A Dedicated Man

THREE

Dinner in the Banks household that evening was a lively affair. It seemed like ages since the family had all sat down together and enjoyed one of Sandra’s delicious concoctions: chicken in tarragon and white-wine sauce. She had a wonderful knack of making the most inexpensive cuts of meat taste like gourmet creations. This skill, Banks thought, was characteristic of someone with inborn good taste and a poor working-class background. All it took, said Sandra, clearly delighted with the compliments, was the right cooking method and a little care with the sauce.

Most of the conversation was taken up by the children’s accounts of their day trip to York.

‘The Minster was smashing,’ enthused Tracy, the bright fourteen-year-old with a passion for history. ‘Do you know, Daddy, there’s more stained glass in there than in any other cathedral in Europe?’

Banks expressed interest and surprise. Architecture had not, so far, been one of his interests, but it was becoming more and more appealing. At the moment he was still reading up on the geology of the dales.

‘And the Five Sisters are simply stunning,’ Tracy went on.

‘Five Sisters?’ Banks asked. ‘In a minster?’

‘Oh, Daddy,’ Tracy laughed, ‘you don’t know anything, do you? The Five Sisters are lancet windows in the north transept. They’re made of grisaille glass. Thirteenth century, I think. And the Rose Window-’

‘It was boring,’ cut in Brian, who all the while had been feeling left out. ‘Just a lot of old statues of dead kings and stuff. Junk, it was. Boring.’

‘You’re just a philistine,’ Tracy retorted, pronouncing the word with both difficulty and authority. ‘I’ll bet you didn’t even notice that monument to Archbishop Scrope.’

‘Scrope? Who’s he?’ Banks asked. While sympathizing with Brian, he didn’t feel justified in cheating Tracy out of her excitement. She was at an age now when one of her great thrills was to educate her parents, whom she thought dreadfully ignorant of the past that surrounded them. Very soon, Banks mused sadly, all that would be forgotten, at least for a few years, and life would be all clothes, pop music, make-up, hairstyles and boys.

‘He was a rebel,’ Tracy informed him. ‘Henry the Fourth had him executed in 1405.’

‘Oh shut up with all them dates, clever clogs,’ Brian burst out. ‘You think you know it all.’ And before Tracy could respond, he turned to his father and launched into his own account.

‘We went on a boat down the river, Dad, and she felt seasick.’ He cast a look of pitying contempt at his sister. ‘And we passed this big chocolate factory. Me and some of the boys wanted to go on a tour but the teacher wouldn’t let us. She just wanted to show us history and stuff and all those silly old narrow streets.’

‘The Shambles,’ Tracy interrupted. ‘And Stonegate and Petergate. Anyway, the chocolates would only have made you sick.’

‘It didn’t need chocolates to make you sick, did it?’ Brian taunted her.

‘That’s enough, Brian!’ Sandra cut in. ‘Stop it, both of you!’

And so it went on; Brian sulked and Tracy scowled at him until they both went upstairs to watch television while Sandra cleared the table and Banks helped her with the dishes. Finally, still arguing, they were packed off to bed, and Banks suggested a nightcap.

‘I’ve got a new job,’ Sandra said, pouring the Scotch. ‘Well, not really new, just different.’

Banks asked what it was. Sandra worked as a dentist’s receptionist three mornings a week in Eastvale.

‘Mr Maxwell’s going on holiday, shutting up shop for three weeks, and Peggy Matthews – that’s Mr Smedley’s receptionist – is off at the same time, too.’

‘Not together, I hope?’

Sandra laughed. ‘No. Fine bedfellows they’d make, I’m sure. Maxwell’s going to the Greek Islands and Peggy’s off to Weymouth. Anyway, apparently Smedley asked if he could borrow me while the boss was away. Maxwell asked me and I said yes. It’s all right, isn’t it? I didn’t think we had any plans.’

‘Yes, it’s fine if you want to. I can’t really plan anything until this Steadman business is settled.’

‘Good. Smedley’s a real perfectionist, so I hear. Especially when it comes to fitting caps and crowns, matching the colours and all that. They say he’s one of the best in Yorkshire.’

‘You might get to meet the local gentry, then. Who knows?’

Sandra laughed. ‘Well, Peggy did say that Mrs Steadman goes there. She’s having some root canal work done. She’s a bit of a local celebrity now.’

‘It’s amazing, isn’t it?’ Banks said. ‘The husband gets murdered and people suddenly line up to look at the wife as if she were bloody royalty.’

‘It’s only natural, though. We all have some morbid curiosity.’

‘Not me. Look,’ Banks said, ‘we haven’t been out for a long time, and there’s supposed to be a good folk singer on in Helmthorpe tomorrow. Do you fancy going?’

‘Changing the subject, eh? Helmthorpe? Isn’t that where the Steadmans live?’

‘Yes.’

‘This isn’t work, is it, Alan? It’s not connected to the case?’

‘Cross my heart. We’ll just go and listen to some good folk music like we’ve done plenty of times before. Ask Harriet and David along, too.’

‘If they can get a sitter. It’s such short notice. What about Jenny Fuller? Think she might like to come?’

‘She’s in France,’ Banks said. ‘Don’t you remember? That wine-tasting tour. Took off as soon as term ended.’

‘Lucky her. All right, then, I’ll call Harriet. As long as you promise it’s nothing to do with work! I don’t much fancy sitting there like a spare part while you grill some suspect.’

‘Scout’s honour. And I’m not sure I like what you’re implying. I don’t grill people.’

Sandra smiled. Banks moved closer and put his arm around her. ‘You know-’ he began.

‘Ssshhh…’ Sandra put her finger to his lips. ‘Let’s go to bed.’

‘What’s wrong with the sofa?’ Banks asked, and pulled her gently towards him.