Nightcap. He mouthed the word greedily like a gobstopper as he watched her move towards the entrance with a purposeful grace, a self-contained woman who knew what she wanted — and who had a life of her own he knew nothing about.
For some reason the thought was detumescent and he sat in his car till she had entered the building then drove away. But by the time he got home he was cursing himself again for a fool. There was no doubt about it, he really fancied another helping of what they'd had for pudding that lunch time. And yet. . and yet.. Simple lust didn't bother him. Man who didn't get the odd twinge might as well sign up as security guard at a harem. But with Cap there was something else which did worry him. Not just his natural constabular concern that she might yet prove a professional embarrassment, but a feeling as yet too vague to stand up in an identification parade that there might be something after 'afters'..
The phone had started ringing again as they'd uncoupled the previous afternoon, nicely cutting out that danger zone when a man could verbal himself into a lot of trouble.
As forecast, it had been the media, released from his shackles and eager for a story. Leaving her to fix up her telly interview, he'd wandered into the kitchen for another Mexican beer and almost automatically found himself checking out the notes, postcards, invitations, et cetera, she'd got stuck on her pin board.
'Looking for clues, Andy?' she'd said from the doorway.
She was still naked, but entirely unselfconsciously so, not even attempting to suck in the middle-aged sag of her belly.
'Just being impressed by the company you keep,' he'd replied holding up the university invitation.
'I probably shan't go,' she said. 'Unless maybe you fancy coming along? See how our intellectual betters live, and making a hole in their booze?'
It was such a casual, non-threatening suggestion that it seemed quite clever to accept it, and once there, he'd consciously not stuck by her side and equally consciously (and childishly?) made it clear that he was as at home here as he was anywhere else he cared to go.
But he'd really enjoyed the evening, and perhaps it was this sense of more than sexual enjoyment which was making him back off from her invitations.
This kind of self-analysis was foreign to him and he didn't like it. What he did like were situations where he knew instinctively how to react, i.e. ninety-nine per cent of his adult life up till now. Cap Marvell was trouble. Even if she didn't step over the bounds of the law, she was always going to be skirting its edge and he wasn't certain whether he wanted his own anarchy to be constantly tested by someone else's equal but other disregard for convention.
'I could end up like Peter Pascoe!' he told himself aghast. He had a great deal of admiration for Ellie, but there were no two ways about it, having her hand on his tiller got poor Pete sailing through some pretty perilous seas! But at least Ellie had no objection to sinking her teeth into a nice juicy steak.
The memory of the tofu pie did it. Lunch was definitely off. Pleased with having arrived at his decision, he drove out to Wanwood House. He had nothing particular in mind, but Wield's preoccupation with TecSec chimed so closely with his own general distrust of private armies that a closer look wouldn't come amiss.
When he entered the TecSec office, it wasn't Patten who looked up at him from behind the desk but a darkly handsome, athletic-looking man in a pricey pinstripe suit.
'Who the hell are you?' the stranger demanded. 'Don't you know about knocking?'
'It's my life's study,' said Dalziel. 'I'm Dalziel. And who the hell are you?'
'Ah yes,' said the man. 'I should have recognized you from Des's description. Simon Sanderson, founder and senior partner of TecSec. How can I help you, superintendent?'
Putting aside the question of how Patten had described him, Dalziel sank into a chair and said, 'Thought you spent your time going around, charming jobs out of people who can't afford it.'
Best way of getting to know anyone is hit 'em hard and watch how they react. Thoughts of Chairman Dalziel, 244.
Sanderson smiled like he'd taken lessons off Jack Nicholson and opened a desk drawer from which he produced a bottle and two glasses, both of which he filled, one of which he passed to the Fat Man.
'Here's to our better acquaintance,' he said.
'Up yours,' said Dalziel.
They drank. It was Tomintoul.
Thoughts of Chairman Dalziel 244(a). If hitting 'em hard gets you Tomintoul, what would kicking 'em in the goolies produce?
He said, 'So what did you get chucked out of the army for, captain?'
'Embezzling the mess funds and screwing the colonel's lady,' said Sanderson promptly. 'That's what I always tell people. The truth, you see, is less credible and makes them think I've got something to hide.'
He refilled the glasses. I could get to like this prancer, thought Dalziel.
'Every bugger's got something to hide,' he asserted confidently. 'Usually it is the truth. So try me.'
'I was enjoying a little vacation in Bosnia when my driver steered my armoured personnel carrier over a mine. A few days later as I opened the flood of get-well cards from my many admirers, I found among them a note from the Ministry of Defence which proved to be a get-out card instead, what is known among Other Ranks, I believe, as a redundancy notice. Here, have another snort. I can see it's been a shock to you.'
'I can thole it,' said Dalziel. 'So you were out on your neck, money in your pocket, and nowt on your CV but ten years or so of giving orders and shooting people dead. That's when you started a security company.'
'What else? The only kind of job I was really qualified for, one requiring nerves of steel, balls of brass, and a general indifference to the sensitivities of those who got in my way, would have been yours, superintendent, but I couldn't face all those years of wearing a pointed hat. Now we've got me safely catalogued, how may I be of service to you today?'
This was a real smooth piece of work, thought Dalziel. Calculating, confident, cocky. But not condescending, you had to give him that. There'd been no implication of superiority in his armed response to Dalziel's assault, and this was, in a way, disarming. In fact the bugger's got me feeling flattered he thinks I'm as good as he is! concluded the Fat Man. And anyone who can manage that really needs watching.
He said, 'How come a potty little outfit like thine with next to no track record landed a contract with a company like ALBA?'
'Ah, it's guilty secret time,' said Sanderson. 'It's all down to a homosexual relationship, I'm afraid.'
'You wha'?'
'Me and David Batty. Went to the same public school, pulled each other's plonkers behind the fives court. Everyone did. I mean, lock up a couple of hundred growing boys out of reach of all female company for months at a time, what do they expect? Mere marking time in most cases, of course, but such close encounters do cement adult relationships. This is what the old boy network is really all about. It's not masonic handshakes that get you favours, it's knowing where those hands have been.'
'You're saying Dr Batty set you on here 'cos you're old school mates?'
'More or less, though I had to give him a prompt. I read in the local rag about the raid they had last summer and I thought, security problem, there could be an opening here for a young, thrusting state-of-the-art company. So I picked up the phone and invited myself round for a drink. He liked the sound of my ideas, and here we are.'
'Your ideas being to dig up half the wood and fence the place off like Colditz?'
'Not a pretty solution but it worked,' said Sanderson. 'No one gets in who shouldn't.'