Still Waters by Judith Cutler Page B

Sammie, is this. So long as she cut up her cards in front of you, we could pay off all her debts – and she could pay us back, interest free.’
    ‘For “we” read “I”,’ he countered, wondering how long she’d been hatching the idea. ‘But it’s a good idea. If we can afford it. We predicated buying and restoring the Rectory on income from letting one of our houses and selling the other. With Sammie
in situ
we shan’t be able to let my place and – according to Paula – there’s no chance of moving into the Rectory for several months, so we can’t sell yours. And Pact are not going to come cheap, are they?’
    ‘Paula assured me that they operate on very tight margins.’
    ‘She’s not about to admit to being a multimillionaire, is she? And we know the materials won’t be your bog standard Homebase stuff – they’ll come dear as well. Which is why we’ve agreed to pay their bills as they crop up. No, hear me out. I shan’t begrudge a single penny, believe me. It just means we shan’t have as much money to throw around as I’d like. And that includes on Sammie.’
    ‘I could retire and cash in my lump sum,’ she said in a thin voice.
    He patted the hand on the gear-lever. ‘Just at the moment your monthly salary cheque’s probably more useful.’
    ‘If I got another job, we’d have the lump sum and a monthly cheque.’
    ‘If I got another job, we would, too.’
    She almost stalled. ‘You what?’
    ‘You’re not the only one who can retire, you know. I’ve an idea life’s not going to be much fun under your thin-lipped protégé. I must be able to pull in some sort of job even at myage. There must be firms who actively recruit the more mature.’
    ‘Homebase does, I believe. Or is it B&Q? Now there’s an idea. You could stack the shelves there and get us staff discount on our gutters.’
     
    Maeve Burton answered first ring.
    ‘Fran! And I’ve got the thank you card for the dinner party stamped and ready here on my desk.’ Knowing Maeve she probably meant it. ‘How’s the romance? I saw you were wearing an engagement ring.’
    It suited police ideas of respectability, but there was, of course, the problem of what it actually meant. ‘It’s got to the shared mortgage stage,’ Fran said, without further explanation. Given Maeve’s history, she still tried to exercise tact when it came to talking to her about her personal life.
    ‘No wedding bells yet?’
    ‘At our age?’ she asked derisively. But it hurt – like a tooth with overhot tea – that Mark never mentioned marriage, and was consistently evasive if she mentioned it, which, to be fair, she did about once a month. Perhaps that constituted nagging and was counterproductive. ‘How are you and Bill? He seems very nice.’
    ‘He is. Don’t let that mild exterior put you off. He’s wonderful when it comes to unsafe buildings. Now, I’ve just sorted out some mammoth cockroaches in the kitchen of an extremely posh hotel – when you do get hitched, you will remember to consult me about the venue for your reception, won’t you?’ Maeve deafened Fran with a whoop of laughter.
    At one point Fran had thought Maeve would never laugh again. But it seemed she was indomitable.
    ‘Of course I will. And invite you – if you’d care to come.’ Not every woman who had been raped so viciously that she could never have children and whose fiancé had consequently jilted her would enjoy seeing other people celebrate their unions.
    ‘So long as I can bring Bill,’ Maeve declared.
    ‘That goes without saying.’
    ‘The wonderful thing is he’s not bothered about children.’ It might have sounded like girlie gossip, but to Fran – and presumably Maeve – it was far more than that. ‘And to prove it he’d actually had the snip before he met me. Well, three kids already, all grown up. So no worries on that front.’
    Not unless the children were like Mark’s. Fran, however, said all that was proper and encouraging. And meant