Reginald Hill

“Well, there’s the intangibles. What kind of place is this to work in?

In normal conditions I mean. Everybody draws together in the face of the enemy.”

“Not everybody. It’s a funny atmosphere. All happy and Butlins’-Redcoats on the surface. But lots of oddities. We’re very isolated for a start and instead of improving on lines of communication with the university, socially and administratively I mean, there’s been a kind of contraction into an even tighter little circle. Or groups of little circles.” “For instance?’ asked Pascoe in his turn sipping his coffee and trying to concentrate on what Ellie was saying rather than on her brown, well-fleshed legs draped lengthily over the arm of her chair.

“Well there’s all kind of odd little societies for a start. In the prospectus it looks very good, opportunity to pursue a wide range of interest and activity in the college, that kind of thing. But it’s not really like that. It’s hard to break into these tight little circles.

You’ve got to prove you fit, almost. And I suspect you need more than just a proven interest in stamp-collecting or whatever it is.”

“What for instance? You mean some special sex variation, that kind of thing?”

She made an impatient gesture.

“Christ, man, you’ve had the fine intellectual edges rubbed off you, haven’t you? Sex sometimes, of course. But more often as a symptom than an end in itself. It’s a matter of belonging. How you belong is unimportant except that people generally take the line of least resistance. Anyway I don’t know why I’m bothering to tell you all this.

You can read it in my book.”

She gestured at a fairly bulky file which jutted out of her bookshelves.

“I’ll look forward to that. What is it - a thesis?”

“Christ, no! Thesis faeces! That kind of crap’s all behind me now. No, it’s a novel,’ she replied, a defensive note in her voice.

“Really?’ He was uncertain whether to go on talking about it or not. He decided not. If she wanted to talk about it, she would. The only other novelist he had ever known seemed willing to stop complete strangers in the street and force chunks of his indigestible prose down their throats.

“What about the staff? Don’t answer if you’d rather not,’ he said.

Dalziel would have torn out what remained of his greying hair at such delicacy. Or worse, perhaps admired his hypocrisy. There seem to be a few feuds here. Disney and Fallowfield, for instance.”

She hooted with derision at the names.

“What d’you expect? There’s nothing queerer than two old queers. No, there’s bloodier battlegrounds than that.” She paused enticingly, but Pascoe was not to be drawn by hints. If she wanted to say more she would. But she had made a firm assertion and that was worth pursuing.

“Disney and Fallowfield, two old queers? Why do you say that?”

She looked at him incredulously.

“Come off it, Sherlock. Walt’s so butch she might as well advertise in the local paper.”

“Is this guesswork?’ he said, allowing disbelief to colour his tone.

“Guesswork nothing! When I first came she tried to charm me into her magic circle. What a thought! Poor Walt. It’s mostly sublimated now, I guess. Just girl-talk and confession hour and a bit of shoulder-patting and hair-stroking. She was hit bad when old Girling died, so they tell me.”

Pascoe was surprised.

“I thought they didn’t get on all that well? That this friendship thing was just a posthumous fantasy.”

Ellie shrugged.

“I heard different. Who told you that?”

“Dunbar.”

“That little Scotch git! What’d he know anyway? I bet they paid money to get him out of Scotland.” Pascoe pressed on, ignoring this other invitation to divert.

“And Fallowfield? What about him? Surely this business with the girl … ” “Yes,’ she said slowly. ‘ surprised me, I admit. I hadn’t known him long, of course, or well. But I’d have guessed differently about him.

What the hell, perhaps he’s just got catholic tastes!”

“Perhaps. But why … “

She jumped up. Again the legs were much in evidence.

“Enough’s enough! Drink your coffee and either stop being a policeman or go.”

She went over to a record-player pushed beneath a small sideboard, pulled it out and put a record on.

Pascoe reached into his wallet and produced his warrant card.

There you are,’ he said placing it on the mantelpiece. ‘ now have no official standing.”

Feeling incredibly ham, he took Ellie in his arms and they began dancing, pressed close together.

“Why aren’t you married?’ she asked suddenly. ‘ are you?”

“No,’ he said. ‘ time. Besides I don’t mix with a very nice class of person. You?”

“God no! Half a dozen offers though; I shouldn’t like you to think no one else had ever asked. And a host of odd boyfriends. But nothing ever clicked.”

“No one now?’ he asked diffidently. ‘ wondered perhaps about that chap the other evening, Halfdane … ?”

She drew away slightly, then laughed.

“We hardly know each other. But while there’s life … Still, he’s a bit young.” “Rubbish,’ he said drawing her close again. ”re perfect. Mature.”