘I’m from Fife,’ I said, ‘so it’s compulsory. I’m a member of Elie, like my dad, but I haven’t been there very often of late. I’ve never played over here.’

‘Mmm,’ Adrian mused. ‘Next time I’m over we’ll have a game. It’ll need to wait till then, I’m afraid, for my dance card’s full for the rest of this week, and I’m going home on Saturday.’

‘Too bad.’

‘Yes,’ he agreed. ‘John, my nephew’s coming out on Monday to see his mum, and to have a board meeting with her. They’re directors of the company. I’m not; just a poor wage slave, I’m afraid, but John and I can’t both be away at the same time. Or so he says.’

He glanced up at the clock on the flock-papered wall. ‘I suppose we should really put in an appearance upstairs. Fulfilling one’s social obligations and all that.’

As Adrian re-racked the crystallite balls, I wiped the cues and replaced them in their clips on the wall. ‘Do I get the impression that you and your nephew don’t get on?’

He smiled. ‘Let’s just say that things run more smoothly when one of us isn’t around. John runs the business now, although Shirl’s the major shareholder. I keep a quiet eye on her interests, but mostly I let him get on with it. As long as he doesn’t make any mistakes, I’m happy to stay in the background. Anyway, he doesn’t pay me enough for me to do any more than I do at present. No bonuses, no profit share, no options. Just salary, pension and company car.

‘Come on, let’s rejoin the wrinklies … only don’t tell my sister that’s how I describe her circle of companions.’ He led the way up the narrow, tiled staircase, back to the party. Shirley was in the kitchen, opening more Cava.

‘Good,’ she said. ‘About time you two were back. Adrian, put the coffee on, love. Oz, could you do something for me? I owe those bloody card-sharp Millers three thousand pesetas, and I’ve left my purse up in my bedroom. Take a run up and get it for me, will you. It’s the door facing you at the top of the stairs. You’ll find it on the dressing table, I think.’

‘Sure.’

As I crossed the hall, I glanced through the open garden door. It was dark but Prim and Davidoff were still outside, side by side on one of the big loungers. She was smiling and leaning slightly against him. I laughed to myself at his persistence as I trotted up the wide stairway.