over, but he’d better not spill any.’
9
PECULIAR CRIMES
‘I wouldn’t make too many jokes about Davenport in here if I were you, Arthur,’ warned Gladys. She glanced at John May hovering awkwardly beside them in the cell, anxious not to appear to be listening. ‘I won’t always be around to protect you.’
The green and cream corridor of the underground cell sheltered the entire staff of Bow Street. The PCU personnel were granted their own cell during air raids, either out of respect for their privacy or because Sergeant Carfax had been saying unpleasant things to the others about them. The lights were off, and the acrid stench of the hurricane lamps made everyone’s eyes water.
‘You’re not talking about marrying old Longbright again, are you?’ asked Bryant with a grin. ‘I thought you’d put your wedding plans off until after the war.’
‘Not wishing to sound morbid, Arthur, I could be an old maid or a widow by then. Eight years I’ve been at Bow Street, eight years of late nights and ruined weekend plans, and what happens? Hitler invades Denmark and all leave is cancelled. Not only do I have to do my job, but I also get to be your nursemaid, placate your landlady, arrange for your laundry to be collected, fend off reporters and lie to everyone who’s trying to have this place closed down. Now I’ve been given one weekend in which to get married and sort out the rest of my life. Is it too much to want a little happiness before we’re all blown to smithereens?’
‘Perhaps you have a point,’ Bryant admitted. ‘I wish you a long and happy marriage to the bounder Longbright. Listen.’ From somewhere above them came the muffled thump of a bomb. The next one would reveal whether bombers were heading towards them or away, like the forking of thunderstorms. ‘We may emerge from here to find the unit gone. Give us a cuddle.’
‘I most certainly will not, you dreadful man.’
Bryant was going to miss DS Forthright. He had felt a passion for her from the morning he had seen her standing in the queue of the Strand Lyons, adjusting her stockings in plain view of the staff. As she hitched up the hem of her skirt, he had become so distracted by her shiny dark thighs that he had emptied a jug of milk down the front of his trousers. When Gladys looked up and saw Bryant staring at her she seemed genuinely surprised. ‘What?’ she had asked loudly in Bow Bells elocution. In the manner of British gentlemen across the centuries, everyone had looked away, embarrassed.
There was something peculiarly unselfconscious about Gladys. She didn’t seem to care what anyone thought of her. Bryant was aware of other people every second of his life. What women thought of him mattered to a punitive degree. It was to do with being young, of course. After he adjusted to the idea of being undesirable, life became easier. By the time he hit forty, he no longer cared about the effects of what he said or did, which was good for him and bad for everyone else.
Forthright had put a highly promising pathology career on hold in order to gain field experience in the unit, and planned to continue her studies at night, but the war had come along and changed everything. The last thing she had wanted was to have some lovesick young man mooning over her, especially one as callow as Bryant. She knew it was only infatuation, and told him so. Worse was to follow when it became apparent that she was in love with a much older man. Utterly fed up, Bryant had allowed work to fill his waking hours, and tried not to think about Forthright and her fiancé spending their weekends locked away in some bedroom retreat, at it like knives while bombs fell around them. Now she was going, to hearth and husband and probably loads of children, leaving them stuck with the ghastly sneak Biddle. Was it any wonder he felt frustrated?
‘I can’t imagine why Longbright wants to get married at his age,’ complained Bryant. ‘Harris is old enough to be
9
PECULIAR CRIMES
‘I wouldn’t make too many jokes about Davenport in here if I were you, Arthur,’ warned Gladys. She glanced at John May hovering awkwardly beside them in the cell, anxious not to appear to be listening. ‘I won’t always be around to protect you.’
The green and cream corridor of the underground cell sheltered the entire staff of Bow Street. The PCU personnel were granted their own cell during air raids, either out of respect for their privacy or because Sergeant Carfax had been saying unpleasant things to the others about them. The lights were off, and the acrid stench of the hurricane lamps made everyone’s eyes water.
‘You’re not talking about marrying old Longbright again, are you?’ asked Bryant with a grin. ‘I thought you’d put your wedding plans off until after the war.’
‘Not wishing to sound morbid, Arthur, I could be an old maid or a widow by then. Eight years I’ve been at Bow Street, eight years of late nights and ruined weekend plans, and what happens? Hitler invades Denmark and all leave is cancelled. Not only do I have to do my job, but I also get to be your nursemaid, placate your landlady, arrange for your laundry to be collected, fend off reporters and lie to everyone who’s trying to have this place closed down. Now I’ve been given one weekend in which to get married and sort out the rest of my life. Is it too much to want a little happiness before we’re all blown to smithereens?’
‘Perhaps you have a point,’ Bryant admitted. ‘I wish you a long and happy marriage to the bounder Longbright. Listen.’ From somewhere above them came the muffled thump of a bomb. The next one would reveal whether bombers were heading towards them or away, like the forking of thunderstorms. ‘We may emerge from here to find the unit gone. Give us a cuddle.’
‘I most certainly will not, you dreadful man.’
Bryant was going to miss DS Forthright. He had felt a passion for her from the morning he had seen her standing in the queue of the Strand Lyons, adjusting her stockings in plain view of the staff. As she hitched up the hem of her skirt, he had become so distracted by her shiny dark thighs that he had emptied a jug of milk down the front of his trousers. When Gladys looked up and saw Bryant staring at her she seemed genuinely surprised. ‘What?’ she had asked loudly in Bow Bells elocution. In the manner of British gentlemen across the centuries, everyone had looked away, embarrassed.
There was something peculiarly unselfconscious about Gladys. She didn’t seem to care what anyone thought of her. Bryant was aware of other people every second of his life. What women thought of him mattered to a punitive degree. It was to do with being young, of course. After he adjusted to the idea of being undesirable, life became easier. By the time he hit forty, he no longer cared about the effects of what he said or did, which was good for him and bad for everyone else.
Forthright had put a highly promising pathology career on hold in order to gain field experience in the unit, and planned to continue her studies at night, but the war had come along and changed everything. The last thing she had wanted was to have some lovesick young man mooning over her, especially one as callow as Bryant. She knew it was only infatuation, and told him so. Worse was to follow when it became apparent that she was in love with a much older man. Utterly fed up, Bryant had allowed work to fill his waking hours, and tried not to think about Forthright and her fiancé spending their weekends locked away in some bedroom retreat, at it like knives while bombs fell around them. Now she was going, to hearth and husband and probably loads of children, leaving them stuck with the ghastly sneak Biddle. Was it any wonder he felt frustrated?
‘I can’t imagine why Longbright wants to get married at his age,’ complained Bryant. ‘Harris is old enough to be
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