Authors: Quintin Jardine
'Or did you hear anything that night? You said that you worked late.'
She pursed her lips. 'Let me think. I was in my study, off the second bedroom.'
`Would there have been lights showing?'
`Probably not. Anyway, let me think. Yes, I do recall hearing a sound, as if someone had tripped over something.'
`Were you startled?'
Ariadne Tucker looked at the Chief Inspector, as if to indicate that 'startling' was something which happened to other people.
Ì just assumed,' she said, 'that Maurice had gone downstairs for some reason and had trodden on the cat. Which, almost certainly, is what happened!' She gathered herself and moved towards the door. 'Now, gentlemen, if that really is everything ‘
Donaldson and Mcllhenney followed her into the hallway. She held the door open for them, but as the Chief Inspector stepped outside she caught his arm. 'Look,' she said. 'This theory about Maurice thinking I was having an affair with the Secretary of State. It really is pretty far-fetched, isn't it?' For the first time, her voice sounded less than confident.
Òf course it is, ma'am,' said Donaldson soothingly.
Àye,' said Mcllhenney. 'The only trouble is, it fits the facts as we know them. When you get down to it, blowing a plane full of people out of the skies, that's pretty far-fetched too, yet that's exactly what happened last Friday!'
SIXTY-TWO
Leona,' said Alison Higgins, as she hung up her overcoat in her friend's hallway. 'Are you sure you're up for this? How many people are coming?'
Ì'm perfectly fine,' said the little woman. 'There won't be too many of us. Just you and Marshall Elliot, plus Roly's Constituency Chairwoman, Vice-chairman and Treasurer.
Don't you worry, I can handle half a dozen close friends for supper. I'm cheating anyway.
I've had a caterer send in a huge shepherd's pie and a big glitzy gateau.'
`Fine, but what's it all about?'
Ìt's just something I felt I had to do, in the circumstances. Go on, Alison, pour yourself a drink and relax. What would you like?'
Higgins shook her head. 'Ach well, as long as it keeps you occupied. Got any Swan Light?'
Leona laughed. 'The Sheila's Pint?' she said, mimicking an Australian accent. 'Of course I have, with you coming. Get yourself one, then give me a hand to set the table. They'll be here soon.'
‘Where's Mark?' asked her friend, as she reached into the fridge’.
‘He's at his grandpa's for the night. I thought it might do the fellow some good to have him around. My son's an amazingly resilient wee chap, isn't he?'
`So's his mother, by the looks of things.'
The two women had barely finished setting the table went when the doorbell rang. Alison, in the hallway at the time, went to answer it, to find all four guests on the doorstep.
`Hello Marsh,' she said to the agent. 'All together, I see.' `Yes, I thought it made sense for me to pick everyone up in the Rover.'
She smiled at him. Higgins had developed a secret attraction to Marshall Elliot. 'Tory staff still under orders to buy British, then?' she said lightly.
He returned her grin. 'If that was the case, my dear, we'd all be driving TVRs or Morgans or some such!'
His three companions smiled nervously. Alison thought that the Chairwoman looked particularly ill at ease.
`How is Leona tonight?' Elliot asked quietly as they entered the hall. 'I wasn't sure about this, but she insisted.'
`She's fine,' said Higgins, to the three constituency officers rather than to him. 'You have to remember that while she's been widowed, her son survived by some miracle. At the moment the relief seems to be outweighing the loss. This evening will do her good too. I know that it's important to her. So please — try not to feel ill at ease in her company.'
She opened a door off the hall and led the way into the living room, where Leona McGrath was waiting. Inside, Marsh Elliot completed the formal introductions of his three companions to Alison, who was meeting them for the first time.
Elizabeth Marks, the Constituency Chairman, as she insisted on being described, was a stout, tweed-clad woman in her early fifties, with severe iron-grey hair. Her husband Jeremy was the local Party Treasurer. He was a small mousy man, an inevitable seconder, Higgins imagined, of his wife's proposals in Committee. His main distinguishing feature was an incipient strawberry nose, which suggested that he and alcohol were frequent companions.
John Torrance, the Vice-chairman seemed the most assured and friendly of the trio. He was tall and slim, in his early forties, clad in a dark blue suit, with a cut which suggested private tailoring. Higgins knew him by reputation and by word of mouth from Leona, as a self-made millionaire with no desire for office, but with a clear vision of the way his country should be run.
`Superintendent,' said Torrance, with genuine interest as he shook her hand. 'Tell me, what's the word on Bob Skinner? I know him a little through the New Club. That was a terrible business the other night.'
`The news is fairly good,' she replied. 'He's conscious and the surgery has been effective.
He's still in Intensive Care, in case of unforeseen complications, but he should be all right.'
He turned to Leona. And you, my dear. How are you?'
The little woman nodded her head, a touch nervously, Higgins thought, bouncing her brown curls. Ì'm fine, John. It was too much to take in at first, Roland's death and our child's survival. It was Bob Skinner who rescued him from the cockpit, you know,' she added, as an aside to Mr and Mrs Marks.
`You just have to come to terms with things. I have. Roly could have had a heart attack, cancer, been knocked down by a bus, anything. I couldn't have done anything about it.
Whatever the cause, he's gone. I'll miss him for ever, but I'll do my crying in the dark.
During the day I have to look forward, not back, for everyone's sake, for my son's most of all. I think I've found a way forward:
She paused. 'First things first, though. What would you like to drink?'
She poured white wine for John Torrance, a Coca-Cola for Marsh Elliot and whisky for the two Marks, who closed in on he with their private condolences.
`How's the investigation going, Superintendent?' Torrance asked as he and Marsh Elliot, flanking Higgins, gave them their moment.
Ìt's early days yet,' said Higgins. 'It's a difficult one altogether. I'm not heavily involved, but my Deputy is, and from what he's reporting back, there are a number of possibilities.'
`Presumably you're looking for international terrorists,' said Marsh Elliot.
`That's a natural assumption, but the fact is we're looking everywhere.'
`But Davey or Massey — or both — must have been the target, surely?'
Higgins, feeling cornered, shrugged 'You can draw that conclusion if you like, Marsh. But you mustn't expect me to comment on it.'
Leona McGrath, seeing her friend's predicament, moved in to end the interrogation by summoning her guests to supper.
The Marks continued to surround their hostess during the meal, with elaborate Presbyterian concern which seemed as genuine as the Constituency Chairman's pearl necklace. Apart from the occasional glance to reassure herself that her friend was enduring the experience, Alison was left to enjoy the company and the attention of two attractive men, even if each was wearing a gold band on his left hand. The subjects of Bob Skinner's injury and the investigation were declared, tacitly, off limits; instead their conversation centred around sailing. Torrance revealed that he owned and sailed an ocean-going yacht, while Higgins confessed that her favourite recreation was crewing her brother's somewhat smaller vessel on the Firth of Clyde. Marshall Elliot registered his interest by admitting that before becoming a Conservative Agent, he had spent fifteen years as an officer in the Royal Marines.
At the other end of the table, far from being borne down by the droning Marks, whose only interest in life seemed to be their small accountancy practice, Leona McGrath seemed to be revelling in her surroundings, smiling and putting her guests at their ease. It seemed almost as if she had reversed the roles and was consoling them.
At last, she tapped her glass, interrupting, politely, John Torrance's account of a voyage around the Canaries, 'In the wake of Captain Bob,' as he put it.
`Friends,' she said. 'There are just a few formal things that I'd like to say to you. The first is to thank you all, especially you, Alison, and you, Marsh, for the tremendous support which you've given me since Roland's death. I hope that at the funeral you will all join the family in the reserved rows at the front of the church. The Prime Minister will sit beside Mark and me, and the family. I'd like you all to sit immediately behind us in the second row; with your wives of course, John and Marsh.'
All five guests nodded, heads bowed.
`Gentlemen,' she went on, looking in turn at Marks, Torrance and Elliot, her face showing strain for the first time that evening. For the burial, I would like each of you to take a cord at the graveside. Roly's father will be at the head of the coffin, with his brothers. Marsh, would you take the cord facing him, with Jeremy and John on either side of you. There are eight cords in all. I intend to ask Andrew Hardy and Sir James Proud to take the others.
Would you all do that for me?'
Of course, Leona,' said Elliot. Torrance and Marks nodded, mumbling thanks.
She glanced apologetically at Mrs Marks. 'Ladies, traditionally this is a man's task at a funeral. Roly's dad is very much a traditionalist and I wouldn't upset him.'
Ì understand completely, dear,' said Mrs Marks.
`Good. Now to the last thing I have to say.
The three things in life which my husband loved were his son, his Parliamentary seat and his Party.' Alison Higgins flashed a quick glance around the table, but none of the other guests reacted to her obvious omission.
Ìf; somehow, he knew last Friday that Mark would be spared, then he would have died happy. After that, he would have wished more than anything else for the seat which his death leaves vacant to be saved for his Party.' She paused and looked around the table once more.
Àlthough some of his colleagues have joined what the Opposition are calling the Chicken Run, and finding new, safer seats before the next election, Roly never entertained the idea of doing that. He believed that he owed it to the Party nationally and to you in the constituency to stay here, whatever the odds, and fight the next election. I know you all had doubts, but he was convinced that he would have held it.
`So was I.
Ì've given this a lot of thought. I believe that I owe it to Roly to try to keep alive his determination to retain this as a Tory seat. As you all know, the Writ will be moved on Thursday, principally to give the Party the best possible chance of holding Colin Davey's seat, where they're going to slot the sitting MEP in as candidate.
`That puts you in a hole, does it not?' She looked directly at John Torrance, acknowledging what all the rest knew, that he was the real leader of the Constituency Party. Torrance nodded solemnly, but with a question in his eyes.
`Right. Let me help you out of it. John, in these circumstances can you think of anyone who has as good a chance as I would have of holding this seat for the Party?'
He looked at her in astonishment for uncounted seconds. At last he said, slowly, 'No, Leona, I cannot.'
She looked at each person around the table, one by one. 'In that case,' she said, 'humbly and sincerely, I offer myself to you as your Parliamentary candidate.'
Half an hour later, she waved good night from the front doorway to her four guests, each one still slightly shell-shocked from the experience of the evening. When she closed the door behind her and turned back into the hall, Alison Higgins was staring at her.
`Christ, Leona. Their faces! Mine too, I suppose, for I was as surprised as them. Are you sure about this?'
Àbsolutely. I've never been more certain of anything in my life. It wasn't love that kept Roly and me together, you know. It was politics. You must have guessed that, surely.'
Almost reluctantly, Higgins nodded. 'I knew there was something. I have to admit that latterly it was pretty obvious that there wasn't any sexual chemistry left between you two.'
`Delicately put,' said Leona, with a bitter smile.
She led the way back into the dining room and picked up an unfinished glass of wine from the table. 'Poor Marsh. I really should have warned him in advance, I suppose.' She grinned again. 'God, the trouble he has with the women in his life!'
`What d'you mean?' said Higgins, puzzled.
`Margie Elliot gives her husband a very tough time. She's the talk of the coffee mornings, even in the presence of the MP's wife. They say she has a tongue like a navvy, and that she gives her poor husband the rough edge of it on a daily basis. They say also that Marsh, for all that he has a reputation as a man's man, can't do anything about it.'
`No? What about divorce, if it's that bad?'
`Not everyone rushes to divorce an awkward spouse. Take me for example.'
Higgins looked at her, frowning.
Òh yes, Ali my dear. The coffee-morning gossips were quite specific about the MP too, although they didn't know I was listening at that point. There was a pretty young thing from BBC Television, then there was a rugby internationalist's wife, then a Judge's daughter. I could go on.'
She drained her wine glass, and Alison realised that her friend had crossed the threshold to the other side of sobriety.
`He didn't try it on with you, ever, did he?' Higgins shook her head, unsmiling. No, he wouldn't have. He was always wary of you. A little scared, almost. He covered it up though, with bluster.' She picked up a bottle of Fleurie from the table and refilled her glass. 'He used to say that you struck him as being sexually stingy. I told him that there were a couple of weekend sailors who could disprove that charge, but he stuck to his guns.
I think he was pleased with the phrase. Sexually stingy.' She pronounced the words slowly and carefully, then burst into pealing laughter.