Colin Dexter - The Dead of Jericho (Inspector Morse 5)

Street Plan of Jericho

Prologue

And I wonder how they should have been together

T. S. Eliot, La Figlia cheFlange

Not remarkably beautiful, he thought. Not, that is to say, if onecould ever measure the beauty of a woman on some objective scale: subspecie aeternae pulchritudinis, as it were. Yet several times already, inthe hour or so that followed the brisk, perfunctory 'hallos' of theirintroduction, their eyes had met across the room - and held. And it was afterhis third glass of slightly superior red plonk that he managed to break awayfrom the small circle of semi-acquaintances with whom he'd so far beenstanding.

Easy.

Mrs Murdoch, a large, forcefully optimistic woman inher late forties, was now pleasantly but firmly directing her guests towardsthe food set out on tables at the far end of the large lounge, and the man tookhis opportunity as she passed by.

'Lovely party!'

'Glad you could come. You must mix round abit, though. Have you met-?'

'I'll mix. I promise I will - have no fearsP

'I've told lots of people about you.'

The man nodded without apparent enthusiasmand looked at her plain, large-featured face. 'You're looking very fit.'

'Fit as a fiddle.'

'How about the boys? They must be' (he'dforgotten they must be) 'er getting on a bit now.

'Michael eighteen. Edward seventeen.

Amazing! Doing their exams soon, I suppose?'

'Michael's got his A-levels next month.'('Do please go along and help yourself, Rowena.')

'Clear-minded and confident, is he?'

'Confidence is a much overrated quality -don't you agree?'

'Perhaps you're right,' replied the man,who had never previously considered the proposition. (But had he noticed aflash of unease in Mrs Murdoch's eyes?) 'What's he studying?'

'Biology. French. Economics.' (That'sright. Please do go along and help yourselves.')

'Interesting!' replied the man, debatingwhat possible motives could have influenced the lad towards such a curiouslyuncomplementary combination of disciplines. 'And Edward, what's - ?'

He heard himself speak the words but hishostess had drifted away to goad some of her guests towards the food, and hefound himself alone. The people he had joined earlier were now poised, platesin their hands, over the assortment of cold meats, savouries, and salads,spearing breasts of curried chicken and spooning up the coleslaw. For twominutes he stood facing the nearest wall, appearing earnestly to assess anamateurishly executed water-colour. Then he made his move. She was standing atthe back of the queue and he took his place behind her.

'Looks good, doesn't it?' he ventured. Nota particularly striking or original start. But a start; and a sufficient one.

'Hungry?' she asked, turning towards him.

Was he hungry? At such close quarters shelooked more attractive than ever, with her wide hazel eyes, clear skin, andlips already curved in a smile. Was he hungry?

Im a bit hungry,' he said.

'You probably eat too much.' She splayedher right hand lightly over the front of his white shirt, a shirt he hadhimself carefully washed and ironed for the party. The fingers were slim andsinewy, the long nails carefully manicured and crimsoned.

'Not too bad, am I?' He liked the waythings were going, and his voice sounded almost school boyish.

She tilted her head to one side in amock-serious assessment of whatever qualities she might approve in him. 'Nottoo bad, she said, pouting her lips provocatively.

He watched her as she bent her body overthe buffet table, watched the curve of her slim bottom as she leant far acrossto fork a few slices of beetroot-and suddenly felt (as he often felt) a littlelost, a little hopeless. She was talking to the man just in front of her now, aman in his mid-twenties, tall, fair haired, deeply tanned, with hardly an ounceof superfluous flesh on his frame. And the older man shook his head and smiledruefully. It had been a nice thought, but now he let it drift away. He wasfifty, and age was just about beginning, so he told himself, to cure his heartof tenderness. Just about.

There were chairs set under the far end ofthe table, with a few square feet of empty surface on the white table-cloth;and he decided to sit and eat in peace. It would save him the indigestion healmost invariably suffered if he sat in an armchair and ate in the cramped andsquatting postures that the other guests were happily adopting. He refilled hisglass yet again, pulled out a chair, and started to eat.

'I think you're the only sensible man inthe room, she said, standing beside him a minute later.

'I get indigestion,' he said flatly, notbothering to look up at her. It was no good pretending. He might just as wellbe himself-a bit paunchy, more than a bit balding, on the cemetery side of thesemi-century, with one or two unsightly hairs beginning to sprout in his ears.No It was no use pretending. Go away, my pretty one! Go away and take your fillof flirting from that lecherous young Adonis over there.

'Mind if I join you?'

He looked up at her in her cream-coloured,narrow-waisted summer dress, and pulled out the chair next to him.

'I thought I'd lost you for the evening,'he said after a while.

She lifted her glass of wine to her lipsand then circled the third finger of her left hand smoothly round the inner rimat the point from which she had sipped.'Didn't you want to lose me?' she said softly, her moist lips close to his ear.

'No. I wanted to keep you all to myself. But then I'm aselfish beggar.' His voice was bantering, good humoured; but his clear blueeyes remained cold and appraising.

'You might have rescued me,' she whispered. 'Thatblond-headed bore across there -Oh, I'm sorry. He's not - ?'

'No. He's no friend of mine.'

'Nor mine. In fact, I don't really know anyone here.' Hervoice had become serious, and for a few minutes they ate in silence.

'There's a few of 'em here wouldn't mind getting to know you,'he said finally.

'Mm?' She seemed relaxed again, and smiled. 'Perhaps you'reright. But they're all such bores -did you know that?'

'I'm a bit of a bore myself,' the man said.

'I don't believe you.'

'Well, let's say I'm just the same as all the others.'

'What's that supposed to mean?' There were traces in herflat Vs of some north country accent. Lancashire, perhaps?

'You want me to tell you?'

'Uh uh.'

Their eyes held momentarily, as they had done earlier; andthen the man looked down at his virtually untouched plate of food. 'I find youvery attractive," he said quietly. 'That's all.'

She made no reply, and they got on with their eating,thinking their own thoughts. Silently.

'Not bad, eh?' said the man, wiping his mouth with anorange-coloured paper napkin, and reaching across for one of the wine bottles.'What can I get you now, madame? There's er there's fresh fruit salad; there'scream gateau; there's some sort of caramel whatnot -'

But as he made to rise she laid her hand on the sleeve ofhis jacket. 'Let's just sit here and talk a minute. I never seem to be able toeat and talk at the same time - like others can.'

Indeed, it appeared that most of the other guests wereremarkably proficient at such simultaneous skills, for, as the man becamesuddenly aware, the large room was filled with the chatter and clatter of thethirty or so other guests.

'Drop more wine?' he asked.

'Haven't I had enough?'

'As soon as you've had enough, it's time to have a littledrop more.'

She laughed sweetly at him. 'Is that original?'

'I read it on the back of a match-box.'