drove it round to the car park behind the hotel.
'I'm going for a walk after we've unloaded,' he announced en route. 'Want to come?'
'No, thanks.'
'Need a break from my company, do you?'
'No, George. I just need a break.'
* * *
A beer and a sandwich on room service, followed by a bath and a sleep, was the break Umber had in mind. He reckoned only after that would he be fit to assess whether they had accomplished anything so far or not. Sharp seemed optimistic, but Umber suspected that was because he was enjoying being back in harness, albeit unofficially. Maybe an ex-policeman was never happier than when asking questions, no matter what answers he got.
* * *
A lot sooner than he would have wished, Umber was woken by the warbling of his mobile. He had been tempted to switch it off, but had not done so in case Percy Nevinson called. This turned out to have been a wise precaution.
'Hello?'
'David Umber?'
'Yes.'
'Percy Nevinson here.' The voice was indeed faintly familiar -- oddly pitched and breathily nervous, with the receiver held too close to the mouth, so that the P of Percy exploded in Umber's ear. 'I gather you want to see me.'
'If you don't mind.'
'Not at all. Pleased to help. Naturally.'
'Good.'
'Where are you based, Mr Umber?'
'Marlborough. Ivy House Hotel.'
'Righto. Well, I can come into Marlborough this afternoon. Why don't we meet in the Polly Tea Rooms? Four o'clock, say?'
'All right.'
'One thing, though.'
'Yes?'
'Just you, Mr Umber. I'll meet you. Not the policeman.'
'There's really --'
'Not the policeman.'
* * *
It was a measure of Umber's exhaustion that puzzlement at Nevinson's bizarre condition for their meeting did not prevent him falling back to sleep -- after setting his alarm clock for 3.30.
Well before 3.30, he was once again roused abruptly, this time by a knock at the door.
It was Sharp, back from his walk. And he was none too pleased to hear Umber's news. 'Bloody nerve of the man! I hope you told him where to get off.'
'I didn't feel I could, George.'
'Who does he think he is?'
'Someone whose cooperation we need, I suppose.'
'Inflated idea of his own importance. That's his problem.' Sharp ground his jaw in frustration. 'All right. Let him have it his way. This time.'
'He might be more likely to let his guard down with me.'
'Maybe.' Sharp eyed Umber with no great confidence. 'I'll just have to hope you can take advantage if he does.'
* * *
The Polly Tea Rooms were as close to the centre of Marlborough's small world as anyone could hope to penetrate at four o'clock on a Monday afternoon. Its doilied delights had drawn in a contented clientele, amidst which Percy Nevinson looked by no means out of place. When Umber arrived, on the dot of four, Nevinson was already ensconced towards the rear of the cafe. He was kitted out in a tweed jacket and dog-tooth-patterned sweater and was making rapid inroads into a large slice of fruit cake. He could have been an eccentric schoolmaster, it struck Umber, or a vicar in mufti. But an anonymous letter-writer? Yes. On balance, he could have been that too.
'Mr Umber.' Nevinson degreased his fingers as best he could and stood up. They shook hands. 'It's been a long time.'
'The years look to have been kind to you, Mr Nevinson.' It was true. The man seemed scarcely to have aged at all. He was balder, though not much. That was the only detectable change. They sat down. 'It was good of you to come.'
'Oh, any excuse to tuck into one of the Polly's fruit cakes. That's why I arrived early. In hopes of polishing off a slice before you joined me.'
'Carry on.'
'Thank you. And, please, call me Percy.'
'OK. I'm David.'
'Yes. Of course. It's odd, isn't it, to wait twenty-three years before getting onto first-name terms?'
'It was a brief acquaintance.'
'But a memorable one.'
'True.' Umber broke off as a waitress approached. He ordered coffee. 'It was certainly memorable.' Nevinson had by now embarked on a last mouthful of cake, too large to
'I'm going for a walk after we've unloaded,' he announced en route. 'Want to come?'
'No, thanks.'
'Need a break from my company, do you?'
'No, George. I just need a break.'
* * *
A beer and a sandwich on room service, followed by a bath and a sleep, was the break Umber had in mind. He reckoned only after that would he be fit to assess whether they had accomplished anything so far or not. Sharp seemed optimistic, but Umber suspected that was because he was enjoying being back in harness, albeit unofficially. Maybe an ex-policeman was never happier than when asking questions, no matter what answers he got.
* * *
A lot sooner than he would have wished, Umber was woken by the warbling of his mobile. He had been tempted to switch it off, but had not done so in case Percy Nevinson called. This turned out to have been a wise precaution.
'Hello?'
'David Umber?'
'Yes.'
'Percy Nevinson here.' The voice was indeed faintly familiar -- oddly pitched and breathily nervous, with the receiver held too close to the mouth, so that the P of Percy exploded in Umber's ear. 'I gather you want to see me.'
'If you don't mind.'
'Not at all. Pleased to help. Naturally.'
'Good.'
'Where are you based, Mr Umber?'
'Marlborough. Ivy House Hotel.'
'Righto. Well, I can come into Marlborough this afternoon. Why don't we meet in the Polly Tea Rooms? Four o'clock, say?'
'All right.'
'One thing, though.'
'Yes?'
'Just you, Mr Umber. I'll meet you. Not the policeman.'
'There's really --'
'Not the policeman.'
* * *
It was a measure of Umber's exhaustion that puzzlement at Nevinson's bizarre condition for their meeting did not prevent him falling back to sleep -- after setting his alarm clock for 3.30.
Well before 3.30, he was once again roused abruptly, this time by a knock at the door.
It was Sharp, back from his walk. And he was none too pleased to hear Umber's news. 'Bloody nerve of the man! I hope you told him where to get off.'
'I didn't feel I could, George.'
'Who does he think he is?'
'Someone whose cooperation we need, I suppose.'
'Inflated idea of his own importance. That's his problem.' Sharp ground his jaw in frustration. 'All right. Let him have it his way. This time.'
'He might be more likely to let his guard down with me.'
'Maybe.' Sharp eyed Umber with no great confidence. 'I'll just have to hope you can take advantage if he does.'
* * *
The Polly Tea Rooms were as close to the centre of Marlborough's small world as anyone could hope to penetrate at four o'clock on a Monday afternoon. Its doilied delights had drawn in a contented clientele, amidst which Percy Nevinson looked by no means out of place. When Umber arrived, on the dot of four, Nevinson was already ensconced towards the rear of the cafe. He was kitted out in a tweed jacket and dog-tooth-patterned sweater and was making rapid inroads into a large slice of fruit cake. He could have been an eccentric schoolmaster, it struck Umber, or a vicar in mufti. But an anonymous letter-writer? Yes. On balance, he could have been that too.
'Mr Umber.' Nevinson degreased his fingers as best he could and stood up. They shook hands. 'It's been a long time.'
'The years look to have been kind to you, Mr Nevinson.' It was true. The man seemed scarcely to have aged at all. He was balder, though not much. That was the only detectable change. They sat down. 'It was good of you to come.'
'Oh, any excuse to tuck into one of the Polly's fruit cakes. That's why I arrived early. In hopes of polishing off a slice before you joined me.'
'Carry on.'
'Thank you. And, please, call me Percy.'
'OK. I'm David.'
'Yes. Of course. It's odd, isn't it, to wait twenty-three years before getting onto first-name terms?'
'It was a brief acquaintance.'
'But a memorable one.'
'True.' Umber broke off as a waitress approached. He ordered coffee. 'It was certainly memorable.' Nevinson had by now embarked on a last mouthful of cake, too large to
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