Quintin Jardine - Stay of Execution

She walked through to another part of the building, while Bob led the way to their table, and seated the three guests. Sarah rejoined them in less than two minutes. He looked at her, a question in his eyes.

‘The kids are fine,’ she told him quickly. ‘That was business. The police in Haddington want me to do an autopsy tomorrow in Roodlands Hospital.’ McGuire’s head turned towards her also. ‘No, it’s not suspicious. The doctor’s certified it as a heart-attack, but it was unattended, so they need a post mortem. Ironically, it’s one of those Belgians. I wouldn’t be surprised if those muskets scared him to death!’

‘Are you pleased to be handing an empty pending tray to Mary Chambers?’

‘I thought we said no job talk. Come on, bring your glass next door. We’re finished here.’ Maggie stood up from the table; it was past ten o’clock and the last of the coffee with which they had finished dinner was cold in the cups.

‘Let me help you clear up first,’ he offered, but she shook her head firmly.

‘Later. You’re a tidiness freak, DI Steele, that’s your problem. Anyway, I never use anything I can’t shove straight into the dishwasher.’

He followed her through to her living room. ‘Is it too warm in here?’ she asked. The coal-effect gas fire was lit and the curtains were drawn against the cold night outside.

Stevie plucked at his shirtsleeve. ‘Not for me. I’m fine.’

‘That’s nice,’ she said. ‘What’s that wee logo? Ralph Lauren?’

‘Yeah. Polo. I’m a sucker for designer labels.’

‘You and me both.’ She looked down at the dark sheen of her blouse and skirt. ‘DKNY, this is.’ She sat on the sofa, which faced the silent television. Her companion headed towards the armchair, until she stopped him. ‘No,’ she said. ‘Put some music on, and come and sit beside me.’

He moved over to the music centre on a shelving unit and looked at the CDs racked beside it. ‘What do you like?’

‘You choose.’

They were neatly filed, the artists listed in alphabetical order. He scanned through them almost to the end until he found Fulfillingness First Finale by Stevie Wonder, and put it on. ‘Do you know,’ he asked her, as he joined her on the settee, ‘that album is thirty years old? It’s been around for most of our lives and yet it still sounds better than most of the stuff that’s churned out today.’

‘The seventies was a pretty good decade,’ Maggie replied. ‘I mean, look at us; we’re both its products. . more or less.’ She settled back into the lush upholstery, warming her short-stemmed wine glass between her breasts. She had drunk more with their meal than was her norm, but Stevie had reasoned that she was at home, and that it was, after all, a celebration of sorts. He had not stinted himself either; he had come by taxi and planned to go home the same way.

She smiled up at him. ‘Thanks, Stevie,’ she said quietly.

‘What for?’

‘For being a good copper, a good colleague, a good bloke, a good friend. Even today, it can be difficult for a woman at my rank in the police. Having you around always made me feel more comfortable. You may not have known it, but you were my shield against the George Regans of the world.’

He chuckled. ‘Good old dependable Stevie, eh? Is that how people really see me?’

‘Most of them. They trust you. They know that they can take a chance on telling you stuff, and that you’ll keep it to yourself; but more than that, you’ll know the right thing to say to them.’ She drained her glass, then reached down for the bottle, the second of the Viña Hermina Riojas that he had brought with him, and that she had brought through from the table, and refilled it. ‘Here,’ she said, ‘let me see to yours.’ He did as she asked, and she topped him up.

‘It’s not just the women, either,’ she told him. ‘Nobody thinks you’re a wuss, if that’s bothering you. They know you’re a hard bastard when you have to be. You’ve got old MCP Regan taped, and young Tarvil looks on you as a sort of role model.’

‘You mean like I look on you?’ he murmured.

‘Are you serious?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘You’re not taking the piss?’

‘Mags, you are exactly the police officer I want to be. I think it’s a fucking shame you have to leave CID, but I can see why you have to.’

‘My ex, do you mean?’

‘No I didn’t, actually, but I can see where that could be a consideration.’

‘Mmm. Me too. Do you know what he’s doing tonight, by the way?’

He grinned. ‘Surprise me.’

‘He’s having dinner at Gullane Golf Club, with the DCC and Sarah, and our American visitor. .’ she paused ‘. . and Paula.’

Stevie whistled. ‘Now that is a surprise.’

Maggie shifted in her seat; as she did so, the top button of her DKNY blouse popped open, and he caught a glimpse of black bra beneath. ‘Yup,’ she murmured, ‘Ms Viareggio’s been accepted into polite society. Across the table from Dr Sarah, no less.’

‘Does that upset you?’

‘Not a bit, not any more at least. Shit, not that it ever did bother me much. Why? Does it upset you?’

Stevie blinked, then looked into his glass. ‘What, Paula, you mean? She and I have been history for a while now. When we were seeing each other, I always knew I was filling in for someone; I just didn’t know who it was, not then. After a while, I’d had enough of it.’

‘Is she a good lay, then?’

He gasped. ‘That’s a hell of a thing to ask me; you don’t expect an answer, do you?’

‘Not if you’re too much of a gentleman, which I suppose you are. Anyway, she’s bound to be better than me.’ He said nothing; he sipped his wine, and looked away. She reached out and touched his chin, to turn him back towards her. ‘Sorry, Stevie, that was a stupid thing to say. I’ve embarrassed you.’

‘No, you haven’t. It’s just. .’ He sighed, deeper than she had ever heard from him. ‘Mags, you’re not the first woman to pour her heart out to me this week. It should be great for my ego, but somehow it isn’t.’

‘I thought you’d love that. You a single bloke, and having it laid on a plate for you; what more could you want?’

‘It wasn’t like that.’

‘Oh no?’

‘Well, maybe it was, but the important thing is that I didn’t eat any.’

‘But it might be on the menu again?’

‘It might, and that’s what’s worrying me.’

She nestled into him; if she was aware that her blouse had opened wider, she ignored it.

‘Why? Are you afraid you’ll be too hungry next time to pass it up?’

‘Something like that. She’s a very attractive woman.’

‘So?’

‘So everything would be wrong about it. But more than that, Mags; it would be bloody dangerous.’

She looked up at him. She blinked, then her eyes widened in surprise. ‘When I asked you earlier about being upset,’ she whispered, ‘at first it wasn’t Mario and Paula you thought I meant, was it?’

‘I’m saying nothing.’

‘You don’t have to.’

‘I feel as if I’m heading for trouble, Mags,’ he said hoarsely.

She emptied her glass and let it roll on to the floor. ‘That is something I cannot allow.’ Her arm came up and round his neck, she drew him down to her and kissed him, holding nothing back. ‘Come here, baby,’ she murmured, ‘where it’s safe. My transfer’s come through, remember.’

‘Hey,’ Stevie whispered. ‘Are you taking pity on me?’

‘No. I’m trying to make you a better offer. Or would you rather I didn’t?’

‘Are you crazy?’ he asked, grinning.

In a single supple movement she was on her feet, pulling him up after her. He followed where she led, upstairs and into her bedroom. He glanced around; there was something austere about it, it bore the mark of her, and her alone. She began to unbutton his shirt, as he flipped open the remaining buttons of her blouse, and reached behind her for the catch of her skirt.