Simon Beckett - Fine Lines

She looked at me, contritely. “I’m sorry about the detective, Donald. He had no right to do that.”

I agreed, but was relieved he had. It was one less factor to worry about. And a considerable expense saved. “Well, I suppose he is Marty’s father,” I said. “And the police have far more resources than a private detective anyway.”

“I suppose so. It’s just his attitude. I was going to be his daughter-in-law eventually, so you think he’d at least make an effort to break the ice.” She stopped. “I said “was”. Not “am”.”

“It was only a slip of the tongue.”

“It’s the first time I’ve done it, though.” She looked on the verge of tears.

“You’ve had a trying day. What with the police, and the embassy, and the detective. It doesn’t mean anything.”

“No.” She shook it off and smiled. “Anyway, talking of Marty’s father, I’ve got a favour to ask.”

“Yes?”

“I was stupid enough to ask him over for a meal again. This was before we went to the detective’s, I might add. It doesn’t promise to be a very joyous occasion, but I wondered if you’d mind coming as well? I know it’s asking a lot, so if you’d rather not it doesn’t matter.”

“Of course I will. I’d love to.” Westerman or no Westerman, I was pleased that she had asked.

“Oh, thanks. I was hoping you would. It would have been pretty grim with just the two of us.”

“Aren’t you inviting anyone else?”

“No, I don’t think so. The fewer people I inflict him on the better. Not that I want to inflict him on you,” she said, quickly. “But I thought I might not seem so bad if he sees I mix with respectable pillars of society like you. And he might mellow a bit with someone his own age.”

The last comment was unfortunate, but I refused to let it bother me. Anna had still invited me rather than anyone else, age notwithstanding. Flattered, I remembered my protective fantasies of the weekend.

I dared Westerman to bully her while I was there.

I had already reached the conclusion that Westerman was congenitally obnoxious, and his behaviour during the meal at Anna’s did nothing to change my mind. I would have expected at least a softening, if not an actual cessation, of his hostility for that night at least. But from the moment he arrived it was clear that there would be no such thing.

“You met Donald briefly on Saturday,” Anna said, taking his coat. “He owns the gallery I work at.”

Once again he shook my hand without enthusiasm, responding to my greeting with a short nod. Anna’s smile was already beginning to look like hard work.

“Would you like a drink?” she asked him.

“No, thank you.”

“There’s mineral water or fruit juice, if you want something non-alcoholic. Or I can make you a cup of tea or coffee?”

“No, thank you.”

There was an awkward silence. “Well, I’d better see to dinner,” Anna said, giving me an apologetic glance. She went into the kitchen, leaving the two of us alone.

“We might as well sit down,” I said, pleasantly. I lowered myself on to the sofa. Westerman sat stiffly opposite me. I wondered if he ever relaxed. He showed no indication of doing so now. Neither of us spoke. I felt it was his turn to attempt conversation, and waited for him to say something. However, he showed no inclination of saying anything ever again. As the silence grew, so did my annoyance, and I was tempted to play him at his own game. If not for Anna, I would have. But she was depending on me to help her through a difficult evening, and I would hardly be doing that if I behaved as badly as Marty’s father. For her sake I had to be sociable.

Etiquette, about which Westerman clearly cared little, demanded I make some reference to his son. “I was glad to hear that the police are finally doing something to find Marty.”

“It’s high time someone did.”

His criticism seemed too broad-spectrumed for my liking. “Yes, Anna had a devil of a job trying to convince anyone to help. That’s why we had to resort to hiring a private detective.”

“I met him. I thought he was amateurish. Now the police are taking a hand there’s no point him getting in their way.”

There was no trace of apology or gratitude in his voice, and he had the irritating habit of not looking at me when he spoke. His remarks were addressed to a blank space in front of him. “Well, it saves me further expense, I suppose. I received his bill yesterday. Amateurish or not, he wasn’t cheap.”

“Then I guess you’ll be glad you don’t have to hire him any more. Although whether your police will be any more effective, I wouldn’t like to say.”

The way he said ‘your police’ implied that shared nationality meant shared liability. My dislike of the man was growing by the second.

“How long are you planning to stay?” I asked, trying to change the subject.

“I have to be back in ten days. I’m supposed to be running a business, as Marty’s well aware. I don’t have time for distractions like this. But under the circumstances there didn’t seem to be much choice.”

So his resentment extended to his missing son. If he was concerned about him as well, he was making a good job of hiding it. I made another attempt to be civil. “I know you’re a businessman, but I’m afraid I don’t know anything more specific than that. What field are you in?”

“Bathroom accessories.”

“Is that retail or wholesale?”

“Both.”

“Well, I hope the American economy is in a better state than ours. We’re in something of a recession over here, at present.”

“So I hear.”

“Is business quite good?”

“It’s better when I can stay and run it.”

I abandoned any further efforts to draw him out, and instead tried to establish at least the pretence of common ground.

“Yes, I know what you mean. I’m a businessman myself I smiled deprecatingly. “Well, if you can call running a gallery business. I’m an art dealer.”

“I know.”

He clearly had no intention of helping me with the conversation. And I had nothing left to offer except insults. I held them in check and made one last attempt. Hopefully in a subject even he would not snub.

“I think Anna’s taken all this quite well. It must have been very hard on her.”

“It’s been very hard on a lot of people. Including Marty’s mother and myself.”

“Yes, I imagine it must be. How is Mrs. Westerman taking it?”

Westerman looked briefly at me before returning his gaze to whatever it was that was occupying it. “As well as can be expected. Neither of us wanted him to come here in the first place. American universities were good enough for his brother and sister, I don’t see why they weren’t for him. And now I’ve had to come and chase after him because he’s had a spat with his girlfriend.”

This was the first mention of Marty’s other family. It was also the first indication of his father’s feelings about his disappearance.

“Is that why you think he left?”

“I can’t think of any other reason. According to his tutors, his work at the university was progressing well. He’d no financial problems. He was always emotionally stable in the past. So why else would he walk out?”

I felt obliged to object. “I don’t know, obviously. But Anna says they hadn’t argued at all.”

His mouth twisted slightly. It could have been a smile. “So she claims.”

I knew I was arguing against my own interests, but I could not let that pass. “I hardly think Anna would lie about something like that.”

He permitted himself another brief glance at me. “So you think it was just a coincidence that this happened just before he came back to America with an English girl he’d only known for a matter of months? I’m afraid I find that hard to believe.”