He was saved from further debate by his mobile ringing once more.

‘He’s left,’ said Novello.

‘You mean you’ve lost him?’

‘He’s on a motorbike. I’ve got the number. Shall I run it?’

Dalziel took the point without need of elaboration. All requests to run vehicle numbers were logged and an off-duty DC would be expected to explain herself.

He could of course by a mere word turn this from unofficial to official. Even if Purdy’s notion that it was nothing more than a sick joke were right, the fact that their table had been bugged upped the ante considerably. But it could still be either owt or nowt. A couple of months back he could have shrugged off nowt with an even-Homer-nods indifference, but now he felt himself being weighed in the balance of his colleagues’ judgment.

Sod it. He was king of the castle, wasn’t he? And being king meant not having to explain yourself.

He said, ‘Give it to me.’

He scribbled it on his hand.

‘I’ll get back to you,’ he said.

He disconnected, thumbed Wield’s speed-dial number.

‘Wieldy, check this for me. And get back to me soonest, OK?’

He put the phone on the table and smiled apologetically at Gina Wolfe.

She said, ‘This is like being with Mick on his so-called day off. You never know when his phone’s going to ring.’

‘You must have got used to it during your marriage,’ he said.

‘To some extent. But after Alex moved up to DI, he was much more concerned with paper chases than blues-and-twos hot pursuit. It was good for a while. No more long white nights wondering what he was up to. Then we had other reasons for long white nights. And days.’

He said, ‘That must have been a terrible time. Hard to imagine worse.’

‘Mick told you the details about Lucy, did he?’

Her recent brightness had faded. He found he wanted to bring it back, and he had to remind himself that he wasn’t on a date.

He said, ‘Aye. So no need to talk about it if you don’t want to.’

‘No, that’s OK. Talking about it’s better than keeping it all inside, eating you up. That’s what it did to Alex. It ate him up. Which in a way was good for me. Keeping an eye out for Alex gave me a function.’

‘But you left him all the same.’

‘Because he’d gone beyond my help. There was an edge he was close to falling over. I knew if I stayed I’d probably go after him. I left to find strength to come back and save him. At least, that’s what I tell myself. But by the time I came back, he’d gone. Literally. I still wonder…’

‘Nay, lass, don’t. You don’t measure how you feel pain by how you bear it. Surviving don’t mean you’re less sensitive, just that you’re stronger.’

Jesus, Dalziel! he admonished himself. Might not be a date, but there’s no need to sound off like a big-tent preacher!

She said, ‘Maybe. Maybe his weakness has given him the chance to start over from scratch while all my so-called strength does is leave me bearing it forever. Just because I’ve reshaped my life doesn’t mean I’ve escaped from the past, Andy. Not a day passes but I think about little Lucy. But I still find it hard even to refer to what happened directly. I hear myself skirting around. Like in the cathedral.’

‘You’re not skirting now.’

‘No. I suppose in the cathedral I was talking to a stranger.’

‘And now?’

She smiled even though there were tears in her eyes.

‘Now I’m talking to Rooster Cogburn.’

‘You’ll not get me on a horse,’ he said, seeking an escape route from this intensity.

She was glad to take it.

‘Don’t need a horse to be a perfect gentle knight,’ she said, only half mocking.

‘I’ve been called a lot of things, but not that. Here, where’s my grub gone?’

The Fat Man had no problem eating and talking at the same time, but the problem with this simultaneity was that often the food went down without him really noticing it.

She said, ‘You can try mine, if you like. I’m not really hungry.’

He looked suspiciously at her plate.

‘Beef, is it? How’s it cooked?’

‘It’s not.’

‘Bloody hell! My dad used to warn me, never get mixed up with a lass who eats raw meat!’

‘Perhaps you should have listened to him,’ she said. ‘But it tastes fine. Really.’

‘Well, I’ll try owt, except for incest and the Lib Dems.’

He cut off a sliver, chewed it, said, ‘Not bad,’ and pulled her plate towards him.

His second bottle of Barolo was almost gone.

She on the other hand was showing no inclination to push beyond her second glass. Pity, perhaps. But waste not, want not.

He said, ‘The rest of yon white stuff, you’re not leaving that too, are you?’

Smiling she pushed the bottle towards him.

He had made good inroads into the raw beef when his phone rang again. He looked at the display and said, ‘’Scuse me, luv. Private,’ stood up and descended the steps towards the garden before answering.

‘Wieldy,’ he said.

‘That number, I’ve got a name and address,’ said the sergeant.

Dalziel scribbled it down into his notebook.

‘Thanks, Wieldy.’

‘No problem. Owt I should know about, sir? Or Pete, mebbe?’

‘Talk about it tomorrow,’ prevaricated Dalziel. ‘And if I need to talk to Pete, as it happens I’m looking at the bugger right this minute. Thanks, Wieldy. Cheers.’

It was true, more or less. He could distantly see Pascoe’s head among a group of people at the buffet party.

He thumbed in Novello’s number.

‘Ivor, here’s the name and address. Alun Watkins, 39 Loudwater Villas. Listen, see what you can find out, but softly softly, OK? Good girl. No, no need to get back to me. Unless something really important comes up, it’ll keep till the morning. Enjoy thasel!’

He suddenly felt very relaxed. Maybe it was the fact that he’d sunk two bottles of lovely Italian plonk, but relaxing here in the sun looking out over a garden where the glories of summer were enhanced rather than threatened by the first touch of autumn, with that pleasantly mazy music drifting up from the gazebo while behind him, impatient (he hoped) for his return, sat a golden-haired damsel begging him to ease her distress, he found he’d shed all the doubts and concerns that had beset him since his return to work.

And there was still pudding to come!

Once more master of his soul and captain of his fate, he could do anything he wanted.

Except maybe drive home.

But sufficient be the evil…

He turned round and realized Gina Wolfe had risen too and was standing close behind him. Close enough to have overheard? Mebbe. But it didn’t matter. He’d said nowt that suggested the calls had anything to do with her.

She said, ‘This is a lovely spot, isn’t it? It seems somehow, I don’t know, ungrateful to be unhappy in such a place on such a day.’

‘Then let’s try not to be unhappy,’ he said, leading her back to the table and pouring an inch of golden wine into her glass and filling his own to the brim. ‘Let’s have a toast. To a bright future, eh?’

‘No,’ she said seriously. ‘Don’t tempt fate by bringing in the future.’

‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘Wise man sticks to here and now. So, let’s see. Here’s to Iti wine, English weather, and a little chance music out of doors. Cheers!’

‘I’ll drink to that,’ she said, smiling.