An Advancement of Learning - Reginald Hill 5 стр.

There was a tap at the door. A pretty, young girl in a blue nylon overall came in carrying a tray which she placed on the desk.

Thank you, my dear, said Dalziel with a beam. ll just be needing one cup. The sergeant has to go out.

Pascoe ushered the girl out in front of him, then stopped and turned as Miss. Disney had done.

By the way, sir, he said. you get a look at the statue when we arrived?

No, said Dalziel, without interest. s the base that concerns us here. Of course, said Pascoe. just seemed a little strange, thats all.

He made as if to go. Dalziels expected bellow stopped him.

In what way strange?

Just strange that the memorial to a woman like Miss. Girling should be an eight-foot-tall bronze nude.

He closed the door quietly behind him. Inside, Dalziel sipped his tea with noisy relish and eyed the portrait of Miss. Girling with interested speculation.

Chapter 4

Op. Cit.

Franny Roote lay back along the window-sill, his still form blocking out the sunlight. He was wearing his usual summer dress of white beach-shoes, light cream-coloured slacks and a white shirt which was almost a blouse. This colour scheme combined with his own fair colouring somehow blurred the edges of his frame. Without moving, he dominated the room. Only twenty-three, he had developed a repose and still self-sufficiency beyond the reach of many twice his age; and these things put together gave him the indistinct almost inhuman menace of a figure magnified and blurred by sea-mist. It was an image he worked at.

You heard nothing more, Elizabeth? he asked quietly.

No, Franny, said the pretty girl in the blue nylon overall. about the lists.

She sounded apologetic, almost distressed, at having so little to tell.

You did well, love, he said, nodding once, still not looking at her.

Franny, said the girl. Tonight. It is tonight, isnt it? May I come again?

Franny, said the girl. Tonight. It is tonight, isnt it? May I come again?

Now he turned his head and looked full in her face with his light blue eyes.

Of course you may. We were expecting you.

Flushing with pleasure, the girl slipped out of the door with the expertise of one used to leaving rooms unobtrusively.

Is that wise? asked a long-haired sallow-faced girl with low-slung breasts.

Is what wise, Sandra? he asked patiently.

Her, Elizabeth, coming along. I mean, outsiders can mean trouble.

What you mean is, shes a kitchen-maid, said a small, dark-haired, moustachioed youth fiercely. This was Stuart Cockshut, the Union secretary and Frannys right-hand man. , whats the point of trying to do anything if you cant shake off your reactionary concepts of an elitist society? Belt up, said Anita Sewell who was sitting on the floor staring moodily into the empty fireplace. talking like a colour-supplement student. Its not politics thats bothering Sandra. Its sex. And shes right. Franny knows when hes on to a good thing. He gets an extra slice of juicy meat at dinner. And all the gravy he can manage, dont you, ducky?

Nervous, love? Franny said to her gently. t be.

Shell be all right on the night, said Sandra viciously.

Stuart sniggered. Franny spoke again, reprovingly.

It has nothing to do with appetite of any kind, my loves. Nor with politics, Stuart. We do live in an elitist society, despite all you say.

But the elites have nothing to do with class, or intellectualism.

He swung his legs down off the sill and stood up.

This business interests me. Ive always had a feeling about that statue. Something compelled me to it.

Suddenly he laughed and ran his fingers through his hair, looking for a moment about eighteen.

I thought it was just the tits.

The others laughed too, except for Sandra who was seated on the floor next to Anita. He looked down at her thoughtfully and moved his leg till his calf touched her shoulder. She leaned into his leg and closed her eyes.

I wonder whose bones they are, said a petite round faced girl from a corner.

The police will find out soon enough, said Stuart, making it sound like a fault.

Perhaps we can beat them, said Franny.

They looked at him puzzled for a moment.

Of course! said the round-faced girl, jumping up and opening a cupboard behind her. From it she took a large box which she put on a low coffee-table. Out of the box she produced a Ouija board which she quickly set up on the table.

Franny knelt down and put his index finger on the planchette. He contemplated Sandras pleading gaze for a moment, shook his head minutely and said, .

The girl touched the other side of the planchette.

Slowly it began to move.

Eleanor Soper was immersed in her favourite recurring day-dream in which her first novel had met with tremendous critical and popular success.

Her elbows rested lightly on the untidy sheets of closely scribbled-on foolscap which were scattered over her desk. She was modestly accepting the plaudits of her colleagues and in particular, like a television instant replay machine, her mind kept on bringing Arthur Halfdane forward to offer his obviously deeply felt congratulations.

She was brought back to reality by a knock at the door.

Shit! she said. Her own subconscious was capable enough of diverting her energies away from her novel without the additional annoyance of external interruption.

The knock again.

Angrily, she opened the door.

Hallo, Ellie, said Pascoe.

For Godsake, she said, motionless with surprise.

Pascoe reached out his hand. She took it and they stood there holding hands, looking at each other.

Pascoe felt relieved and disappointed at the same time as he took in her short black hair cut to the contours of her finely structured head; her grey eyes, questioning now; her strong chin, raised slightly aggressively. He had not known what to expect, had half-feared an immediate return of all the old welter of emotions and passions. Looking into his own mind, he could find no trace of them. That was good. But still he felt sorry that something so strong could have gone so completely.

He looked again at the once so dear and familiar features. Nothing. But he knew he was keeping his mind well away from the equally dear and familiar curves and hollows lying beneath the old sweater and the threadbare slacks.

Come in, she said. down. This is well, Christ, its a surprise.

I dont know what are you doing here?

Combining pleasure with business.

Business? Oh. You mean the statue?

Im afraid so. But youre the pleasure.

They both laughed and when they stopped, the atmosphere had become easier. They spent the next few minutes exchanging news of old university acquaintances. Or rather Ellie provided most of the news and Pascoe most of the questions. He was surprised to find how eager he was for information.

You havent kept in touch with anyone then? she asked finally.

Christmas cards. Wedding invitations. That sort of thing.

Summonses. Warrants. That sort of thing, she answered, half-joking, half-serious.

Ive been spared that, said Pascoe, wholly serious.

She looked embarrassed for a second, a faint flush touching her cheekbone.

Pascoe began to reach out a hand to touch her face but stopped himself in time.

Well, youll be spared it here too, Ellie said emphatically. statue had been up for five years or so when I arrived. Whats it all about, anyway?

Were still trying to find out. Who has been here since the thing was put up, then? asked Pascoe casually. He didnt need the information. He had a list in his document case which told him exactly.

Im not sure. The oldest inhabitants, obviously. Jane Scotby. And Miss. Disney. Not Landor, though. Thats obvious. He came when Miss. Girling died. The history man, Henry Saltecombe. And George Dunbar, head of stinks. There might be others, were a large staff and I havent got to know them all yet. But whats your interest? You dont think someone on the staff then was responsible?

Responsible for what?

Why, for killing whoever got killed and burying them in the garden, said Ellie in surprise.

Someones responsible, replied Pascoe. likely runners?

The atmosphere was changing again.

I should have thought that your best approach was to discover who it was that got killed, said Ellie a little stiffly.

Were working on it, said Pascoe cheerfully.

He glanced at his watch. Dalziel would be expecting some kind of report soon.

I must be off. Look, any chance of seeing you later tonight? Theres lots to talk about.

Ellie hesitated a moment before saying, , surely. Im dining in tonight and I usually pop into the bar afterwards, about eight. Youll still be around then? Good. Anyone will direct you. Right, said Pascoe at the door. was nice to see your name on the staff-list. See you!

He went out with a casual wave.

No doubt, said Ellie to the closed door.

She picked up her pen again but did not start to write for some time.

She was trembling slightly. He looked at me like a bloody suspect! she thought. Not a sign of emotion. A useful contact! Sod him.

She was trembling slightly. He looked at me like a bloody suspect! she thought. Not a sign of emotion. A useful contact! Sod him.

Convinced soon that all her trembling sprang from indignation, she began to write again but had to stop soon to light one of her infrequent cigarettes. Sod him!

Rather sticky, thought Pascoe with some regret as he walked down the corridor from Ellies room.

But I wont work at not being a policeman. Not just to be liked. Not by anyone. Its not worth it. He congratulated himself once again on his self-possession during the encounter. Then he bumped into a large beautifully rounded girl in a frivolously short skirt.

Sorry, he said. She smiled and massaged herself voluptuously. He felt his self-possession crack.

Well, sometimes it may be worth it, he emended cautiously.

When he reached Landors room, it was empty. He took the lists Dalziel had requested of him from his case and laid them neatly on the desk.

Then he stood back to view the effect. Dissatisfied, he readjusted them minutely to attain perfect symmetry.

Youll make someone a lovely housekeeper, said Dalziel from the door.

Five witty answers and several bluntly obscene ones ran through Pascoes mind, but he used none of them, merely bowing Dalziel with as much irony as he dared to the desk.