John Harvey - Lonely Hearts

Doria smiled, finished his sherry and sprang smartly to his feet. “Now! Shall we go to the ball!”

Resnick’s suit, Rachel recalled, was the one he had been wearing that first occasion she had seen him, walking across the entrance of the courthouse. She smiled to herself, remembering the way he had stared at her, tried to hide what he was doing, disguise it, embarrassed; the way he had carried on looking at her, nevertheless, as if having no alternative.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Oh, nothing special.”

“You were smiling.”

“Was I?”

“I hope it means you’re having a good time?”

“Charlie, of course I am. I don’t understand why you don’t come here more often.”

He grinned, boyishly. Another woman, Rachel thought, would be reaching across to push his hair back from his eyes, straighten his tie. “I can only take this much alcohol once every six months.”

“Are you drunk, Charlie?”

“Probably.”

A boy, fair-haired, no more than three or four, lost his balance playing chase between the tables and fell against Resnick’s chair. Turning, Resnick swept him up from the floor and held him at arm’s length, looking at Rachel past the child’s laughing face.

No, Charlie, Rachel thought, I’m not falling for that one, either.

“Charlie, how nice to see you.”

Resnick set down the boy and got to his feet. Marian was wearing long black gloves with her short-sleeved gown, which was tightly belted at the waist. Doria, alongside her, had on a cream suit with a loose, deeply-pocketed jacket, a white shirt and a midnight-blue bow tie.

Resnick kissed Marian lightly on the cheek.

“Charles,” Marian said, “allow me to introduce Professor Doria.”

“William,” said Doria, shaking Resnick’s hand. “William Doria.” He gave no sign that they had already met.

Resnick stood back, gesturing towards where Rachel was sitting.

“Marian Witczak, William Doria, this is Rachel…”

“Chaplin,” said Doria, making a slight bow and offering her his hand. “Rachel Chaplin, of course.”

When he straightened again, the academic’s eyes were bright but gave away nothing. “Perhaps we might join you?” he said.

Resnick glanced quickly towards Rachel before answering. Doria fetched two chairs and he and Marian sat opposite one another.

“A drink?” Doria said. And, with a smile at Rachel, “Some more wine.”

“Thank you, no.”

“But…”

“Later, perhaps.”

The muscles of Doria’s face were immobile, but his eyes were never still, never leaving Rachel for more than a second.

“Charlie,” Rachel said standing, head inclined towards the music. “Let’s dance. It’s a shame to waste Stevie Wonder.”

“Excuse me,” said Resnick, following her through to where the disco was still playing.

One dance led to another.

“You didn’t take to him, then, the professor?” Rachel had realized by now that if she covered twice as much ground as Resnick did, and let her arms swing wide, they didn’t look a bad couple.

“You’ve met him before?”

“Never.”

“You’re sure?”

“I don’t think I’d forget.”

“He knew your name.”

Rachel swung away from him through a dipping circle and then back, one hand pressed to his chest. Her skin was glowing.

“Charlie?”

“Yes?”

“Shut up and dance!”

A shout went up from across the room as the last of the winning numbers was called from the raffle. Resnick crumpled up a crocodile of salmon pink tickets.

“I had a new student in one of my lectures the other day,” Doria was saying. “A nice boy, Asian, not enrolled in the department, auditing, I suppose you would say. But it’s flattering when people know who you are, your reputation. He seemed to want to stay behind at the end, some clarification he was seeking, I don’t know. He was too shy, finally.” Doria hooked one leg over the other at the ankle. “The reverse side of reputation, I suppose, it can place others in awe of one. But, then, you must find the same yourself, Inspector?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Come now. I would have thought your function depended upon it, to a certain extent at least. Dealing as you must with the public, subordinates, even.”

“I don’t think my subordinates are in awe of me, Doria.”

“William.”

“And I shouldn’t like it if they were.”

“A Detective Constable Kellogg, is she one of your subordinates?”

“She is.”

“She came to, um, to interview me-is that the correct terminology?”

“It’ll do.”

“A charming young woman, earnest. Not of the brightest caliber, possibly, but competent.”

“She’s a good policewoman.”

“She was there under your jurisdiction, Inspector?”

“As part of a routine inquiry, yes.”

“Into the deaths of two women.”

“Yes.”

“You must be relieved that it’s over.”

“Over?”

“National television, the six o’clock news, a man you previously suspected has confessed.”

“All manner of men confess, Doria.”

The academic uncrossed his legs. “A brandy, Inspector? Or are you driving?”

“I’m not driving,” said Resnick, “but I’ll say no to the brandy, just the same.”

With a nod of the head, Doria rose and went towards the bar.

A woman in a purple trouser suit sat in one of the cubicles with the door open and carefully emptied the entire contents of her handbag out on to the floor. Quietly, she was singing to herself.

Rachel combed through the ends of her hair, twisting her head round so that she could see the back of it in the mirror.

“How long have you known Charles?” Marian asked, pretending to straighten the folds of her dress.

“Not very long. A matter of weeks.”

“He seems very happy.”

“I think he is.”

Marian touched Rachel’s shoulder. “You will forgive me, but I have known him for many years, and I know he would not be pleased at my saying this, but for a long time now Charles has needed somebody.”

Rachel pursed her lips at the glass and turned away. The woman in the cubicle was picking up her belongings and replacing them inside her bag, still singing.

“Those flowers are lovely,” said Rachel, looking at Marian’s corsage. “Did your friend give them to you?”

“Yes,” said Marian.

“He has good taste,” said Rachel. “Shall we go back?”

“The taxi will be here in a few minutes,” said Resnick.

“Oh, you are not going already?” Marian protested.

“Afraid so.”

“Then,” said Doria, standing with a flourish, “Rachel must have one dance with me before you do.”

He stood with both arms extended, hands out palms uppermost, eyes shining, daring her to decline.

“Thank you,” Rachel said, “I’ve danced enough.”

“I insist,” said Doria.

“Even so,” said Rachel. “The answer’s the same.”

“On some future occasion, then?” said Doria, resuming his seat.

Rachel just looked at him.

“You don’t want to share our cab, Marian?” Resnick asked.

“No thank you, Charles. I think we’ll stay a little longer.”

He took her hands lightly and kissed her forehead. “Safe journey home.”

“Of course.”

“I’ll ring you.”

“What does a nice, intelligent woman like that see in a creep like Doria?”

Resnick lifted his hand from the switch on the coffee grinder.

“She thinks he’s charming.”

“As a snake.”

“You really didn’t like him, did you?”

“Neither did you.”

Resnick poured water into the machine. “Was it that obvious?”

She put her arms tight around him and rested her head in the small of his back. “Charlie, you’re always obvious.”