Compromised Read online

  “So. You’re back off to Lincoln today then?” Roz said to Guy brightly and he couldn't help feeling that she was relieved that that was the case.

  “Well, yes. Quite a bit later. I’m hoping to go out for a pub lunch with Andrea and Boris. Then,” he sighed, “I’ll leave it a bit before actually driving back. Perhaps I’ll go and brave the wilds of Boris’s rented house for an hour or so. If I don't stay too long, hopefully I won't catch anything.”

  Roz picked at her scrambled egg and asked about his children, most especially Boris. Guy, tucking into his full English with some relish, answered her vaguely. Living alone, he could rarely be bothered to make a decent fry up in the mornings, even at weekends.

  At length, Roz took a swig of the tepid coffee and looked moodily at him.

  “I’m surprised that you remembered me really,” she said.

  “Of course I remembered you.” He half smiled. “You were a complete obsession for me. That tight uniform. Those sidelong looks. I….” sometimes honesty was the best policy and he so hoped that she’d want to see him again, “I was totally hooked on you.”

  “Goodness. I’d no idea.”

  “No. Probably not. Well you look just as gorgeous to me now as you did then.”

  Roz smiled. “Well that’s very sweet,” she said. “So why did you go off and move to the wilds of Lincolnshire? You seemed to disappear once for a year or so ages ago and then again a bit later apparently permanently.”

  They had had little chance to exchange much detail last night. He had intended to go out with Andrea and Boris but once he’d been re-introduced to Roz, he hadn't been able to tear himself away from her. Boris hadn't turned up at the school fête anyway and Andrea had wanted to go for a meal with her fiancé and some friends. Therefore he’d asked Roz to have dinner with him and she’d agreed. They had arranged that she’d come to his hotel as she knew where it was, meet him in the bar at about eight in the evening and they’d decide where to go from there.

  However she’d arrived quite a bit earlier than agreed and he hadn't even showered when she called him. It was a warm evening and his ground floor room had french windows out onto a small pleasant west-facing veranda with a table and chairs therefore he had suggested that she came and waited for him there. He had called reception for someone to take her there, at the same time ordering a bottle of chilled sparkling white wine to be brought for her consumption.

  As soon as possible he had joined her. They had talked a little, but the evening was quiet and still and warm and relaxing. He had assumed that his capacity as a seducer, such as it had ever existed, was entirely spent by now. But as he sat companionably with this woman whom he had so admired, nay lusted after, in his twenties, his longing and yearning for her seemed to infect her too and they’d never made it to any restaurant that evening. Their love-making had lasted hours and hours, then she had fallen asleep. Therefore he couldn't even call for room service to bring him something to eat.

  Consequently he was famished this morning. Responding to her question, he said:

  “After my first marriage imploded, I decided on a complete change and thought I’d try lecturing. The job happened to be in Lincoln but I like it there now. It’s quite civilised you know. It’s a lovely city.”

  Roz nodded and toyed with her toast and marmalade. She then downed the rest of her coffee in one and said she had a difficult case on at the moment with international overtones.

  “I’d better be off. It may be a Sunday, but I’ll have to work today. I’ll….er….call you.”

  And Detective Inspector Roz Benedict got up and walked out of the hotel restaurant.

  Part 2 Anything For You

  DESMOND WATCHED HIS wife Liz at this informal luncheon put on for some visiting members of an adjoining Chamber of Commerce. It was being held in one of Desmond’s own hotels and he hoped the food and service would impress.

  Liz, sitting opposite chatting happily to the MD of a regional wine merchants, looked sexy but smart in a tight fitting new dress bought last weekend on a trip to London; a treat for his darling Liz; shopping, then a show and a late dinner with friends. A stay at the Savoy - nothing too fancy - and a drinks party the following lunchtime before being driven home by their factotum Paul who had spent the Saturday night with relatives in the East End. Liz’s fair hair was newly done, her ruby necklace and matching drop earrings provided some sparkle. Her skin was radiant still, like a young girl’s, her chin firm. And no cosmetic surgical input at all.

  She was as gorgeous as the moment he’d first set eyes on her and had decided she had to be his. Having already made his first hundred million, it hadn't been difficult to sweep her off her feet and dazzle her with what he had to offer. Considerably more than that average solicitor she’d been married to. A pity to break up a marriage of course but he’d done his very best for her children since then. He was looking forward to putting on a major send-off for their daughter Andrea when she and her intended decided to eventually get spliced. Andrea, an angelic child, was by far the easier of the two children to get on with and she seemed to settle immediately, aged eight, into the new set up. A six year old Boris had been more difficult but Desmond thought that now at least they had a reasonable relationship. Since Boris had left home.

  He and Liz had unfortunately never had any children together but Desmond felt every bit the father of her two and was glad he’d supported generous contact for Guy to see them. He knew how to handle people, and that trying to come between a father and his children would have been a bad ploy liable to backfire in the end and have the opposite result to that intended. And above all he wanted Liz to be happy and not have to endure any unpleasantness or difficulty. Looking at her now and catching her eye, he knew he would do literally anything for her.

  AT THE SAME moment that Desmond was thinking about Boris, Guy was being let into Boris’s shared house by another young man who looked as though he’d just been brought back from the dead on a mortuary slab; pale, sniffing and swaying, squinting and frowning at Guy. Guy had knocked on the door for a full five minutes initially gently but eventually fairly violently until this apparition had materialised. The young man coughed and gestured weakly up the stairs and left Guy to find Boris’s room himself.

  The bedroom door was half open and Guy recognised Boris’s guitar leaning up against the far wall. Putting his head round the door, he saw that it was indeed Boris in the bed, snoring away. He sighed. The duvet and pillows were without covers, presumably worked off as was the undersheet over a number of weeks’ wriggling and writhing while Boris slept. The bottom sheet, pillows, duvet and covers had been turned and turned repeatedly and the result was a nest-like jumbled structure taking up one third of the bare mattress into which Boris must have twisted and curled himself on arriving home at some point last night from a serious clubbing session.

  Guy shook his head. How Boris managed to turn himself out in a smart suit every day and go to London where he worked, apparently successfully, in recruiting, was a complete mystery. Guy knew how difficult it was to rouse Boris at the best of times. He cursed under his breath; he’d booked the table for one thirty for himself, Boris and Andrea and he didn't want to keep Andrea waiting. But as ever, he wouldn't take Boris to task. They’d had such a hard time having two children that he and Liz had never been heavy parents.

  Liz, beautiful and sexy though she was, had nevertheless suffered an early menopause. When this unthinkable event had been threatened, they’d both sunk every penny they could scrape together into IVF and a number of apparently “viable” embryos had resulted. The first several to be used had given rise to the birth of sweet perfect little Andrea and they had felt that it was essential to get on and have the second child without delay though by this time they were told that the remaining frozen embryos were not of great quality. But they’d gone ahead and the second child to be born they’d named Boris after a great-grandfather of Liz’s. Guy had no idea how much Desmond knew of any of the early difficulti
es. Hopefully not everything.

  Guy hadn't really blamed Liz when she went off with Demon Desmond. They’d been supremely hard up after all the scrimping and re-mortgages that had financed the IVF and other problems. But he didn't believe that’s what had caused her to leave. He knew it had been a huge blow to Liz’s confidence, her womanliness, to have lost the use of her ovaries so early on and to have had to resort to assisted methods of reproduction. She had been easy prey at the time to Desmond’s wealth and overtures. Guy realised that in truth he had become pretty negligent of the marriage by then after all the huge stresses they’d been through. He was just about surviving himself.

  It had all happened in a blur when Liz had suddenly announced her own and the children’s impending departure to live with this hyper-energetic entrepreneur in his big, flash, ostentatious modern house that Guy had noticed when he passed it sometimes on the way to Court. Guy, not wanting to cause a fuss for the children, had gone along with it all without protest. They’d sold their house and he’d been allowed to keep the minuscule net proceeds with which he’d bought his first flat in Lincoln, a dowdy maisonette but it had three bedrooms so he was able to have the kids to stay.

  And in Lincoln he’d gradually rebuilt his life. It was difficult but he made the effort to remain on good terms with Liz, though he secretly loathed Desmond. And he watched as Desmond had become more and more successful but at least Liz and Andrea seemed happy while Boris was….well, Boris. He didn't clash openly with Desmond, but Guy knew they’d never had a comfortable relationship. Liz when he saw her was as beautiful as ever. The HRT must have continued to keep any signs of ageing at bay very well.

  Guy looked down now at this Boris, smiled and commenced the well-rehearsed routine of reviving him sufficient to struggle into some clothes and face a pub meal this warm Saturday lunchtime.

  “DIDN’T EXPECT TO see you back so soon dad,” Andrea was saying. “This wouldn't have anything to do with ….you know.”

  “Not sure I do know,” Guy replied coyly. “You tell me.”

  “Oh dad! I saw you go off with her last Saturday and then the next day you were all dreamy. You spending the weekend with her?”

  “Steady on. A father’s allowed a little privacy surely.” In fact though it was a bit of a sore subject with him. They’d arranged to meet this weekend but Roz had been doing something on the Friday evening and she hadn't wanted him to go straight to her house and await her return. She’d said outright that that was a bit too cosy for so soon. Therefore he’d passed the Friday night in another ruddy miserable chain hotel so that he could spend most of the Saturday with Andrea and Boris. Roz of course was working. It was very awkward since he now had his re-packed case in his car and nowhere to shower before this evening. But they were having a meal tonight at her house and he was staying the night which was something. He must’ve scored reasonably highly with her last weekend.

  “You’ve gone all dreamy again.” Before he could open his mouth to protest, Andrea went on: “A DI as well, isn't she?”

  “DI?” said Boris. “You mean she’s a lady police person. Or whatever.” He was still a bit bleary. And he was puffing away at one of those awful electronic cigarettes. To get off the subject of Roz, Guy said to Boris:

  “What’s with the fags? You’ve never smoked before.”

  “It’s cool to smoke. And nicotine gets the brain moving, fires up the neurons. Everyone does it.” He exhaled in Guy’s direction. “And no nasty carcinogens either with these.”

  “I’m not so sure,” said Guy. “And nicotine’s highly addictive. You should try to keep it to a minimum.”

  “Don’t be so anal. I only do it socially.”

  “Well I’m flattered you regard meeting me as a social event. But you don't need to impress me Boris.” However Boris was looking down at his smart phone, his thumbs working away across the small screen. Therefore Guy asked after Andrea's work and her marriage plans and told her what there was to tell about his own job.

  “Sod it,” said Boris at length. To the others’ questioning looks he said: “My mate’s got to work tonight. We were supposed to go clubbing. I’ll just have to go to this party that’s on instead.”

  “How terrible for you,” said Andrea.

  Boris looked at his dad. “My mate’s a DC. Probably knows your DI.”

  “Really,” said Guy. “Shall we order now.”

  “THIS SOUFFLÉ IS stunning.” Guy was impressed by the effort she must have made. The house was spotless, the dinner table perfectly laid though, by now on the pudding, they’d messed it up quite a lot and the candles were guttering. “Hmm. It’s delicious. Did you make it?” The question was superfluous and he wished he hadn't asked when she replied:

  “Did I hell! My cleaning lady’s a great cook. She just left it all for me to put in the oven.”

  “Oh,” said Guy, rather disappointed. Luckily he’d nearly finished the soufflé because it wasn't quite so appealing as he pictured a fat, pinafored, red-faced, sweating, unkempt cleaner toiling in the kitchen.

  “She’s Bulgarian.”

  “Really.”

  “Yes. Bloody hard worker. Do you have any East European blood in your family?”

  It seemed an odd question. “Don't think so. Why do you ask?” he said.

  “It’s just your son’s name. Boris. I just wondered.”

  “Oh. It was a family name of Liz’s.”

  “Maybe she does then.”

  “Does what?”

  “Come from East European stock.”

  “Not so far as I’m aware.”

  He felt as though he was being grilled. She’d done this last Saturday and over breakfast on Sunday. Perhaps due to her job it had become second nature even when not working but it was rather irritating. He must’ve looked peeved since she apologised.

  “Sorry. Force of habit I suppose. It’s just that I think your Boris is friendly with one of my officers. Oh, and I’m working on a case at the moment involving a murdered East European girl.”

  “What another Bulgarian?”

  “No. She was Romanian.” Guy didn't say anything and Roz decided to drop it.

  “So,” she said, “when you took your year off, was it some sort of legal sabbatical? A prelude to your university career perhaps?”

  “Not exactly.” Guy’s expression was closed. He took a sip of wine.

  “Right then,” said Roz. “Would you like coffee? A liqueur?”

  “Only if you’re having either.”

  Roz got up from the table and came and stood next to Guy. She put one hand on his shoulder. He relaxed and smiled up at her, glad that he’d braved the shambles of Boris’s bathroom and taken a shower earlier on.

  “I’m not bothered,” she said. “Shall we go up.”

  GUY WAS CLATTERING about in Roz’s kitchen. She hadn't wanted to clear up the next morning saying the cleaner would do it.

  “You should ask the cleaner to move in with you,” Guy had said and Roz had laughed. She hadn't wanted to make breakfast either therefore after loading and starting the dishwasher, Guy was now frying bacon and eggs for them. This hadn't been how he’d imagined it but at least he was getting to spend the day with her today. And she came up behind him, put her arms around his waist and nibbled at his ear.

  “You get an extra hash brown for that,” he said and turned around and kissed her.

  “Shall we spend the morning in bed after breakfast?” she said.

  “Good idea. I’ll take the breakfast through.”

  THEY WERE SEATED at a table outside one of the canal-side bars. It had been Roz’s idea to come here for a late lunchtime drink. They hadn't got out of bed until gone two and Guy was now quite peckish. Roz said she wasn't really hungry but he persuaded her to have a soup and roll. He’d feel like a glutton, tucking into anything substantial while she sat and watched.

  Food was still being served. The board said it was served all day until ten thirty. The bars were heaving. These places must make
a fortune. No wonder Demon Desmond, in the so-called hospitality industry as he was, had made a fortune sufficient to enable the family to now reside in an enormous refurbished Georgian mansion set in three hundred acres. Andrea was able to ride, use the gym, be waited on hand and foot; and she had her own self-contained flat within the house somewhere though Guy had never visited her there. Guy secretly applauded the fact that Boris had broken loose, took nothing from Desmond and arranged his life to suit himself. Though he always had.

  “Quite a few of my officers come down here,” Roz was saying looking around as though she expected she might spot a gaggle of them now. “I told you one of my officers was friendly with your Boris. That rather surprised me.”

  “Oh? Why?”

  “Well. Your daughter Andrea from what I’ve seen of her through my niece’s children being at the school where she teaches, well she speaks and acts like a deb or something. You know. A young lady. Kind of a society person.”

  “So?” He’d never really thought this about Andrea, but then to him she was just his daughter.

  “Well she must have been to public school. Boarding school even. I mean if Boris was privately educated too, I wonder how he and my officer would have got to know one another. My officer said they were old school friends and my officer’s certainly not out of the top drawer.”

  “Boris insisted on going to the Sixth Form College once he’d done GCSE’s. Perhaps that’s where they met. He still did well though. He got into Cambridge and he’s got a good job now.”

  “They must both have good genes then,” she said looking pointedly at his crotch.

  “Roz!” he said putting his fork down and taking her hand. He smiled. “You’re insatiable.”

  “D’you mind?”

  “’Course not.” He kissed her hand and she fondled his leg. He wanted to go back to bed with her right now and he could feel the adrenaline starting to flow making him tingle in unsuitable places inconveniently in public. He swallowed. “Go on. Divert me. Tell me something else about your work.”