The Detective's Daughter

59

Monday, 24 January 2011

Stella paid the bill when Ivan was in the toilet; he had insisted on covering it the last time. She was enjoying herself: Ivan had unwittingly offered her a refuge from Terry, from the office and from the Rokesmith murder. Jack had called her, but typically not left a message. Paul used to do that; she had no time for games. Her mobile was in her rucksack; if it rang she would not hear it. She sipped her frosted glass of Sancerre and silently toasted her respite. She might have been mistaken about the memory card in Terry’s camera; she was tired.

‘Will you do something for me?’

‘Of course.’ She had not heard Ivan return.

‘Come to Fullwood House.’

‘I’ve been, haven’t I?’ He surely had not forgotten.

‘Not my flat, that’s a billet for when I’m working. I feel nothing for it, as you probably gather. It’s sterile.’

Stella liked sterile but did not say so.

‘I want you to see the house where I was born. It’s a beautiful place. I seldom take guests there. Most would not understand, but you would. Come!’

‘If you’re sure… that would be nice.’ Stella felt her reply was inadequate to his enthusiasm. She had never seen Ivan so animated. He must have lived with his wife and son in the house. He was coming out of the shell of grief. She should not knock him back by refusing his invitation.

‘I could go next Saturday,’ Stella said, getting out her diary to show she was serious.

‘I mean now.’ Ivan put down his glass. Stella saw that he had hardly touched his wine.

‘Now?’ she echoed.

‘It’s only ten past eight. We can be there in no time. It will be dark, but it is a place that benefits from mystery.’

‘I need to be at work in the morning. I wasn’t there today. I have my father’s stuff to sort and there is that murder.’ Stella picked up her empty glass and put it down.

Ivan looked crestfallen. ‘I find that plans kill the spirit of an adventure because the experience has to measure up to the plan and is not of itself.’

‘I could do either day at the weekend. Actually Sunday would be better.’ Stella tried to mollify him. ‘Or shall we leave it open?’ She liked to plan and was disappointed he saw it differently. Paul had been big on spontaneity, but even he knew better than to give her no notice at all. To shore up her argument, she added: ‘The weather might have improved by then. Already it’s thawing.’

‘A smattering of snow is nothing. My car is designed for bad conditions. Once there I light a fire, I have towels and night things and a spare room. I’ll get the bill.’ He folded his napkin and rubbed his palm at the waiter. ‘Never mind. It can’t be.’

‘I’ve sorted it.’ Stella tucked the bill into her purse.

Unsmiling, Ivan bowed his head. Stella remembered when she had thrown up at Earls Court Underground station: one mistake with Terry had led to another, as was horribly confirmed by Paul’s death. Ivan would not offer her another chance to see his home. Already she could see he was regretting it; he would be thinking he had been wrong about her. Perhaps that was true.

Kew Station village looked like a Christmas card; branches of kerbside trees white with snow twinkled in the lamplight. Stella climbed up into Ivan’s big four-wheel drive. When he shut the door, it locked automatically. He walked around the back of the car to the other side.

Terry would have accepted the invitation. He was not a spur-of-the-moment man but he knew an opportunity when it presented itself. Ivan could have helped her with the case and she had let the possibility pass by. Stella did up her seat belt.

Terry’s dull brown case boxes were awaiting her, smelling of damp paper and failure. Her flat was no more of a home than Ivan’s clean and uncluttered living quarters; it was no more than a pit stop. She had turned off the heating. It would be cold.

Stella had a speech prepared to explain her refusal, but when they stopped outside the lobby Ivan was out of the car as soon as the ignition was off and opening her door.

‘Will you come up for a cup of tea?’ She used the same words as she had the day before, hoping they would elicit the same response and that Ivan would accept.

‘I want to get down to the country before it is too late.’

The evening was over.