Western Approaches (Jimmy Suttle) (31 page)

‘So what do you do about it?’ she asked again. Second time round it seemed an even saner question.

He didn’t answer. Instead he picked up the brochure and began to leaf through. His fingers left grease marks over the architect’s impression of life at Trezillion Oceanside. Finally, he tossed it aside. He was gazing out to sea.

‘Do you ever dream of sailing away?’ he said.

‘Yes. Since you ask.’

‘I’m serious.’

‘I’m sure you are.’ She reached up for him, kissed the stubble on his cheek. ‘So how would you do it?’

‘I’d buy a yacht. Something that would get me anywhere. I did the nav stuff for the crossing with Kate. I’d need hands-on experience but that wouldn’t be a problem.’ He was looking down at her. ‘How does that sound?’

Lizzie was stroking his arm.

‘It sounds great,’ she said. ‘What would you do for money?’

‘I’ve got money.’

‘Enough?’

‘Yeah. Money wouldn’t be a problem.’ He was lying full length now, his head propped on one arm. ‘So what do you think?’

‘I think it’s brilliant. I think you should do it. Unless . . .’

‘Unless what?’

‘Unless you want to buy one of these.’ She nodded at the brochure.

He gazed at her blankly. ‘Why would I do that?’

‘It’s a joke, Tom. Of course you wouldn’t do that.’

He looked at her a moment longer, still uncertain, then forced a laugh before popping another tinnie. He took a couple of swallows and then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

‘How about you?’

‘How about me what?’

‘Would you fancy it?’

‘I’m married. I’ve got a little girl. I think I mentioned her.’

‘She could come too.’

‘That’s kind.’

‘I mean it.’

‘Yeah? Do you? Do you really?’

She put her tinnie down and cupped his face in her hands. There was something new in his eyes and it took her a moment or two to realise what it was. Alarm.

‘Does this bother you?’ Her fingers followed the crease of the scar down his face. ‘Because it shouldn’t. You want to know a secret? I’ve got a scar too. Down here. Way down below my belly.’

‘How come?’

‘It happened when I was a kid. I was climbing some railings with a friend and slipped and got caught by the spike. My mum always said it could have been worse, but the older I got the uglier it made me feel.’

He smiled at her. She kissed him on the lips.

‘You’re a beautiful man, do you know that?’

‘No.’ He shook his head.

‘Yes. Believe me. You are. Take it from me, people like you are rare. How does that work? You’re rare because you take a risk or two. You’re rare because you stick to what you believe in. And you’re rare because you dare to care.’

She broke off, embarrassed. Rare, dare, care. She hadn’t meant it to come out that way. Garbage like that belonged in a Hallmark card.

‘You haven’t answered my question,’ he said.

‘I know.’

‘So how would you feel about it? Hopping aboard and sailing away?’

They were nose to nose now, the wind fluting through the marram grass.

‘I don’t know you,’ she said.

‘You do.’

‘No.’ She moistened a finger and traced the shape of his lips. ‘But maybe we could remedy that.’

‘Sure.’ He didn’t sound at all certain. ‘And then?’

‘Then we’d be closer. Then we’d get to know each other. Properly.’

He nodded, said nothing. He seemed to have lost focus. He was gazing out to sea again. He wanted to talk about the places they could go, the beaches he could show her, the people she could meet. Simple people. Real people. People who’d never let you down.

‘Are we talking Thailand?’ she said softly.

‘Yeah. And a thousand other places. Think about it, Lizzie. Please.’

The conversation appeared to be over. They lay in silence for a while. The stiffening wind was blowing sand in Lizzie’s face. She thought about seizing the initiative, about taking him by the hand and going back to the van and making a space in the back for the airbed. It might work. It might even be wildly successful. But something told her that this was the last thing he wanted and she didn’t understand why.

‘Do you find me attractive?’ she asked after a while. ‘Be honest.’

‘I love you.’

‘That’s a big word.’

‘I know. I mean it.’

‘But how do you know?’

‘I just do. It’s something you feel. Don’t ask me how. It’s just there. It’s happened. It’s real. It exists. It just feels . . .’ he shrugged ‘. . . right.’

Lizzie said nothing. This was a conversation that was fast getting out of control. She closed her eyes. Could you really fall in love that quickly? And if you could, should you ever admit it?

She felt a movement beside her and became aware of his face looming over hers. He was smiling.

‘The answer’s yes,’ he said softly. ‘Of course I find you attractive.’

‘Do you fancy me?’

‘Yes.’

‘That’s good.’ She nodded. ‘Good.’

Another silence, longer this time. Pendrick lay back again, his huge hands clasped behind his head, his eyes closed. She wanted to kiss him properly, to unpick a little of the mystery that was complicating something that should have been so simple, but she couldn’t bring herself to do it. It wasn’t meant to be this way. She’d wanted them to make love, to share each other physically, to get to a place beyond the rights and wrongs of stony-hearted developers and the wickedness of the Western world, but deep down she realised it wasn’t going to work. For all his talk of falling in love, something was holding him back.

At length she picked the brochure up and flicked through it again, aware that he was watching her. She looked up at him.

‘Where did you get this?’

‘Kinsey’s apartment.’ He seemed to be smiling at the memory. ‘If you want the truth, I nicked it.’

It was gone six before John Hamilton phoned back. Suttle had left a message on his mobile asking him to call. Suttle was still introducing himself when Hamilton interrupted.

‘I know who you are,’ he said.

‘How?’

‘I got a call from Gina. She seems to think you’re all right. Does that come as a surprise?’

‘Yes, definitely.’

‘Should I know more?’

‘There isn’t more to know.’

‘Ah . . .’ Suttle thought he caught the softest of chuckles. ‘Then I think I understand.’

Suttle briefly described the meet he was setting up for Monday night. Bournemouth seemed a good location, but he didn’t know the town and he needed a steer on an appropriate rendezvous.

‘Is that all you need?’

‘No. I want someone to watch my back. Put me down as paranoid but in this kind of company I need to have a backstop.’

‘Sure. That’s understood.’

Hamilton said he had a flat in Westbourne. There was a Café Rouge up the road at the end of a crescent of shops. Suttle could get directions from Google or his satnav. The parking was fine across the road and the cafe might do nicely. He’d be happy to ride shotgun.

‘That’s good of you.’

‘Not at all. Blame my crazy wife.’

‘You’re still married?’

‘Yes.’ The chuckle again, but louder. ‘She told you otherwise?’

Lizzie was back in Exmouth by half six. She and Pendrick had shared the journey back in a companionable silence. He’d reached for her hand from time to time, a form of physical solace that made Lizzie begin to suspect that Pendrick – in some dimly understood way – was damaged goods. When he stopped on the seafront and let her out beside her car, he wanted to know when he’d see her again.

‘Tomorrow,’ she said brightly. ‘I’m the girlie in bow making a fool of herself.’

She drove home, increasingly perplexed. In many respects it had been a lovely afternoon. In others, though it shamed her to admit it to herself, it had been deeply disappointing. On the way up to the north coast she’d rather assumed they’d get it on. She was curious to know whether they’d work together, and to be blunt there was only one way of finding out. Yet it hadn’t happened, and the more she thought about it the more she realised that it probably never would.

There was a wariness in Pendrick that seemed to stand guard against the encroachments of the outside world. You stepped towards him and extended a hand only to watch him back off. To begin with she’d blamed herself for being too eager, too pushy, but then she found herself wondering why he and his wife had never had kids. Did they ever screw? Or had the marriage been based on something else?

In truth she didn’t know, and as she turned the Impreza onto the parking area beside Chantry Cottage she found herself confronting another surprise. Driving up the lane, she’d assumed that the curl of blue smoke had come from the adjoining farm. Now she was watching her husband circling a sizeable bonfire with his daughter in his arms.

She got out of the car. Suttle met her on the patio. He smelled of woodsmoke. He told her he’d had a great day. Even Grace was beaming. Together, they toured the garden. Suttle, it turned out, had parked Grace in her playpen in the sunshine and taken a scythe to the long grass. He’d hacked away at the dead vegetation along the wall that led down to the brook and raked a small mountain of twigs and assorted leaves into a monster bonfire. A lot of the stuff was still wet, he said, hence the lack of a proper flame, but if the weather held over the coming week he’d have another go.

Lizzie was surprised and impressed. With her eyes half closed the garden resembled a savage grade two. Far more importantly, her ever-distracted husband had at last made a start on the chaos of their domestic life. She lifted Grace from Suttle’s arms and gave her a hug. Suttle wanted to know how the clear-up at the club had gone.

‘Fine,’ she said. ‘But it took for ever.’

Later, after Lizzie had put Grace to bed, Suttle made supper and explained about Monday night. Lizzie, who knew Dave Fallon by reputation from her days on the Pompey
News
, warned Suttle to be careful. He said he’d already taken care of it.

‘How?’

‘The D/I I saw last night? She’s got an estranged husband who lives in Bournemouth. He’s agreed to keep an eye on me.’

‘That’s nice of him.’

‘Gina’s doing. Not mine.’

‘She vouched for you?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘So what’s in it for her?’

The moment she said it Lizzie knew she’d kicked open a door she should have left well alone.

Suttle was standing by the cooker, stirring a pan of fried rice.

‘How about you?’ he said softly.

‘How about me what?’

‘How about you and all your new buddies?’

‘You mean the rowing club?’

‘Sure. Unless it’s gone beyond that.’

‘Beyond what? I haven’t a clue what you’re talking about.’

‘You haven’t? A couple of nights ago you’re back at eleven. What’s going on with these people? Do they row in the dark?’

‘We had a drink.’

‘Who had a drink?’

‘A bunch of us. They’re very social. That’s nice. Bit of a novelty, if you want the truth.’

‘And today? Out at nine? Back at six? That’s a lot of sweeping-up.’

‘It was a shit heap. I told you.’

‘Sure.’

‘You don’t believe me?’

‘No.’

‘You think I’m lying?’

‘I think you’re hiding something.’

‘Same thing, isn’t it?’

‘Yeah.’ He nodded. ‘It is.’

‘Great. You want the truth? Then here it is.’ Lizzie stepped towards him. A vivid blush of colour pinked her face. He could feel her anger. ‘Just for the record I object to this cop routine. I’m your wife, not some bloody suspect. I’m sure you’re great in interview but marriage is a different gig. Have I been fucking some he-man rower? No. Have I been tempted? As it happens, yes. Why? Because I can’t stand living the way we live.’

Suttle nodded. He’d given up on the fried rice.

‘So where did you go this afternoon?’

‘I’m not answering that question.’

‘But you did go somewhere?’

‘Yes.’

‘Great.’ He turned back to the pan and gave the rice a savage poke. ‘Thanks for fucking nothing.’

‘You spent last night with a woman who just happens to live alone.’ Lizzie was in his face now. ‘You came home at God knows what time. Good was she? Worth it?’

‘She’s nuts, if you really want to know. Totally out of her tree.’

‘Perfect.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means you could fuck the arse off her and walk away. No commitment on your part. No comeback. A totally risk-free screw. Like I say, perfect.’

‘And you think that’s what I did?’