into a scrape, like Parker, rather than the persistent offenders, whose solicitors were seen as an evil insisted on by the law.
âTry not to worry, Mr Whitworth. She may have stayed over in Barton, in view of the weather. Itâs like this all over the east of England, they tell me.â
âShe would have phoned,â said Simon. But then, he hadnât been there, had he? He closed his eyes. Had he heard the phone ringing just as he got to the front door? It could have been. It could have been Melissa, trying to tell him where she was.
Please God let it have been Melissa, he thought, as he thanked the sergeant, and replaced the receiver.
Lloyd knew that he shouldnât have said the things he had, but he had been angry.
She made him angry, therefore it was partly her fault. He had known Judy since she was twenty years old, which was when he had fallen for her; fallen in love almost instantly with an open, friendly face, shining dark hair and honest brown eyes, almost before they had even spoken to one another. Once they had, he had discovered the quick intelligence which had almost been buried under a lack of belief in herself; he liked to think that he had had a hand in bringing it out.
But she still hated change, hated having to adjust to new situations, and he knew what would happen. She had been in her new flat for almost two months, and it was turning into home. Even though she didnât like it much. Even though she missed being with him. It was home, and the longer she lived there, the more used to it she would become, and it would be the devilâs own job to make her leave the damn place again, once she had dug herself in there.
Despite that, Lloyd hadnât tried to put obstacles in her way â in fact, he had been a positive tower of strength; it wouldnât be forever, he had assured her. It wasnât as if they couldnât see each other. And it would only be until the divorce, when their relationship could at last come out of the closet in which it had been uneasily and inconveniently concealed for the last two years. Not particularly well concealed, come to that; bits of it had invariably got caught in the door, and were visible to anyone who cared to look.
But as far as the top brass were concerned, she had shared with another policewoman until the move to Malworth, and in amongst her usual dread of the new, he fancied he had seen a hint of relief in Judyâs eyes that the deception was over. There would have been a hell of a stink if anyone had found out, so he could understand that, even though it had been her idea in the first place. He would never have suggested that she put herself in such an invidious position. It had been her idea, and then she had worried about it, all the time. He hadnât complained about that either â in fact, he told himself, he had been entirely understanding about the whole thing.
The trouble was that the more he glowed with righteous indignation at her treatment of him, the less he understood just what she was supposed to have done. He was faced with the unwelcome thought that he might be being unreasonable.
Never. He poured himself a whisky and picked up his book. Never.
They would probably be charging him with reckless driving. They had given him a speeding ticket. They had examined every inch of the bike by torchlight, trying to find something wrong with it. Theyâd have been lucky. Colin spent hours on the bike; it gleamed with health. They had breathalysed him, and had been really disappointed when they had found out he hadnât been drinking. His road tax, insurance and licence were all in order. He had been wearing his crash helmet.
They hadnât liked that. They had wanted to be able to take the bike away from him. And when the radio had confirmed that he was the owner of the bike, they had liked it even less.
They had kept him there for an hour and a half, and then had had to settle for the ticket. But they
âTry not to worry, Mr Whitworth. She may have stayed over in Barton, in view of the weather. Itâs like this all over the east of England, they tell me.â
âShe would have phoned,â said Simon. But then, he hadnât been there, had he? He closed his eyes. Had he heard the phone ringing just as he got to the front door? It could have been. It could have been Melissa, trying to tell him where she was.
Please God let it have been Melissa, he thought, as he thanked the sergeant, and replaced the receiver.
Lloyd knew that he shouldnât have said the things he had, but he had been angry.
She made him angry, therefore it was partly her fault. He had known Judy since she was twenty years old, which was when he had fallen for her; fallen in love almost instantly with an open, friendly face, shining dark hair and honest brown eyes, almost before they had even spoken to one another. Once they had, he had discovered the quick intelligence which had almost been buried under a lack of belief in herself; he liked to think that he had had a hand in bringing it out.
But she still hated change, hated having to adjust to new situations, and he knew what would happen. She had been in her new flat for almost two months, and it was turning into home. Even though she didnât like it much. Even though she missed being with him. It was home, and the longer she lived there, the more used to it she would become, and it would be the devilâs own job to make her leave the damn place again, once she had dug herself in there.
Despite that, Lloyd hadnât tried to put obstacles in her way â in fact, he had been a positive tower of strength; it wouldnât be forever, he had assured her. It wasnât as if they couldnât see each other. And it would only be until the divorce, when their relationship could at last come out of the closet in which it had been uneasily and inconveniently concealed for the last two years. Not particularly well concealed, come to that; bits of it had invariably got caught in the door, and were visible to anyone who cared to look.
But as far as the top brass were concerned, she had shared with another policewoman until the move to Malworth, and in amongst her usual dread of the new, he fancied he had seen a hint of relief in Judyâs eyes that the deception was over. There would have been a hell of a stink if anyone had found out, so he could understand that, even though it had been her idea in the first place. He would never have suggested that she put herself in such an invidious position. It had been her idea, and then she had worried about it, all the time. He hadnât complained about that either â in fact, he told himself, he had been entirely understanding about the whole thing.
The trouble was that the more he glowed with righteous indignation at her treatment of him, the less he understood just what she was supposed to have done. He was faced with the unwelcome thought that he might be being unreasonable.
Never. He poured himself a whisky and picked up his book. Never.
They would probably be charging him with reckless driving. They had given him a speeding ticket. They had examined every inch of the bike by torchlight, trying to find something wrong with it. Theyâd have been lucky. Colin spent hours on the bike; it gleamed with health. They had breathalysed him, and had been really disappointed when they had found out he hadnât been drinking. His road tax, insurance and licence were all in order. He had been wearing his crash helmet.
They hadnât liked that. They had wanted to be able to take the bike away from him. And when the radio had confirmed that he was the owner of the bike, they had liked it even less.
They had kept him there for an hour and a half, and then had had to settle for the ticket. But they
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