‘It’s that bloody job of yours,’ she said angrily. ‘Why can’t you do something safer? Q has connections and you’re smart. I am sure you could get a nice safe banking job in the City.’
‘I don’t want a banking job in the City,’ I said. ‘I’d be bored to death. I like what I do.’
‘It’s so dangerous.’
Maybe that’s why I liked it, but I wasn’t going to say so.
Not today.
Faye stayed for most of the afternoon, sitting quietly reading a book, while I wrote out two formal statements, one for DI Galvin concerning the previous night’s events, and the other for DS Jagger about my conversations with Dave Swinton and my twin excursions into his sauna.
‘Can I read them?’ Faye asked when I’d finished.
‘I don’t think you should,’ I said, but I knew I had little or no chance of preventing it. Throughout my life since I was eight, Faye had always been the one in charge and, while I might not always do as she wanted — especially in the employment department — she usually got her way. If she was determined to read my statements, she would.
I meekly handed over the handwritten sheets and lay awkwardly on the bed while she sat on the chair next to it, reading them through from start to finish.
‘Jeff,’ she said eventually, ‘I just can’t believe all of this. Is it really true?’
‘Every word,’ I said.
I was prevented from having a further ear bashing by the arrival of the detective constable from Thames Valley Police.
‘I’ve already written my statement,’ I said, and I took it from Faye to give to him.
He stood reading it through, then asked me to sign it in his presence. ‘I’ll need to get this typed up properly on a Section 9 form. You’ll have to sign again, but this will do for now.’
The policeman departed with the folded sheets of paper in his pocket.
‘Please will you come and stay with Q and me when you get out of here,’ Faye implored, almost in tears. ‘I don’t want you going back to your flat. It’s not safe.’
‘OK,’ I said, giving in gracefully. ‘I will. But only until the police catch Darryl Lawrence.’
That seemed to satisfy her.
‘Anyway,’ I said, ‘how are you feeling? It should be me looking after you, not the other way round.’
‘I’m fine,’ she said. ‘I’m just tired all the time. It’s the bloody drugs.’
‘You don’t have to stay,’ I said, knowing full well that she believed she was acting as my bodyguard. ‘There should be a uniformed policeman outside in the reception area to keep me alive and well.’
She stood up and went to have a look.
‘He’s chatting up the nurses,’ Faye said in a tone that expressed disapproval.
‘Sensible man,’ I said. ‘At least he’s here.’
I hadn’t altogether believed that he would be.
‘I’ll go, then,’ Faye said. ‘I need to get home and make up the bed in the spare room.’
‘I don’t want to be any trouble,’ I said.
‘It’s no trouble.’ She smiled and gave me a peck on the cheek. ‘Now, you be careful.’
It was a serious instruction.
Henri came to see me soon after six o’clock, wafting in wearing a full-length camel-coloured coat with a hood. She looked gorgeous.
‘Sorry I’m so late,’ she said. ‘I had to finish something at work.’
I just beamed. I was so pleased to see her.
Henri removed her coat to reveal a stunning black-and-red tartan dress with a wide black leather belt, and knee-high black suede boots with stiletto heels.
My heart went all a-flutter. Where was Doctor Shwan when you needed him?
‘Wow!’ I said.
‘Do you like it?’ She smiled and did a twirl. ‘It’s all new.’
‘It’s lovely,’ I said. ‘Where are you going?’
‘Nowhere. I wore it for you.’
Wow! again.
‘But I had expected you to be a bit smarter,’ she said. ‘What happened to the jim-jams I bought you?’
I was again wearing a faded blue hospital gown.
‘They’re in the wash,’ I said.
‘Had a little accident, did we?’
‘Something like that, but not what you’re thinking. A few of my stitches burst open and I bled onto them.’
She looked concerned.
‘Surely that shouldn’t happen.’
‘No,’ I said without elaboration.
‘I should have bought you two pairs. Shall I go and get you some more?’ She reached for her coat.
‘No,’ I said again, this time more decisively. ‘Please stay. Unless, of course, you can’t speak to anyone wearing a hospital gown.’
‘I’ll make an exception,’ she said, smiling. ‘Just this once.’
She stayed for two hours, at one point delving into her copious handbag to find a half bottle of Chablis and some glasses, together with some freshly packed sushi.
‘Red Cross parcel,’ she said, giggling.
‘The food here’s not too bad, except everything is overcooked. And it’s pretty bland, as they use little or no salt.’
Henri turned up her pretty nose. ‘I like my salt,’ she said. ‘And I can’t live without freshly ground black pepper.’ She produced a small silver cylindrical object from her handbag and proceeded to grind black peppercorns from it onto her food. ‘I’m fed up with going to those big lunch and dinner events at swanky London hotels and not being able to get hold of a pepper mill. They all think you’re mad asking for one. So I bought myself this to carry with me.’
‘Handy,’ I said.
She popped another piece of raw fish into her mouth and washed it down with some wine.
‘I see you got your phone back,’ she said, nodding at it on my bedside locker. ‘I can call you again now.’
‘Yes, please do. My sister fetched it for me.’ I picked it up and used it to take a photograph of Henri sitting on the edge of my bed, looking fabulous in her red tartan dress.
‘Let’s see,’ she said. I showed her. ‘Not bad for an old one.’
‘Old one?’ I said. ‘You’re not old.’
‘Thirty,’ she said. ‘Can you believe I’m going to be thirty in February? I remember thinking that people aged thirty must be so old they were nearly dead, and now I’m almost there myself.’
She studied the picture. ‘At least I can’t see any wrinkles yet.’
She started flicking through the other pictures on my phone.
‘Hey,’ I said in mock complaint, ‘that’s private.’
‘Good God, that’s Martin and Bentley,’ she said, looking closely at the screen. ‘How come you have a photo of my cousin on your phone?’
She didn’t ask it in an accusatory manner, she was just interested. I leaned forward and peered at the image. It was the photo of the two men who’d been arguing at Newbury, taken through the window of the Hennessy hospitality area with the racecourse in the background.
‘I was snapping the view,’ I said. ‘They just happened to be in the shot. It’s at Newbury races.’
‘What a coincidence.’
‘Who’s Bentley?’ I asked.
‘Bentley Robertson. He’s a creepy little lawyer,’ she said, screwing up her nose again. ‘He’s all work and no play. A bore. Worse, he’s a bore who thinks I’m in love with him. I keep telling him that I’m not but he just winks at me and refuses to believe it. He’s a letch. At least, he is towards me. I once quite liked him but now he makes my skin creep.’ She shivered. ‘But enough about him. Tell me more about you.’
We sat in happy harmony talking about everything and nothing — where we grew up, schools, jobs, likes, dislikes, even our families and our dead parents.
‘It was such a dreadful time,’ Henri said. ‘I was sixteen. Mum and Dad were on their way to pick me up from the sports field at Malvern College, where I was a boarder. We were going to a family wedding in Lincoln. I can remember being so excited about going in a helicopter.’ She paused and there were tears in her eyes. ‘They never arrived. I waited and waited for hours, but they never came. Eventually, the headmaster came out to where I was standing to tell me.’