Fatal Quest (25 page)

‘It certainly seems like one to me.'

‘… but how much of an honour can it
be
, when you know – if you really bother to stop and think about it – that the moment they've passed down the line, they've forgotten all about you?' Peggy paused. ‘Do you know what I'd really like to do?'

‘What?'

‘I'd like to work for some kind of charity in the East End. I'm sure that would be much more interesting and rewarding than sitting on stuffy museum boards, trying to decide whether or not to buy yet another piece of Greek sculpture.'

‘Then if that's what you want to do, what's stoppin' you from doin' it?' Woodend wondered.

‘Charlie!' Joan hissed, warningly.

But Peggy seemed not to mind the question at all.

‘
Arthur
's what's stopping me,' she said. ‘He thinks it would be
inappropriate
– which is one of his favourite words.'

An' maybe that's why he isn't here now, Woodend thought – because while it was appropriate enough for him to invite us to his house, it was
inappropriate
for us to invite him to ours.

‘Arthur thinks that – given my background – I wouldn't be able to handle the conditions I'd come across in the East End,' Peggy said. She paused again, then continued, ‘Please don't get me wrong – Arthur's a sweet man, a perfect husband, and I love him to pieces. But I do think that sometimes he underrates my ability to deal with difficult situations. And possibly he also feels, because he
is
such a conventional soul, that my getting my hands dirty in such a disreputable area would somehow damage his own position.'

‘
For God's sake, Charlie, you're going to be the head of the family
,' Cathcart had said to Woodend, in that jeep in Berlin. ‘
Your wife will do what's necessary for you to get on in life
.'

Woodend noticed a slight flickering of the eyes when Peggy saw the fresh-fruit salad that Joan was serving as a sweet, but she attacked this offering, as she had the hotpot, with apparent enthusiasm.

‘I'm feeling awfully guilty about the fact that we seem to have spent the whole evening talking about me,' Peggy said, as Joan cleared away the dishes. ‘So let's put a stop to that right now, shall we? Why don't you tell me something about your work, Charlie?'

‘You'll not get him to talk about that,' Joan said, returning from the kitchen. ‘Charlie never brings his cases home with him.'

‘Besides, I would have thought you got enough police talk from your own husband,' Woodend added.

‘Oh, Arthur
never
talks about his work,' Peggy told him.

‘Well, there you are then, we're two of kind,' Woodend said.

But that wasn't quite true, was it, Woodend thought.

They were both policemen, that was true enough, but they were
far
from being two of a kind – and if recent proof of that were needed, he had it in Commander Cathcart's absence from this meal.

‘But even if Arthur
did
talk about his work, I don't think I'd find it particularly interesting,' Peggy said.

‘No?'

‘Of course not. Arthur's an administrator. It so happens that he works for the police, but he could just as easily use the same skills he employs in the Yard to run a dull insurance company or a dreary bank. Your job's quite different, Charlie. You get to see life as it is really lived – in all its glory and all its depravity. You're surely not going to deny that, are you?'

‘No,' Woodend agreed, ‘I'm not.'

‘Which is precisely the reason why it would be so fascinating for me to hear all about it.'

‘I'm not sure …' Woodend began.

‘It wouldn't do any harm to tell Peggy just
a little
about what you do, would it?' Joan asked.

His wife's words knocked Woodend slightly off balance. It was not just that they were unexpected in themselves. It was also the tone – which somehow managed to turn what could have been a simple question into almost a plea.

He found himself wondering just what was going on – and then the answer came to him in a flash.

Joan's new friend
claimed
to be having a good time, but Joan herself was wondering how that could possibly be true – how a woman used to cruises and royal events could actually enjoy herself in this humble flat with a detective sergeant and his wife. But now, Peggy had expressed a real interest in something – and Joan was desperate to give her what she wanted.

‘What particular part of my job would you like me to talk about?' he asked, bowing to the inevitable.

‘You could tell us about your current case, couldn't you, Charlie?' Peggy suggested brightly.

No, he bloody well couldn't, Woodend thought, because even making allowance for the fact that her husband was in the ‘job', she was still a civilian.

‘Yes, tell us about your current case!' Joan said enthusiastically.

Woodend wondered if there was any way around his dilemma – any way to please his wife without stepping over his own carefully defined limits.

‘I could tell you about a case that's
fairly
current,' he said, picking his words with some care. ‘It's not one I'm directly involved in, though I do have some general background knowledge of it.'

Peggy looked a little disappointed, and then she smiled and said, ‘I'm sure that will be perfect.'

‘But there'll be no names, an' no details that I think will give too much away,' Woodend cautioned.

‘Of course not,' Peggy said solemnly.

‘There was the case of this girl who was found murdered on a bomb site recently,' Woodend said, testing the water.

If, in response, Peggy said, ‘You're talking about the Pearl Jones investigation, aren't you?' it would stop right there, Woodend promised himself.

But all she
did
say was, ‘Yes?'

‘You haven't read anythin' in the newspapers on the case that I'm talkin' about?' he probed.

‘I don't think so,' Peggy told him. ‘To tell you the truth, I really don't look at the newspapers very often.' She turned to Joan. ‘I mostly read the fashion magazines. Aren't women like me
so
superficial?'

‘This girl I'm talkin' about was still at school,' Woodend continued. ‘A very bright girl, by all accounts …'

He told his tale, editing it as he went – and making no mention
at all
of either what had happened to Tom Townshend or what had happened to him. It was his hope, for Joan's sake, that he could still give Peggy some flavour of the work, even if many of the details were necessarily missing.

And then a strange thing happened. He was halfway through his narrative when he realized, to his own surprise, that he'd actually begun to enjoy himself.

When he'd finished, Peggy said, ‘So there are two things you really need to know, aren't there?'

‘Are there?'

‘I think so. The first is where the girl had been immediately prior to her ending up on the bomb site.'

‘An' the second?'

‘The second – and I think the more important of the two – is what happened to make a seemingly respectable girl like her suffer the kind of fate which is normally reserved for violent criminals.'

‘You're all there with your cough drops, aren't you?' Woodend said admiringly. Then he noticed the look of jealousy which had appeared in his wife's eye, and he quickly added, ‘But then, I imagine the same thoughts had occurred to you, an' all, lass.'

‘Imagine what you like,' Joan said flatly.

When the evening was finally over, Woodend escorted Peggy Cathcart down to her car, which was parked in the street below.

‘Thank you so much, Charlie,' she said, as she opened the door. ‘I've really enjoyed myself.'

Then, before climbing inside the car, she kissed him lightly – and unexpectedly – on the cheek.

When he returned to the flat, he found that Joan was sitting – silently and broodingly – in her armchair.

‘I thought that went rather well,' Woodend said.

‘Did you?' Joan asked, looking up at him. ‘Well, I think the whole thing was a complete disaster.'

‘What makes you say that? Did Peggy Cathcart turn out not to be the woman you thought she was?'

‘She's
exactly
the woman I thought she was – except even more so. She poised, witty, charmin' and intelligent. And she's not content to rest on her laurels – even if them laurels
are
padded an' gold-plated, an' even if that stick-in-the-mud husband of hers tries to block her at every turn. She wants to try out new things. She wants to try out
difficult
things.'

‘An' isn't that a good thing?'

‘Well, of course it's a good thing, you idiot!'

‘Then what's the problem?' Woodend wondered. ‘I thought you liked the woman.'

‘I
do
like her!' Joan said. ‘Though I didn't much like the way she flirted with you.'

‘Flirted with me? Don't talk soft. She didn't do that.'

‘Yes, she did. An' you fell for it, Charlie Woodend, hook, line, an' sinker. Just look at the way you told her all about that investigation!'

‘You
asked
me to do that!'

‘Yes, I did – but you didn't have to do it
so
well,' Joan complained. ‘An' you didn't have to look so
pleased
about what she said when you'd finished.'

‘How do you mean?'

‘“It seems to me you have two main problems, Charlie,”' Joan said, in a fair imitation of the other woman's voice. ‘“Oh, thank you so much, Peggy,”' she continued, imitating her husband now. ‘“Thank you for pointin' that out to me.” Isn't that how it went?'

‘No,' Woodend said. ‘That isn't at all how it went. I was pleased that she'd understood what the problems were …'

‘I'll just
bet
you were pleased!'

‘… but only because that showed that I'd explained myself well.'

‘Yes, I could see you were takin'
great
care over it,' Joan said tartly.

‘An' she certainly didn't tell me anythin' about the case that I didn't already know,' Woodend concluded.

‘Well, that's all right, then,' Joan said – though it clearly wasn't.

‘Look, you said earlier that you like the woman, but you're certainly not talkin' now as if you do,' Woodend said. ‘So if you've changed your mind – if you've decided that you
don't
like her after all – why don't you just come straight out an' say it?'

‘But I
do
like her,' Joan said, as tears began to form in her eyes. ‘I like her a lot. It's
me
I'm not very keen on.'

J
oan Woodend may have gone to bed angry with herself – and possibly with others – but when she woke up the following morning, she was feeling distinctly sheepish.

And as she watched her husband drink his early morning mug of tea, inevitably accompanied by his second cigarette of the day, she said, ‘I made a complete fool of myself last night, Charlie.'

‘No, you didn't,' Woodend replied, in as soothing a voice as he could muster so early in the day. ‘You were maybe a little
strange
, I'll grant you that, but I'm sure Peggy didn't really notice.'

‘Peggy!' Joan retorted. ‘Who mentioned Peggy?'

‘Well, nobody did, but I just assumed …'

‘I don't give a bugger what Peggy Cathcart thinks, or doesn't think, about the way I behaved. What I'm talkin' about is makin' a fool of myself
in front of you
. My husband! That's what I did – an' don't you dare pretend I didn't!'

‘I think you're bein' too hard on yourself,' Woodend said.

‘But the one thing I
was
right about was that Peggy was flirtin' with you,' Joan persisted. ‘Not that you should let
that
go to your head.'

Woodend fought back a smile. ‘Shouldn't I?'

‘No, because what attracted her to you wasn't any of the qualities that I see in you – or even the ones you see in yourself. What attracted her was that you were
different
.'

‘Different?' Woodend repeated.

‘That's right,' Joan agreed. ‘She found herself, for probably the first time in her life, in close contact with a bit of rough – an' I think she found it quite excitin'.'

Woodend gave up the battle to keep his smile at bay. ‘Is that what I am?' he asked. ‘
A bit of rough
? An' there was me thinkin' that since I've been livin' in London I've grown all smooth an' sophisticated.'

‘Don't get me wrong, I wouldn't have you any other way,' Joan said, ignoring the comment. ‘An' after seein' that poncy stuffed shirt of a husband of hers, I can quite understand why Peggy would find you appealin'.'

‘Come on, Major Cathcart's not that bad,' Woodend said, in defence of his old commander.

But Joan was not interested in talking about
Arthur
Cathcart.

‘Of course I'm not sayin' she'd ever take it any
further
than mild flirtation,' she continued. ‘I'd be perfectly happy leavin' the two of you alone together, for example – at least, I
think
I would – but
flirt
with you was definitely what she did.' She paused, slightly red in the face. ‘Anyway, that's not what I wanted to discuss with you.'

‘So what
did
you want to discuss?'

‘When I went to bed last night, I was burnin' with jealousy over the way Peggy had helped you out with the investigation, an'—'