The voice was sharp.
Owens smiled, confiden tly now, lightl y rubbing the back of his right wrist li ghtly across her blouse.
'Quite a lot, perhaps. You may have quite a lot to do with it, sweetheart!'
She made no attempt to contradict him. 'In the pub' (she pointed across the street) 'half an hour, OK?'
She watched him go, the man with a five o'clock shadow who said his name was Owens. She'd never seen him before; but she'd recognize him again immediately, the dark hair drawn back above his ears, and tied in a pony-tail about eight or nine inches long.
Apart from the midnight 'milk-float', which gave passengers the impression that it called at almost every hamlet along the line the 11.20 p.m. was the last train from Paddington. And a panting Owens jumped into its rear coach as the Turbo Express suddenly juddered and began to move forward. The train was only half-full, and he found a seat immediately.
He felt pleased with himself. The assignation in the pub had proved to be even more interesting than he'd dared to expect; and he leaned back and closed his eyes contentedly as he pondered the possible implications of what he had just learned ...
He jolted awake at Didcot, wondering where he was -realizing that he had missed the Reading stop completely. Determined to stay awake for the last twelve minutes of the journey, he picked up an Evening Standard someone had left on the seat opposite, and was reading the sports page when over the top of the newspaper he saw a man walking back down the carriage - almost to where he himself was sitti ng - before taking his place next to a woman. And Owens recognized him.
Recognized Mr Julian Storrs of Lonsdale.
Well! Well! Well!
At Oxford, his head sull stuck behind the Evening Standard, Owens waited until everyone else had left the rear carriage. Then, himself alighting, he observed Storrs arm-in-arm with his companion as they climbed the steps of the footbridge which led over the tracks to Platform One. And suddenly, for the second time that evening, Owens felt a shiver of excitement - for he immediately recognized the woman, too.
How could he fail to recognize her?
She was his next-door neighbour.
Chapter Six
Monday, 19 February
Many is the gracious form that is covered with a veil; but on withdrawing this thou discoverest a grandmother
(Musharrif-Uddin, Gulistan)
Painstakingly , in block capitals, the Chief Inspector wrote his name, E. MORSE; and was beginning to write his address when Lewis came into the office at 8.35 a.m. on Monday, 19 February. 'What's that, sir?'
Morse looked down at a full page torn from one of the previous day's colour supplements.
'Special offer: two free CDs when you apply to join the Music Club Library.'
Lewis looked dubious. 'Don't forget you have to buy a book every month with that sort of thing. Life's not all freebies, you know.'
'Well, it is in this case. You've just got to have a look at the first thing they send you, that's all - then send it back if you don't like it. I think they even refund the postage.'
Lewis watched as Morse completed and snipped out the application form.
'Wouldn't it be fairer if you agreed to have some of the books?'
‘ You think so?'
'At least one of them.'
Intense blue eyes, slightly pained, looked innocentl y across the desk at Sergeant Lewis.
'But I've already got this month's book - I bought it for myself for Christmas.'
He inserted the form into an envelope, on which he now wrote the Club's address. Then he took from his wallet a sheaf of plasti c cards: Bodleian Library ticket; Lloyds payment card; RAC Breakdown Service; blood donor card; Blackwell's Bookshops; Oxford City Library ticket; phonecard ... but there appeared to be no booklet of first-class stamps there. Or of second-class.
‘ You don't, by any chance, happen to have a stamp on you, Lewis?'
'What CDs are you going for?'
'I've ordered Janacek, the Glagolitic Mass - you may not know it. Splendid work - be autifully recorded by Simon
Owens smiled, confiden tly now, lightl y rubbing the back of his right wrist li ghtly across her blouse.
'Quite a lot, perhaps. You may have quite a lot to do with it, sweetheart!'
She made no attempt to contradict him. 'In the pub' (she pointed across the street) 'half an hour, OK?'
She watched him go, the man with a five o'clock shadow who said his name was Owens. She'd never seen him before; but she'd recognize him again immediately, the dark hair drawn back above his ears, and tied in a pony-tail about eight or nine inches long.
Apart from the midnight 'milk-float', which gave passengers the impression that it called at almost every hamlet along the line the 11.20 p.m. was the last train from Paddington. And a panting Owens jumped into its rear coach as the Turbo Express suddenly juddered and began to move forward. The train was only half-full, and he found a seat immediately.
He felt pleased with himself. The assignation in the pub had proved to be even more interesting than he'd dared to expect; and he leaned back and closed his eyes contentedly as he pondered the possible implications of what he had just learned ...
He jolted awake at Didcot, wondering where he was -realizing that he had missed the Reading stop completely. Determined to stay awake for the last twelve minutes of the journey, he picked up an Evening Standard someone had left on the seat opposite, and was reading the sports page when over the top of the newspaper he saw a man walking back down the carriage - almost to where he himself was sitti ng - before taking his place next to a woman. And Owens recognized him.
Recognized Mr Julian Storrs of Lonsdale.
Well! Well! Well!
At Oxford, his head sull stuck behind the Evening Standard, Owens waited until everyone else had left the rear carriage. Then, himself alighting, he observed Storrs arm-in-arm with his companion as they climbed the steps of the footbridge which led over the tracks to Platform One. And suddenly, for the second time that evening, Owens felt a shiver of excitement - for he immediately recognized the woman, too.
How could he fail to recognize her?
She was his next-door neighbour.
Chapter Six
Monday, 19 February
Many is the gracious form that is covered with a veil; but on withdrawing this thou discoverest a grandmother
(Musharrif-Uddin, Gulistan)
Painstakingly , in block capitals, the Chief Inspector wrote his name, E. MORSE; and was beginning to write his address when Lewis came into the office at 8.35 a.m. on Monday, 19 February. 'What's that, sir?'
Morse looked down at a full page torn from one of the previous day's colour supplements.
'Special offer: two free CDs when you apply to join the Music Club Library.'
Lewis looked dubious. 'Don't forget you have to buy a book every month with that sort of thing. Life's not all freebies, you know.'
'Well, it is in this case. You've just got to have a look at the first thing they send you, that's all - then send it back if you don't like it. I think they even refund the postage.'
Lewis watched as Morse completed and snipped out the application form.
'Wouldn't it be fairer if you agreed to have some of the books?'
‘ You think so?'
'At least one of them.'
Intense blue eyes, slightly pained, looked innocentl y across the desk at Sergeant Lewis.
'But I've already got this month's book - I bought it for myself for Christmas.'
He inserted the form into an envelope, on which he now wrote the Club's address. Then he took from his wallet a sheaf of plasti c cards: Bodleian Library ticket; Lloyds payment card; RAC Breakdown Service; blood donor card; Blackwell's Bookshops; Oxford City Library ticket; phonecard ... but there appeared to be no booklet of first-class stamps there. Or of second-class.
‘ You don't, by any chance, happen to have a stamp on you, Lewis?'
'What CDs are you going for?'
'I've ordered Janacek, the Glagolitic Mass - you may not know it. Splendid work - be autifully recorded by Simon
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