"Where to?" Gilbert asked wearily.
"The Costa del Crime," I answered.
His eyebrows popped up. "Think he might be collecting another payment?"
"Who knows?" I watched the last few strips fall into the bin. "I'd like to leave things awhile, see what their next move is, if that's all right with you."
"There's not much else we can do," he stated, stroking his chin, 'but it could be dangerous. They may not be so subtle next time."
"If I broke my legs tonight, would you manage without me?"
"It would be a struggle at first," he admitted, 'but by ten o'clock we'd be saying, "Charlie who?" ' "Well in that case, can I have the next two weeks off on leave?"
Gilbert gave one of his all-the-cares-of-the-world sighs. After considering for a few seconds what I'd asked he said: "If you want to take your lady friend studying ecclesiastical architecture in the Cotswolds yes. If you're thinking of buggering off to Spain looking for Cakebread no."
I didn't say anything, just thought about the options he'd given, and a wave of melancholy swept over me. I could immerse myself in police work and enjoy the banter and the adventure of it; I even enjoyed the long, boring shifts waiting in the car in some alley, watching for something to happen. But the endless shifts always did come to an end.
Gilbert had been dismissive of the holiday in the Cotswolds, with 'your lady friend', but his throwaway line expressed an unattainable dream for me. I must be growing sensitive.
The office felt claustrophobic, I needed some fresh air. I delegated a few jobs, then told Tony and Dave that I was going to sort out a few things for the Jaguar. I paused in the exit from the car park. Turning right would take me up towards the moors, past St. Bidulph's and the Old Vicarage. "Not just yet," she had told me, but when was 'yet', and how would I know? I drummed my fingers on the steering wheel, consumed with doubt and indecision. A patrol car waiting behind me gave a gentle toot on its horn. I waved an apology, signalled left and started down the hill into town.
I'd had a message from Jimmy Hoyle, the mechanic, that the wheels were ready, so I thought I would collect them and fit them in the evening.
On the way, as an afterthought, I called in to a travel agency that most of the troops used because it gave a discount to Federation members. There were three girls in varying degrees of desirability behind the counter, and a youth with a ponytail and earrings.
"Can I help you, sir?" enquired the youth.
"I don't know." I sighed with resignation. "Have you anything left in or near Marbella, for next week?"
"Doubt it, sir. It's school holidays and the companies have drastically cut down on flights to Spain this year. Everybody wants to go to the States."
He rattled the keys on his terminal with great fluidity, shook his head and rattled them some more.
"Must it be Marbella?" he asked.
"Well, within driving distance."
"Sorry, Tenerife and Portugal's the nearest we can do, and they're hardly a drive away."
"What about accommodation? If I drove down would I find somewhere to stay?"
"Absolutely no problem, sir. There's lots of spare capacity in the area. We could fix you up, but you'd be better having a look round when you got there. You'd probably find a nice villa for next to nothing if you fancied self-catering."
Self-catering didn't appeal to me, I had enough of that normally, but I was warming to the youth. He knew his job and was trying to be helpful. "What's the best way of taking a car across the Channel?" I asked.
"There's usually a few spare places on the ferries these days. I'd recommend the hovercraft from Dover. It's busy, but we could book you on from here. When would you be travelling?"
"I can't be certain," I said. "What's the chances if you just turn up?"
"You might have a long wait, but they'd fit you on eventually. You'd best be there very early. Here, I'll give you a timetable."
"Thank you, you've been very helpful. I promise to book my next holiday with you."
"You're welcome," he said, with a smile.
Suddenly I was filled with new enthusiasm. I called in at the AA shop and had the Jag put on my policy. I took out their five-star touring service, and the price of it caused my enthusiasm to waver somewhat, but an international driving permit cost me next to nothing. Then I called at Jimmy Hoyle's.
"You'll never fit five wheels in the back of the Cavalier," he told me.
"I've got them in the van, I was going to bring 'em round. Come on, I'll show you."
He opened the back of his little van. It was stuffed solid with Jaguar wheels and smelled of new rubber. Jimmy pulled the nearest wheel towards him, and turned it to show off the gleaming chrome spokes.
"Don't they look fabulous," he enthused. "I think I'd keep the spare one over the mantelpiece."
I had to agree with him. They looked a lot bigger than I remembered, and exuded style and excellence. And this was only the wheels.
"Jimmy, do you think I'll be able to take a long trip in it at the weekend?" I asked.
"Course you can," he said. "That's what it's meant for. I'll give you an MOT certificate now and you can send off for the tax. As long as you backdate it you'll be okay. Then it just needs setting up. I'll do that for you. No problem. Where are you going?"
I'd wanted to keep it secret. "I'm thinking about the South of France," I said.
"Smashing. Anywhere in particular?"
"Yeah, Spain. But don't tell anyone."
"I'll make a deal with you," he said, giving me his lopsided grin.
"Leave the keys with me and I'll pop up this afternoon and put the wheels on. Then I can give it a going-over. That way I get to have the first ride in it. Okay?"
It was definitely okay by me. "Great," I said, 'but what about this place? Can you leave it?"
"No problem. I'll soon have the wheels on, then I can bring it down here to set up. Do you want me to call round at the station with it?"
"No. Er, definitely not. And make sure you put your time on the bill." Jimmy's bills were about a third of what other garages charged, which was just as well, otherwise I'd never have been able to have all the work done. He'd done the paintwork and the technical jobs, and had the expert stuff done at cost price for me. It was Jimmy who'd given me the Cortina several years previously, and I still felt indebted to him.
"Don't worry, I will. C'mon, I'll give you an MOT certificate and a tax form." We went into his little office, where he rummaged among an untidy jumble of papers.
"How can you give it an MOT certificate when it hasn't any wheels on?"
I asked.
"Here they are." He retrieved the pad of certificates and ran his finger down the conditions of issue. He shook his head. "Doesn't say anything about having to have wheels here."
Chapter Eight
There's a photocopying machine in the main post office, so I took copies of the documents before posting them off to the Vehicle Registration Centre at Swansea. Next I called at the bank and cleaned them out of francs and pesetas. They didn't have many, and weren't pleased because I hadn't ordered them, but they paid up without being reminded that it was, after all, my money. Then, because I couldn't think of anything better, I drove back to the office.
Only Nigel was in, immersed in a long report. He told me where everybody else was and gave me a couple of messages. There was nothing that couldn't wait. I sat at my desk and pretended to be busy. I was still feeling restless, impatient, wondering what the next move would be.
The only relief came just before official knocking-off time. I answered the phone to hear a familiar voice whisper: "Hi, boss, it's me, Maggie. Is Nigel in?" She wasn't called Mad Maggie for nothing.
"Yes," I stated, flatly.
"Can he see you?"
"No." Nigel had recently turned his desk round to catch the light from outside, which meant he now had his back to the windows of my little office.