Quintin Jardine - Stay of Execution

She gave a gasp of surprise. ‘What is this? Bob Skinner the diplomat? Am I hearing things?’

He reached across and poured her some more wine, a nice light Rioja called Marques de Griñon, that he bought by the case from a website with the well-chosen name of Simply Spanish Wines. ‘Funny, you’re the second person who’s said something like that to me today.’

‘Who was the other?’

‘An MSP. A minister, in fact.’

‘Does the thought that you might be mellowing worry you?’ his wife asked, a tease in her voice. ‘Does it make you feel like Samson with a short back and sides?’

‘If it did, I’d be sure to remember who cut my hair,’ he growled.

‘Ouch. I see you haven’t lost your bite.’

He cut off some more of his steak and forked up some of the escalivada , vegetables as he had learned to cook them in Spain. ‘I hope I haven’t lost anything,’ he said, once they had been despatched. ‘But it’s good to learn things along the way.’

‘Who’s been teaching you?’

‘Life’s been teaching me, honey. But it’s been a difficult process.’

‘Is this to do with your heart trouble?’

‘Don’t call it heart trouble.’ His sigh was full of exasperation. ‘It’s an inherited condition and it’s been dealt with. I have a pacemaker, and that allows me to function exactly as I’ve always done. You’re a doctor; you know that well enough.’

‘I don’t agree,’ she countered. ‘Physically you may be fine, but emotionally it’s left a scar. You’ve never had to question your health before. As a result you’re. .’

‘There are lots of things I’ve never had to question before,’ he said, quietly, cutting her off.

A silence fell between them; they ate, not looking at each other. It was Sarah who broke it, pushing her plate to one side, leaving half of her meal untouched. ‘Ironic, isn’t it?’ she exclaimed. ‘I make a remark about your new-found diplomacy and you respond by tearing into me. I bet you didn’t do that to the MSP.’

‘No,’ he admitted, looking a shade guilty. ‘I didn’t. I’m sorry, Sarah. I’m on a hair trigger just now, and I don’t know why. I even had a small strip torn off me by Archbishop Gainer today for the way I spoke to Jack McGurk. He was right: the boy’s like a coiled spring every time he comes into my room, and none of it, or very little of it, is his fault. Maybe you’re right too, may be it is the aftermath of the pacemaker thing but, honestly, I doubt it. I think it goes deeper than that. I reckon that more than my health has been called into question this year. And as I see it now many of the things I’ve believed to be true may have been way off the mark.’

‘Things about me, I assume,’ she murmured.

‘No,’ he retorted quickly. ‘Don’t assume that.’

‘It’s true, though. Let’s face it, I’m not the gem you thought I was; I’ve got flaws just like everyone else. Most married women find another man attractive at some time or another; me, I did something about it.’

‘Okay, you had an affair: but I’m no saint either. You’ve stuck by me before, and I’ll stick with you now.’

‘Is that what it’s about? Sticking with each other?’

‘For most people, I reckon that’s exactly what it’s about. It’s easy to walk away from marriage these days, once the early glamour fades. .’

‘Like the McGuires, you mean?’

‘No, not them: there’s something deeper there.’

Sarah snorted. ‘Yeah, she’s got legs up to her armpits, silver hair and her name’s. .’

‘Paula Viareggio didn’t break them up,’ Bob snapped. ‘She came after. Anyway, Maggie and Mario aren’t like us: they don’t have kids.’

She frowned at him. ‘You’re saying our kids are the glue that binds us together?’

‘Are you going to tell me they’re not? If we didn’t have them, wouldn’t you have been tempted to stay in Buffalo after your parents’ death?’

‘Bob,’ Sarah told him, ‘I never want to see Buffalo again. I could have stayed, with or without the children, but I chose to come back here.’ She paused. ‘Now you answer me something. Who do you love the most, me or the children?’

He stared at her. ‘What’s that? The chicken-and-egg question? I love my family, Sarah, there are no degrees involved there. It’s total.’

‘Okay, I’ll stop pussying around the real issue. If we had no children, like Maggie and Mario, would we still have a marriage?’

‘For my part, yes, I think we would. What do you say?’

She reached across the table and took his hand. ‘You “think” we would; hardly a straight answer, is it? You’ve changed, Bob, you’ve grown more remote, and I can’t help wondering whether it’s because, for all you say, you can’t really handle what happened with me.’

Bob looked down at his plate; the remnants of his meal, and hers, lay cold before them. ‘That was a fucking waste of two fillet steaks,’ he said heavily.

‘Maybe not,’ she countered, ‘if it’s what it takes to make us sit down and talk to each other.’ She picked up the bottle and refilled both their glasses, draining it in the process. He picked his up and drank deeply.

‘Why don’t we just go to bed,’ he suggested, ‘and fuck each other’s brains out? That usually sorts us out.’

She smiled weakly. ‘That’s a palliative. This time we’re attacking the root cause of the problem.’

‘Well, it’s not you,’ he told her firmly. ‘We haven’t been talking to each other enough, that’s for sure, and maybe we have been sweeping some marriage problems under the carpet, but that’s not what’s been eating me.’ He got up from the dining-table, walked through to the kitchen and returned a minute later with another bottle of Marques de Griñon, from which he topped up his glass.

‘I’ve always laughed at the thought of mid-life crises,’ he continued. ‘I’ve seen them as post-yuppie status symbols. But not any more, not now I’m having one myself. I’ve suddenly started to look at myself objectively, and that can be a terrible thing. I realise now that for much of my adult life I’ve been intolerant, unforgiving, arrogant. I’ve made decisions about the lives of people close to me, as if I was God Almighty.’

‘Are you talking about your brother?’

‘Yes, I mean Michael. His death has been the trigger for all of this. My pacemaker incident, you losing your parents, our personal difficulties, I admit they may all have been contributory factors, but that lies at the very heart of it all. It’s made me look at myself, and at the way I behaved towards him, and I do not like what I see.’ He picked up his glass in both hands and took a sip, leaning forward, elbows on the table, shoulders hunched, peering into the dark wine as if the truth was written there.

‘I hated him when he was alive,’ he said hoarsely. ‘I really did. For all his faults, his weaknesses, and his cruelty towards me when I was a kid, still he was my only brother, and yet I could find no forgiveness towards him in my heart. As it turned out he was a victim himself, but I was never interested in that. I was his jury, his judge, and I might even have been his executioner, but for my father. I told Jim Gainer all about it this afternoon. He patted me on the head, sort of; he told me that as it worked out I’d done right by him, but I can’t buy that. I left him living as an outcast for years, when I could have brought him back into the family. You know, Big Lenny Plenderleith might get out quite soon, on a form of early parole, training for freedom. There was no parole for Michael, though; not in my heart. I left him to rot.’

He frowned savagely, knitting his eyebrows together. ‘What sort of a man does that make me? What sort of a policeman does that make me? I’ve made some momentous decisions, Sarah, when I’ve had to. I’m looking back on them now, and I’m looking for compassion within me when those things happened. I don’t see any. Don’t get me wrong. I’ve always known that I’m a hard guy when I have to be and that there’s a merciless streak in me; it’s kept me alive a few times. But I thought that I was fully aware of it, and that I could control it. I never appreciated until now just how much a part of me it is.’