Skinner’s round

Fifty-one

The Grand Ballroom of Bracklands lived up to its name. It was dominated by two magnificent glass chandeliers, hung from a gilded ceiling over a shining oak floor.

Skinner and Sarah were greeted formally in the doorway by Lord and Lady Kinture. Standing directly behind them was an elderly lady. She was tall and grey, with severely permed hair, and she wore a long evening dress. Her expression was on the glacial side of frosty.

The Marquis sat stiffly in his wheelchair, in a green tartan dinner jacket. Beside him, Susan was resplendent in a peacock-blue cocktail dress which drew an admiring whistle from Sarah as she shook hands. 'Sue, that's beautiful.'

`Why, thank you. I have this wonderful little designer. I'll give you her name. Not that you need her, that cream colour shows off the tan a treat. And what about your old man. I know we said formal, Bob, but I didn't think you'd take us that seriously.'

She looked at Skinner, their eyes almost level. He stood tall, the light from the chandeliers sparkling off the heavy silver braid of his dress uniform. 'Every so often,' he said, 'I like to remind people, and myself most of all, that I'm a policeman. Besides, I knew Jimmy was coming and he rarely wears anything else.'

`Tonight's the exception, then. He's over there with Lady Proud.' She chuckled softly, like a bell. 'You can't miss him. He's the one in the kilt!'

`That's great. Now I really do feel like a lemon!'

Susan turned to the elderly woman. 'Bob, Sarah, I'd like you to meet my mother-in-law, the Dowager Lady Kinture. Mother, this is Assistant Chief Constable Skinner and his wife.'

The matron's expression unfroze very slightly. 'How do you do?' she said, extending a hand to Skinner, and contriving to ignore Sarah. Bob guessed that she must approve of policemen, but of little else.

`Hector insisted that Mother join us tonight. She lives in a house on the estate now, but every so often she comes up to Bracklands, for an event.' Lady Kinture the elder frowned at her daughter-in-law down her long patrician nose.

`This week must be exciting for you, ma'am,' said Skinner, making an effort.

Her face iced over once more. 'Exciting is not the word I would use, young man,' she said, in a voice like the edge of a fine blade, then turned towards the next arrivals.

Bob led Sarah into the ballroom, into the heart of the throng of guests. 'Cheerful soul, isn't she?' he whispered. `Hector must really have looked forward to going away to boarding school. I liked the "Young Man" bit though.'

He accepted two glasses of red wine from a liveried attendant. Handing one to his wife, he took a sip, nodding with approval as he recognised a Rioja, from a particularly good year.

`Mmm, nice. They must have known we were coming.

`Sarah love, why don't you go across and talk to Jimmy and Chrissie, and Mrs White? I'm going to seek out young Oliver. I'll be with you as soon as I've broken the news.'

OK.' She reached up on tiptoes and kissed him softly on the cheek. He looked at her in surprise. 'What was that for?'

I should need an excuse? See you later.'

Skinner looked around the long room. He spotted Atkinson a little way off, with Wales, Murano and Arnie Harding, the retired baseball player turned film star. Tiger Nakamura, bizarre in a gold tuxedo, stood beyond them, ogling Frankie Holloway, and nodding sagely, although he did not understand a single word that Toby Bethune MP, the Sports Minister, was saying. At last he spotted the slim figure of Oliver M'tebe standing alone, looking up at a portrait of a Kinture ancestor hung over the empty fireplace. Casually, he strolled over to join him. 'Hello young man. That was a fine seventy you shot today, all things considered.'

The slim African smiled politely. 'Thank you. All the way around I thought of my father. It helped.'

`That's good. Oliver, I've got some news for you on that front. We had a message this evening, from Durban. Your father has been found. He's safe.'

The young golfer's smile spread so wide that Skinner thought it would light up the room.

Skinner took him by the arm. 'Come through here.' He led him into an ante-room.

`How was he released?' said M'tebe, as soon as the door closed behind them.

`We don't know. He stumbled into the road on the outskirts of the city, just a few hours ago.

He was hit by a car…' The golfer's smile vanished instantly and was replaced by a look of panic. 'Hold your horses, he's OK. It was only a glancing blow but he was taken to hospital.

He was dazed and confused, and it wasn't until he was recognised by a nurse at the hospital that anyone knew who he was.

`The doctor who treated him said that he was sure he'd been drugged, probably with a very heavy sedative. They've given him some more, to put him to sleep overnight. In the morning, once he's rested, the police will talk to him, to find out what happened.

`Your mother is at the hospital now, but the message as far as you're concerned is to stop worrying. When you tee off tomorrow, the chances are your dad will be sat up in bed, watching you on telly! That should knock two or three shots off your score.

Now, this is a damn fine party. I suggest you get on out there and enjoy it!'

He held the door open for the young man, whose smile had returned, and followed him back into the ballroom. Darren Atkinson saw them return. 'Good news?' he called across. Skinner nodded and gave him a thumbs-up sign. 'Marvellous. Come on over here, Oliver, and get outside some of this wine!'

Skinner looked around the room once more until he caught sight of Sarah, listening intently to Susan Kinture. He started towards them, until the faintest shake of his wife's head caused him to pull up short. Puzzled, he seized another glass of Rioja from a nearby tray and headed in the direction of Sir James Proud, who stood, with his back to him, resplendent in his Highland dress, his head nodding in conversation. Lady Proud saw Skinner approach and touched her husband on the sleeve. He turned, revealing the third member of their group.

Ah Bob,' he cried. 'Come and join us. Have you had a chance to meet Mr Mike Morton?'