Reginald Hill: A pinch of snuff

'Good Lord,' said Pascoe. 'Can't you appeal?'

'Oh, never fear. There'll be a lot of bloody fighting before the axe falls. But I doubt if we'll talk our way out of this one.'

'Another drink?' said Pascoe. 'I must say, you're taking it all with exemplary calm.'

'Well, to tell the truth, I've been getting a bit sick of it all,' said Ellie. 'I've been thinking how nice it would be to give it all up, retire for a bit, start a family, perhaps.'

'Well, that would need thinking about,' said Pascoe cautiously. 'Starting when, for instance!'

'Oh, I should say, starting about three weeks last Wednesday when we got back from that birthday party and I didn't have time to get to the bathroom cabinet and you said it didn't matter as what was good enough for the Pope was good enough for you.'

'Good Lord,' said Pascoe. 'Well, well, well.'

'Is that all you can say? Aren't you pleased?'

'Hold on,' said Pascoe. 'Let me see. That'll be… October, November, December. That's great! We won't have to go to your mother's for Christmas! Darling, I'm delighted. Come here so I can learn that smirk from an expert.'

The phone started ringing five minutes later but they ignored it. It rang on and on and on but they paid no heed. Finally it stopped.

'You see,' said Ellie, 'if you pay the nasty world no attention, it goes away.'

'Yes,' said Pascoe.

But Shorter had tried not to answer the telephone today and much good it had done him. Though in his case, perhaps the nasty world was there already. There was no doubt in Pascoe's mind that Sandra Burkill's accusation was a fail-safe device. But could Toms have invented such a mass of circumstantial detail?

He recalled the old adage, if you want to tell a lie, tell the truth.

'Peter,' said Ellie warningly. 'The nasty world has gone away. Forget it.'

'I will, I will,' he said fervently.

The phone began to ring again.