Same Time Next Week

Chapter 42

Bon drove to Gwyn Tankersley’s house, despite her command not to. She was very disappointed in him.

‘It’s fine, one glass of wine is enough.’

She had been hoping to ply him with wine, soften him. That’s why she had told him to be there before everyone else arrived, except he arrived after them. Ah well, she’d have to work extra hard, then.

He brought a bottle of Kanonkop pinotage and a DeMorgenzon chenin blanc with him, both South African, she noted – nice touch. And while she didn’t know either wine well, she trusted Bon to have brought something decent, chosen thoughtfully.

‘Come in and meet my guests, everyone is here,’ she said. ‘And they’ve all seen my beautiful new desk and want to meet the man who made it.’

She took his hand and led him through to her grand salon. Bon could tell instantly they weren’t his sort of crowd, but he wasn’t doing this primarily for pleasure. Gwyn threw names at him that he was unlikely to remember unless reminded, except for one – Richard Sutton: only son of the pike in the pond that was Archibald Sutton. The apple hadn’t fallen far from the entitled and grandiose tree, that thought money bought class and respect when it merely bought toadies. His wife, Bon presumed, was sitting next to him. Their daughter, whom Sky avoided when she came into the shop, was very much in her mould.

‘We were just talking about your gaff,’ Sutton said. Bon was surprised to hear a broad Yorkshire accent rather than the polished, affected one he’d thought would have come out of his mouth. But yet it was overly loud and proud, the sort of accent that spoke of inverse snobbery. ‘I’ll have to go up and take a look.’

‘You’re very welcome to,’ said Bon.

‘We’d like to buy the whole Spring Hill venture but the Irishman isn’t playing. You should have a word.’

How rich we are , Bon heard. He knew that Shaun McCarthy wouldn’t sell Spring Hill Square to them for any price. And Bon wouldn’t be having any words to try and convince him otherwise.

‘As it’s my birthday, no shop talk,’ Gwyn admonished Sutton, wagging a finger at him.

‘I didn’t realise it was your birthday,’ Bon said.

‘Because I didn’t tell you, I didn’t want to put you under any obligation. You brought wine,’ said Gwyn. ‘Which is more than this lot did.’

The crowd of six laughed and made jokey protests about never bringing wine. Gwyn’s soirées must have been a regular occurrence, Bon thought, to which she invited a lot of impolite people.

A young woman appeared at the door in chef’s whites and checked trousers.

‘Dinner is going to be served at any moment, if you’d like to take your seats,’ she said.

‘I never asked you if you had any intolerances,’ said Gwyn to him as they filtered through to the dining room.

Only to evenings like this, thought Bon.

When Amanda arrived at the diner for the meeting, Ray was just filling the pots of coffee. He said hello with a concerned expression.

‘Where did you go on Saturday?’ he said. ‘One minute you were there, the next you were gone.’

‘I’m sorry,’ said Amanda. ‘I’ve just got a lot on my plate at the moment. My mum’s in hospital, my brother’s a dick… family stuff.’

‘Wanna talk about it? Offload?’ he offered.

She smiled at his consideration but no, she didn’t want to burden him with tales of skullduggery and hidden treasure chests, stone-cold mothers and sons with teeth like a seaside donkey’s. He was best kept out of her world for his own sanity.

‘Thank you, but I need a break from my life.’

He nodded. ‘Okay, well I can help you with that. Tomorrow night, be hungry and come here at nine o’clock. I’m going to cook for you.’

‘You don’t have to do—’

‘I want to.’ He looked at her with his beautiful blue eyes, unblinking, waiting to exact a promise that she’d be there.

‘Okay, I’ll be hungry and here for nine.’

‘Good. Now I’ll go and get the biscuits . You say biscuits here, don’t you, and not cookies?’

‘Well, I’d say they’re cookies you serve up, not biscuits. And please, don’t convert your language, stay Texan. Biscuits doesn’t sound right at all coming from you.’

‘Ah, but we have biscuits. They’re nothing like yours. Pie, however, is universal. At least we have that in common.’

He was so very sweet. Amanda wondered what his mouth would taste like on hers, what his arms would feel like around her, whether his hands would move fast or slow undoing the buttons of her shirt. She gave her head a rattle in case she had suddenly grown a transparent brain case and he could see what was going on in it. That flaming HRT was working a bit too well on some parts of her body.

The door opened and a new woman arrived: casually dressed, but expensive casual, about the same age as herself, glossy brown hair that fell in waves just past her shoulder. One of those women who looked as good without make-up as with it, Amanda would guess. She had that unsure look that made Amanda presume she wasn’t here for a dinner booking but for the group.

‘Welcome,’ she said. ‘You here for the six o’clock meeting?’

‘I am, yes.’

‘Just go down there to your right, it’s the door next to the loos. Have a coffee, take a seat. With any luck the others will be along shortly. Or we’ll be having a tête-à-tête.’

Erin smiled; even a tête-à-tête would be good. Anything to take her away from the turmoil in her own head at the moment.

Salmon Three Ways was followed by Lamb Wellington, not Bon’s favourite meat, though it was cooked to perfection if one liked lamb so pink it could be resuscitated by a good vet. The accompanying vegetables were exquisite, though; shame the company wasn’t.

Bon had the misfortune to be sitting opposite Sutton junior, who chewed with his mouth open and talked while eating, as if he were above table etiquette, as if money bought you that privilege.

‘Had any undesirables up at your place, then, Bon ?’ Sutton asked him, putting a scathing emphasis on his name. ‘The press, I mean. I know you’ve got Urbaniak’s daughter working there.’

‘There was someone, yes, earlier today,’ Bon answered him.

‘What’s this?’ said Gwyn.

‘Twentieth anniversary of the Pennine Prowler’s arrest,’ said Sutton, waggling scary fingers. ‘It’s resurrected the sodding thing yet again. My mother’s gone all jittery, worse than bloody usual. She doesn’t want the fuckers upsetting my father and spoiling his seventieth birthday celebrations. Big party planned, costing us an arm and a leg.’

‘Why would it do that?’ asked the silver-haired woman on the end, who was called Koo.

‘Dad gave Craven casual work occasionally which – can you believe it? – put him in the frame of being his accomplice. The police really were scraping the barrel by then. So there’s a lesson: never be kind, because it can spectacularly backfire.’

Koo’s mouth formed a long ‘O’ of shock before she said, ‘I never knew that. How ridiculous.’

‘The clever money was always on a Polish man called Urbaniak. Huge he was, like a grizzly. Ironically, he made teddy bears.’

‘Are you making this up as you go along, Richard?’ asked Koo’s husband, Jerome, with a chortle.

‘It’s got a Netflix series written all over it,’ said Koo, lifting a spear of asparagus to her lips and biting down.

‘It was definitely him if it was anyone. The police know it but they couldn’t pin it on him. Urbaniak looked after the little runt at school and they stayed friends right until the end. Craven loved him like a brother.’

‘He does sound guilty,’ said Koo, and Bon was only glad she wasn’t a high court judge.

‘What happened to him?’ asked Dunny, whom Gwyn had introduced as being ‘at the very top of the commodities ladder’, whatever that meant.

‘Which one? Craven served five years and then snuffed it. Urbaniak turned to drink, and died a sad old alcoholic.’

‘Sounds like a guilty conscience to me,’ put in Dunny’s wife, Andrea, who was sloshed. ‘Trying to block things out with alcohol.’

Bon wished he could block this lot out with alcohol.

‘Who knows?’ said Sutton. ‘But what I would like to know is who sent that fucking reporter up to my parents’ house today. I hope it wasn’t teddy-bear man’s daughter trying to deflect, or I’ll be paying her a visit.’

Bon felt his patience crumbling, but he was very good at staying calm, even when he was at his most enraged.

‘I was there when a reporter came this morning to talk to Sky, who wouldn’t give her the time of day. The only place the woman was sent was out of my shop.’

‘That only makes them keener,’ said Gwyn.

‘Dad’s got early onset dementia, poor bastard, and this party means a lot to the family, because it might be the last he has where he knows who we are. So if anything, or anyone, gets in the way of it, they’ll have me to deal with and it won’t be pretty,’ said Sutton, spitting gravy as he threatened.

Bon sighed inwardly and tried not to look at his watch.