A Cure for All Diseases. Reginald Hill
Читать онлайн книгу.
touched by Mr Pascoe’s concern for me. He’s a man I admire greatly. I would love to be able to think of him as my friend. Perhaps it was because of this that, as I gradually improved, I began to worry in case the gratitude he felt should become a burden. It’s all too easy for gratitude to turn into resentment, isn’t it? Mr Pascoe is a man of intense feeling. Sometimes perhaps over intense. It was a hard decision, but I felt it might be best if I cooled things between us, so when I concluded that medical wisdom as it stood in the UK had done everything possible for me and decided to head abroad in search of other treatments, it seemed a good opportunity. I’m sorry if that sounds too altruistic for your view of me, Mr Dalziel, but it’s the truth.’
I found I believed him.
I said, ‘I reckon you got things right for once.’
The bar door opened and a young woman came in, laden with carrier bags. She were tall and skinny as a bow string. Slim they likely call it in the women’s mags, or slender or willowy, some such bollocks, but it’s all skinny to me. I like a lass with a bit of something to get a hold of. Mind you, beggars can’t always be choosers and I’ve known a lot of bow strings that had plenty of twang in them, but on the whole I’ve always steered clear of the lean and hungry ones. Not that this lass weren’t bad looking in a hollow cheek modelly sort of way, with wavy brown hair, a good full mouth, a determined little chin, and soft blue eyes that fastened on Roote.
She said, ‘Franny, hi.’
‘Clara,’ said Roote. ‘Hi! Come and meet my old friend, Andrew Dalziel. Mr Dalziel, this is Clara Brereton.’
She came towards us. She were a lovely mover even with the bags. Fair do’s, probably being skinny helps here, though my Cap doesn’t get many complaints on the dance floor.
She said, ‘Nice to meet you, Mr Dalziel,’ like she knew how to spell it. And she was another who didn’t blink when she spotted how I were dressed.
I said, ‘Likewise, lass.’
‘Why don’t you join us?’ said Roote giving her the full smarmy charmy treatment.
She sat down, saying, ‘Just till Auntie comes. Teddy’s taking us to lunch at Moby’s. He’s supposed to be meeting us here.’
She looked relieved to set the bags down.
I said, ‘They don’t deliver round here then?’ just to make conversation.
Roote chipped in, ‘Indeed they do, but there’s a small charge, and why pay that when you’ve got your own personal service?’
They smiled at each other. Something going on here? I wondered. With Roote, owt’s possible. A gent would likely have made an excuse and left them to get on with it, but gents don’t find themselves sitting in public bars in their dressing gowns. Any road, I wanted to see how Roote would play it. But there weren’t time to make his play.
The door opened again and another woman entered, this one a bit more to my taste. The way her gaze fixed on Clara and Roote, I guessed straight off this were the aunt. She were knocking on, sixties bumping seventy, but well preserved, and built like a buffalo, with an eye to match. If there weren’t enough meat on young Clara to make a Christmas starter, there were plenty here for a main course with something left over for Boxing Day. Not bad looking for an old ’un, but in a very different way from her niece. No smooth pallor here but weathered oak. Only thing in common were the determined chin which age had carved on her face into a bit of an ice-breaker. This was a woman used to getting her own way.
She said, ‘There you are, Clara. You’ve got the shopping? Good. No sign of Teddy? No matter, so long as he turns up in time to pay the bill. Time for a quick one here I think. Alan!’
The landlord was ahead of the game again. There was already a G and T on the bar and an orange juice. No prizes for working out whose was which.
‘Good day, Lady D,’ said Roote. ‘I hope you are keeping well.’
‘I am always well, Franny. I firmly believe most ailments are the invention of the medical profession to extort money from fools.’
She brayed a laugh like it never struck her some poor sod in a wheelchair might not find this all that funny. Roote just grinned and said, ‘If Tom Parker wants a living testimony to the health-giving properties of Sandytown, he need look no further than you.’
She preened herself and said, ‘Kind of you to say so, Franny. It’s true I have been blessed with a strong and lasting constitution. In fact I do believe I never saw the face of a doctor in all my life on my own account, but only on the two unhappy occasions when I was told of the death of a husband.’
Roote looked solemn for a moment, then said slyly, ‘But surely, Lady D, you have seen the face of Dr Feldenhammer, very much on your own account, and on occasions not so unhappy?’
She laughed archly, like a cracked hurdy-gurdy playing ‘The Rustle of Spring’, and I reckon if she’d had a fan, she’d have rapped his knuckles with it as she said, ‘You naughty boy, that tongue of yours will get you into trouble one day.’
‘Then I shall call on you for a character reference,’ said Roote. ‘Can I introduce my old friend Andrew Dalziel?’
I’d seen those buffalo eyes taking me in during all this by-play and I don’t think she much liked the look of me or mebbe it was just my outfit.
I said, ‘How do, missus?’ and in return she gave me a nod that would likely have broken my nose if she’d been close up, then turned to hoist herself on to a bar stool, showing off a pair of haunches a man would be proud to have the tattooing of. The landlord put her drink before her and she leaned forward to engage him in a low-voiced conversation.
The lass gave Roote’s hand a quick sympathetic squeeze, then went to the bar to join her aunt.
I took a drink of me ale. Didn’t taste as good as before. Nowt wrong with the beer, but. It were me. Should have stopped with the first and certainly skipped the scotch. I definitely weren’t feeling up to snuff. Mebbe that was what made me say, all surly, ‘You’ll not get anywhere there, lad. Rich aunts look after dependent nieces.’
One thing for Roote, he may play games but he doesn’t play silly games, like pretending not to understand.
‘Dependent nieces have wills of their own,’ he said giving me a stage wink.
‘Aye, and so have rich aunts, and they make bloody sure anyone gets cut out of them who doesn’t toe the line,’ I said. ‘Any road, it could be a long wait if she’s as fit as she looks.’
‘Oh yes. Dear Lady Denham is nothing if not healthy. And wealthy, of course,’ he murmured.
‘And wise?’ I said.
‘In making and keeping hold of money, very wise indeed,’ he said.
‘Why am I not surprised?’ I said. ‘And I bet you know how much she’s kept hold of, to the last decimal place.’
He grinned and said, ‘You are forgetting, I suspect, that thanks to dear Peter Pascoe’s aid and acumen, I am now a man of moderately independent means, even without the income I generate by my writing. If such a one as I could have any interest in the fair Clara, it would only be centred on her pilgrim soul.’
When an ex-con starts talking about pilgrim souls, I know he’s talking crap, but I knew Roote weren’t lying about the money. Pete had felt so grateful and guilty, he’d moved heaven and earth to make sure Roote got top compensation from Criminal Injuries, plus the leisure complex where he got shot had had a Personal Injury clause in their insurance which a smart brief persuaded a judge covered Roote’s case. Best of all, Roote had just got back from the States on the day he got shot and when Pete were sorting out his stuff, he realized his travel insurance didn’t expire till midnight. The buggers wriggled and wiggled like they always do, but in the end the same brief who’d done the leisure complex got them to cough up for total disability. When eventually it turned out Roote was going to be able to manage a wheelchair, this