He’d not been in love with her for a very long time, now, but that rejection, when he had so desperately needed hope and the courage to believe he could survive, had nearly destroyed him.
Bringing himself back to the present, he said, “I can tell you this about Melinda Crawford. If she hadn’t enjoyed your company, she would be perfectly capable of arranging matters for you. She would have found a proper hotel, taken you there herself, and seen to it that you were both safe and completely comfortable. And I wouldn’t be standing here now talking with you.”
Her eyebrows rose. “You’re saying that to make me feel better.”
“No. I’m telling you that I have known Melinda far longer than you have done. You would never have guessed that she wanted you gone. But gone you would have been. If she asks you to stay, it’s because she likes you. I can’t think why.”
She smiled a little at that. “I don’t know whether to believe you or not.”
He said, without an answering smile, “I don’t think I’ve ever lied to you.”
Her smile faded. “No. No, you haven’t. You’ve been a very good friend. All right, if you think it’s best, I’ll stay. A little longer.”
“It’s for the best. Your father will come round, he’ll miss you, worry about you, and then try to find you. Give him time, Kate, and Melinda will gladly give you that time.”
She took a deep breath, turning away to hide the tears of relief welling in her eyes. “Thank you, Ian. From the bottom of my heart.”
He wanted to go to her then, but he knew he shouldn’t. That it was wrong, that it would make her feel that he had brought her here for reasons of his own. He had to stay her friend.
“You’ll be sick of curry by the time you go home,” he said lightly.
She laughed. “To my surprise I’ve come to like them, but not as spicy as Melinda does.”
As if on cue, the door opened.
“Crisis averted in the kitchen,” Melinda said briskly. “I believe we can sit down now, without interruption. When Shanta is shouting in Hindi and he is shouting in French, even the cat disappears.”
She led them to the small dining room, where they didn’t have to shout down the long table. “Now, then, Ian, must you rush back to London, or can you take the day for yourself?”
He knew what she wanted from him. “I’d much rather stay, but Markham is not a patient man. For the sake of his blood pressure, I expect I ought to appear this afternoon.”
“When will they replace him? He’s an idiot.”
“I understand from Sergeant Gibson that some are already placing bets on that.”
When he left an hour later, he was alone in the motorcar. Melinda had seen him to the door, waited for his kiss, and then said softly, so that her voice wouldn’t carry to the sitting room, “Well done, Ian. She’s fragile still.”
He said, “Her mother is no better than her father. How they managed to have a daughter like Kate, I’ll never understand.”
And he walked on to the motorcar.
There were no ghostly moans when Rutledge walked into the Yard. Gibson greeted him civilly, asked if Essex had come to a satisfactory conclusion.
“Yes. I was pleased.”
He left it at that.
Gibson said, “He wants to see you in his office. He’s not in a very good mood.”
“Thanks for the warning.”
But he stopped in his own tiny office to leave his hat and coat. The valise had stayed in the boot of the motorcar.
For a moment he stood looking out the window. It was nearly time to leave for the day. Traffic over Westminster Bridge was already heavier than it was when he’d crossed some minutes ago.
There was nothing for it but to beard the lion in his den.
He picked up his report, walked out into the passage and down to the Chief Superintendent’s office. Knocking at the door, he heard “Come in,” in a voice that boded no good.
“Rutledge,” Markham acknowledged, then continued to sign several papers waiting in front of him. That done, he looked up. “Did you find the ghost?”
He knew Markham well enough to understand this was a well-planned taunt.
“Yes, sir. And the man behind it. It’s in my report.” He passed it across the desk.
Markham took it but didn’t open it. Instead he said abruptly, “Sit down, man, you know looking up gives me trouble with my neck.”
Rutledge did as he was told. Something in Markham’s expression alerted him, he didn’t need Hamish behind his shoulder, hissing a sudden warning.
In the top right-hand drawer of the Chief Superintendent’s desk was his own letter of resignation. It had been asked for, and then held over his ahead like the sword of Damocles.
He was never to know when it would come out of the drawer and then be signed by the Chief Superintendent. Irrevocable. Final.
And he watched now as Markham reached into that very drawer and drew out a folder.
Rutledge braced himself for what was to come.
Looking him in the eye, Markham said, “I was against this from the start. I will tell you that before you are puffed up, thinking you are irreplaceable. But I was overruled.”
Markham opened the file.
“The Home Office has in its infinite wisdom seen fit to promote you to the position of Chief Inspector. With the salary that comes with said position.”
Rutledge sat there, stunned. He fought to find the words he knew he was expected to say, and he couldn’t.
“Well. Don’t sit there like a lump of stone. Do you accept this position or do you not? It’s late in the day, and I should like very much to leave.”
There had been several questions racing themselves through his mind. But he set them aside and replied, keeping his voice steady by an effort of will.
“Am I filling a vacancy?” There was one he couldn’t bring himself to fill.
“That’s not your affair. But you’ll hear soon enough. Chief Inspector Matthews has retired. He was a good man, a sound policeman.”
“He was.” And Rutledge said, facing Markham, knowing he was about to ruin the other man’s day, “Yes. I accept this position.”
Markham’s mouth tightened into a thin line. He handed Rutledge a fountain pen and the papers from the folder.
Using his knee for a desk, Rutledge read through them and signed where directed.
It was done. He handed them back to Markham.
“That’s all. You may go.”
No congratulations. No best wishes.
Rutledge thanked him and left the office, still stunned.
He walked back into his own office and sat down behind the desk. His back to the window. He heard a door open and shut down the passage, and Markham came walking past his door and on to the stairs.
Hamish said, “Ye should leave now, yoursel’.”
He didn’t know how or why this had happened. He needed the Yard more than it needed him, he knew that. He had been prepared to serve as an Inspector as long as he could. He had never held any hope of promotion. It was enough to be here.
Who was behind it?
There had to be someone.
And then he knew the answer.
He got up, walked out his door and out of the Yard. It was urgent that he find a telephone.
No one called to him. He realized that no one else knew. Yet.