Cold Pressed (4 page)

Beatrice ended the call and watched the fields flicker by,
glowing as if irradiated in autumnal sunshine. Marianne's words suffused her
with a sense of belonging, of acceptance and a depth of almost maternal
affection she'd never expected to experience. Her phone beeped again. A text
message.

Sorry to miss
the big lunch! But can't wait for next weekend. Love, Tanya and Luke xoxo

So much spontaneous warmth made her smile and hug herself.
That feeling took a long time to fade.

Until she started thinking.

A delay between Reading and Paddington meant she
eventually got back to Boot Street at half past four. The City cast long
shadows across the East End as shops and stalls began the process of giving way
to the alternative landscape of the night. Impatient to discuss her theories,
Beatrice was irritated to get no response from her neighbour's bell. On a
Saturday afternoon, with a new boyfriend in tow, Adrian could be anywhere.
Probably on the South Bank, dallying in a second-hand bookshop, pottering about
in a craft market or enjoying good food by the river. The fact that she could
have been doing the same things in a Devon village only made it worse. She
stomped upstairs and started repacking her weekend bag. Greece, in November.
What to wear? Which essential medicinal products to take?

She yanked out an article on wine she'd intended to share
with Matthew and her conscience pricked. However, the conviction she'd arrived
at on the train precluded a call. She sent a brief, upbeat text message
assuring him of her safe arrival and opened the bathroom cabinet to find the
Imodium.

Chapter 5

Unable to settle to television, book or case file,
Beatrice opted for the Internet. Ostensibly research, but actually distraction.
Images of Greek islands proved rather alluring. So much so that the doorbell
gave her a real start. She picked up the intercom.

"Hello?"

"Oh, Beatrice, it is you. That's a relief. We saw the
light and assumed the worst. Why are you back so soon?"

"Hello, Adrian. I have to work, unfortunately. What are
you two up to tonight?"

"Clubbing, I think, but not till later. Now we're
having cheese, crackers, a rich Bordeaux and
Strictly Come Dancing
. Want
to join us?"

Beatrice weighed her loathing of reality TV against her urge
to talk.

"I'll have a look in the cupboards to see what I can
contribute. Then I’ll be down in two shakes of a ham’s tail. Are you sure I’m
not intruding?"

“Don’t be silly. Hurry up. I want to show you my new hair.”

Holger opened the door and stooped to kiss Beatrice on
both cheeks. He wore a tight lilac T-shirt with a tea-towel flopped over his
shoulder and smelt of a crisp sea-breeze shower gel. He unbent to his full
height and pointed with a frown at her carrier bag.

"You didn't need to bring anything. We have more than
enough. Are you fine, Beatrice?"

She nodded. "Yes. I’m only back here because I have to
fly to Greece in the morning. Did you have a lovely day exploring the capital?"

Holger gestured for her to follow him inside. "Perfect.
The weather is good for photographs and I love to spend time in markets and art
galleries."

"Me too. Did you go to Camden?"

"No, Adrian said it was too touristy. We went to
Borough and Spitalfields."

His muscular bulk blocked out the light as they entered the
living-room.

"Our guest is here!" called Holger, offering to
take her bag.

"Hello, Beatrice! Come in and let me pour you a
glass." Adrian, wearing a paisley-print shirt and jeans, stood at the
kitchen island, uncorking a bottle of wine. His dark hair was spiked up into a
mini-quiff reminding her of a young Tony Curtis.

"Hello you. Nice haircut. You look rather rockabilly.”

“Do you like it? Couldn’t do the whole James Dean thing but
I fancied going a bit ‘collar up’ for a while. What’s in the bag?”

“I brought oatcakes, Twiglets, some Godminster and one of
Matthew's recommendations. It's a
Nuit Saint Georges
."

"You didn't need to bring anything, but seeing as you
did, I'm glad it's something divine. Now sit down and tell me what happened.
You haven't fallen out with Matthew, I hope?"

"No, no. Quite the opposite. Hamilton summoned me back
so that I can be in Greece by tomorrow. A death on a cruise ship needs
investigating. Looks straightforward enough so should only take a couple of
days."

Adrian handed her a glass and pecked her on both cheeks.
"Let's toast! To a glorious Sunday, whether in the East End, a Devon
village or a Greek beach. Cheers!"

They repeated the toast, clinked glasses and drank. The wine
was earthy and rich, and strangely soothing.

Holger gestured towards the living-room with his glass.
"You two go and sit down. I'll add Beatrice's things and bring the tray
in."

They did as they were told.

Adrian sat beside her on the sofa and dropped his voice.
"I am utterly besotted. If I'd been given
carte blanche
to design
my perfect man, I'd have never thought of some of those details. He's almost
too good to be true."

"I must say, every time I see him, he gets better
looking. When is he going back to Hamburg?"

"Monday. But two weeks later, he'll be back to stay for
three months. He's got a job with an instrument-making shop in... where's that
place again, Holger?"

Holger entered the room and placed a heavily laden tray on
the coffee table in front of them. "South Thames College. I'm teaching
advanced guitar-making. In Morden."

"Morden? Bit of a trek. Still, at least it's only one
Tube line from here."

A look passed between the two men. "Um, Holger's not
moving in, Beatrice. He has a place all lined up near Angel. But yes, it's
still only one Tube line."

A blush crept up Beatrice's neck. "Sorry, I didn't mean
to make assumptions. You're absolutely right to take things slowly. I mean, who
knows what might happen in the next..."

Adrian laughed. "I think you'd better stop there before
you dig yourself a deeper hole." He looked at Holger. "She means what
she says about taking it slowly. How long have you and Matthew been together?
Twenty years and they still haven't made the leap to cohabitation."

Beatrice forced a laugh to join in with Holger, despite a
feeling of looming dread. Her observant neighbour picked up on her mood.

"Come on, let's eat.
Strictly
's on in ten
minutes. Beatrice, you said earlier, when I asked if you two had fallen out, you
said it was quite the opposite. Are you going to elaborate? Has he popped the
question?"

This time it was impossible to fake a laugh. It took a
second for Adrian to notice her frozen posture and locked jaw, as he was
helping himself to a slice of Godminster and an oatcake.

"Oh my God! Beatrice? He has!”

She shook her head. "No, he hasn't. Not yet. But he's
going to, I know it. If I hadn't got the call from work, he'd be doing it now,
across the table at The Toad. As it is, he'll find the right moment next
weekend. What the hell am I going to do?"

Holger stared at her and Adrian put down his plate.
"This is serious. Holger, top up the wine. I'll set the TV to record. Now,
DI Stubbs, kindly start at the beginning."

It took some time to explain: Matthew's recent obsession
with planning the future, the 'just the two of us' dinner plans, Marianne's
call, Tanya's text message and the sudden realisation that every expectation
was pinned on an imminent wedding. She finally stopped talking and Holger
handed her a plate. Dear man, he'd already prepared a variety of cheeses,
slices of fruit and selection of crackers. Sharing her concerns left her
lighter, so she tucked into Brie on a water biscuit with a couple of grapes.

Adrian swirled the contents of his glass. He seemed lost in
the deep colours. Beatrice and Holger both waited for him to speak. He looked
up and nodded.

"I have to agree. It definitely sounds as if that is
what he's planning. Your detective work is flawless, as always. The question
now must be, what next? Holger, what do you say?"

Holger examined a Twiglet and replaced it on his plate.
"For me, there is only one question. Beatrice, do you love Matthew?"

She nodded, her mouth full.

"So what is the difficulty here? Go to Greece, do what
you need to do quickly and return to him. Wait for his question and answer from
your heart. If you love him, if your relationship has already lasted twenty
years, why not marry the man?"

Beatrice swallowed. That was the trouble with Germans.
Always so logical. His argument made perfect sense and only someone wilfully
perverse could disagree. She took a swig of wine and attempted to explain.

"You're absolutely right. The problem is that I can’t
help but see marriage as an end, rather than a beginning. I've spent over fifty
years as an independent woman, and to give up now..." Her voice cracked
and tears clouded her vision. Two bodies bundled close and draped arms around
her back. She sniffed and yanked a tissue from her sleeve.

"Sorry, sorry. I know this is a problem of my own
making. But I really don't know why things have to change. We've been happy
like this for ages, so why rock the boat? I don't want to be a Devon housewife,
tending courgettes and making jam and joining the Women’s Institute. The very
thought makes me hyperventilate. What the hell is the matter with the man? I
don't know why he would propose now."

No one spoke for a few seconds. Beatrice thought back to one
of her mother's favourite sayings, 'Old age don't come alone'.

Holger cleared his throat. "Are you sure you don’t know
why?"

She shook her head. "No, I do."

Adrian raised his eyebrows. "I think you'll find the
generally accepted expression is just 'I do'. Might come in handy one of these
days."

Beatrice gave a profound sigh. "Two little words that
could change everything."

Adrian leaned forward to catch Holger's eye. "And you
call me a drama queen?"

Taxi booked, online check-in complete, case packed and
alarm set, Beatrice began preparing herself for bed. She was brushing her teeth
when the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"
Stubbs, Hamilton here. All set for tomorrow?"

"Yes sir. It doesn't seem especially complex. Is this
more an exercise in cooperation?"

"
Yes and no. The fellow at the helm is new to the
game and his grasp of the lingo is not the best. You’re there as mentor. Play
second fiddle, guide him in the right direction and only step in if he looks
liable to bugger it up. And do it quickly, Stubbs. I need you back here
."

"I'll do my best, sir. Is there another case on the
agenda?"

"
Not exactly. Plan is, assign you to Operation
Horseshoe, learn the ropes and take over from Rangarajan
."

"Take over? But sir, Ranga's doing a great job! I don't
understand why you would want to replace him now. Putting a white woman on the
case instead of a senior Asian male seems counter-intuitive."

"
Of course you don't understand. Because as per
bloody usual, Stubbs, you don't have the full picture. Rangarajan is taking
early retirement at the end of this year. Horseshoe is an extraordinarily
complicated operation, which requires a sensitive touch and a thorough
understanding of cultural mores. When Ranga retires, I need a safe pair of
hands on the tiller
."

"Oh, I see. I had no idea he was thinking of early
retirement as well."

There was an extended silence at the other end of the line.
Beatrice winced. Another two little words.

"
I beg your pardon? Did you just say ‘as well’
?"

"Sorry, sir. Nothing decided yet. Just an idea I've
been considering."

"
Have you now? Well, you can damn well unconsider
it. Do you have any idea whatsoever of the efforts I have made to keep you in
your post? Of the political persuasion I've brought to bear in order to retain
a person viewed by many as perilously close to being a loose bloody cannon? No,
you don't. I refused to accept your resignation earlier this year because I
believe in you. Sometimes, I wonder why. At your best, you are an asset to my
team. At worst, you are a stubborn old coot who is a bigger pain than an
infected wisdom tooth. On top of this, I am not prepared to lose two of my best
senior detectives in one year. So please put all thoughts of premature
retirement out of your mind and concentrate on the job in hand. Sort yourself
out, Stubbs. Good night."

The disconnection tone beeped in her ear and she replaced
the receiver. She sat in the window seat, looking out over Boot Street. Thirty
years she'd lived in this flat. Twenty four years she'd been with Matthew.
Coming up fifteen years she'd worked with Hamilton. In five years, she could
officially retire. And then? Time trickled through her fingers and she could no
more hold onto it than water.

With a shake, she pulled herself back from such unhealthy
introspection. She checked her bags again, took her medication and she focused
on what tomorrow held in store, while applying face cream. As she switched off
the light, a thought occurred. Even if some of her colleagues did see her as a
'stubborn old coot', a cruise ship full of octogenarians would see her as a
mere spring chicken.

Chapter 6

Her documents obviously marked her as an official to
be respected, so her passage through Heraklion's airport was effortless. In the
Arrivals area, she spotted a good-looking young man in shirtsleeves and chinos
waiting beside a uniformed officer who held a sign saying STUBS. Beatrice
raised a hand and offered a smile. The detective came towards her.

"Pleased to meet you, Detective Inspector Stubbs. How
do you do?"