Naturally I called him. And naturally I said yes.
Seven
We agreed to meet at San Carlos, my favourite Bristol restaurant. When we parted Simon and I had split up restaurants and bars the way some people split up their possessions, their animals and their children. Simon had agreed that I could have sole use of San Carlos, as it held rotten memories for him anyway of times when I had left meals uneaten and him abandoned while rushing off to do my bloody job. Or allegedly to do my bloody job, he had said. That had been a snide afterthought.
I was on time, but Robin Davey was already waiting in the bar. At first sight, propped on a high stool, gazing into the middle distance, he had about him the same gravity I had noticed in the coroner’s court. He looked drawn beneath the tan which seemed to be a permanent feature, and he had certainly aged since my fateful visit to Abri Island, but his face seemed to light up when I walked in. His smile of greeting was warm but diffident, as if he were still unsure of the kind of response he was going to get.
He was dressed casually in a soft light-brown suede bomber jacket, his white shirt open at the neck. I was beginning to realise he looked good in whatever he wore. I glanced down at my slightly crumpled cream linen trouser suit, which I had put on over a plain black tee shirt, and hoped that I had achieved the smart casual look I had taken so long to decide upon. It wasn’t like me to fuss over clothes, but I certainly had that evening.
Robin Davey’s manners were, of course, impeccable He stood up and held out his hand formally. I had forgotten how very tall he was. I just about reached his shoulders.
‘Good evening, Rose. Thank you so much for coming,’ he said.
He asked if I would like a gin and tonic — he had remembered my usual drink, but then he would, he was smooth indeed — and suggested that we go straight to our table and have the drinks delivered there.
Although I had been looking forward to meeting him, in spite of everything, I found that I was glad to be at first occupied with the business of getting seated and ordering our meal. It meant that proper conversation could be conveniently deferred. There was inevitably a certain awkwardness between us to begin with. I kept trying to smooth down my relentlessly fluffy hair with one hand, a silly habit I have when I am nervous, as if a sleeker hairdo would bring with it the kind of sophisticated cool I yearn for at moments like these.
When we had eventually chosen — fresh linguini, char-grilled prawns, and Chianti — Robin leaned back in his chair and took a deep breath, as if preparing himself for something.
‘I must apologise again for involving you in my troubles,’ he said quietly. ‘I was horrified by the comments the coroner made. I couldn’t understand why he was so hard on you.’
I shrugged. ‘Goes with the territory,’ I replied. ‘If you’re a copper, you’re inclined to get the tough treatment if you appear to have stepped out of line at all. Can’t grumble really, after all we are supposed to be there to call the rest of the world to order.’
‘I just hope it hasn’t caused too much trouble for you.’
I grinned wryly. ‘I’m something of an expert on trouble,’ I said.
He smiled the to-die-for smile. It was the first time I had seen it since my stay on Abri, and it had lost none of its charm.
‘I promise you at least that I will do my utmost never to cause you any more trouble,’ he said solemnly.
‘Don’t worry, I can do that all on my own,’ I said.
‘I want to make your life better, not worse,’ he went on. He sounded so earnest. I was taken by surprise by his tone. Suddenly I wasn’t quite sure how this evening was going to turn out at all.
For the moment I decided to sidestep him, and in any case there was one topic we could not avoid.
‘I never said how sorry I was about Natasha,’ I remarked obliquely.
He nodded. ‘It was a dreadful shock. Then all the fuss, the police investigation, the coroner’s court. I felt responsible enough without any of that. Still do. So guilty.’ His voice shook very slightly as he spoke.
‘So do I,’ I said quietly.
He seemed alarmed. ‘You mustn’t. Really, you mustn’t.’
I decided to be quite honest with him about my feelings.
‘Robin, I allowed you to persuade me to more or less ignore the dangers of Jason’s illness and to cover up what happened to me on the Pencil, even though I knew better. If I had behaved differently, Natasha might still be alive...’
He interrupted me. ‘Neither of us could see into the future, Rose. Jason knew he was forbidden to take passengers out in the boat and Natasha knew that too. I still can’t understand why she went with him.’
Abruptly he leaned forward and lightly touched my hand. The man had such presence, such force of personality
‘I thought I had dealt with it all, I was sure that Jason would never endanger anyone again after you,’ he said. ‘I was wrong, and I will never forgive myself. The burden is mine, and mine alone. You have to understand that, Rose.’
‘I’ll try,’ I said, and to my surprise I actually did feel the weight of the guilt which had been bugging me ever since I heard of Natasha’s death lighten just a little.
For most of the rest of the dinner we more or less made small talk. I asked him about Abri and he asked me about my work and my life. I avoided telling him anything very personal, and certainly did not feel ready to talk about my marriage. I did tell him all about my new flat at Harbour Court in the old city docks. And when we stepped outside later he suggested suddenly that I let him walk me home.
‘Your flat can’t be far from here, and it’s such a lovely night,’ he said, gesturing at the clear moonlit sky.
The idea of walking home beneath the stars with the handsome Robin Davey by my side was instantly attractive. The kind of weather Flaming June was supposed to be famous for, which had begun on the very first day of the month when I had driven to North Devon for Natasha Felks’ inquest, and which we so rarely seemed ever to experience in this country, was continuing. This was a glorious night and almost sultry. More like the south of France than Bristol. I should have known better, but I have to admit that my heart fluttered a bit.
Around by the bit of the Floating Harbour where the old SS Great Britain sits surreal in dry dock, we stood close to the edge and watched the reflection of the moon in the water. Robin was very still and very silent. I glanced at his profile. He seemed lost in thought. For a minute or two I wondered if he were even aware of me. I also wondered if he would make a pass at me, and found myself shamelessly half-wishing that he would.
He didn’t. He took me lightly by the arm for the remainder of the walk to Harbour Court, escorted me into the lobby and then kissed me in a warm brotherly fashion on the cheek before bidding me goodnight.
‘Thank you for having dinner with me,’ he said. ‘You have been more generous than I deserve.’
I was fleetingly tempted to take the initiative and invite him in to my flat for the ever ubiquitous coffee, but his manner somehow prevented me. He said he would watch me safely into the elevator and my last glimpse was of him standing there as the doors closed, a small smile just playing on his lips.
He had not even mentioned another meeting. And as I later prepared for bed alone, I wondered if I would ever see him again. The sensible half of me cautioned that probably the best thing that could ever happen to this chapter of my life was for it to become firmly closed. The other half, the part of me which had almost invited him in, kept me awake most of the night thinking about the bloody man.
The flowers were waiting for me with my neighbour when I arrived home from work the following evening.