CHAPTER 31 -Something's enchanting

Part 1

Jim Strange tapped his foot impatiently as he stood outside the cinema waiting for the others to arrive. It was a pleasant early evening, not too cool as to necessitate the wearing of a coat so he was hardly getting cold standing around waiting but he was anxious for Joan, Paul and his blind date Claudine to turn up soon before his nerves about the forthcoming evening increased to biblical proportions. He passed the time browsing through his French-English phrasebook, knowing that the opportunities to refer to it again during the evening after they had all met up would be limited to say the least, if not nigh on impossible.

He was satisfied he had mastered how to say a variety of simple French expressions including 'hello, good evening, how are you, my name is Jim and thank you', although he was painfully aware that his French accent was still appalling. He hoped that this limited knowledge would be sufficient for him to show Claudine that he had made some effort to speak her language and that he could be excused having to try to speak in French for the whole evening. The horrifying thought had occurred to him that Claudine might be so impressed by his schoolboy French that she could be encouraged to talk to him in her native tongue all evening but he dismissed such a ridiculous idea from his mind. Besides, wasn't it more than likely that she would jump at the chance to practice her English with him rather than the other way round? And they were in England, after all, he told himself with just a hint of righteous indignation. When in Rome, for God's sake!

Eventually he spotted the other three walking down the road towards him so he swiftly shoved his phrase book into his coat pocket and smiled nervously at Joan as they gradually approached him. Joan gave Jim a warm, encouraging smile as they all came to a halt in front of Jim and Joan wasted no time in making swift introductions all round. Jim's first thought was that Joan had not been exaggerating when she had described Claudine as very attractive. She was quite short, probably no more than 5' 5'', but with a beautifully slim figure, well-tanned, a gorgeous smile, sparkling eyes and short brown hair combed across to her left side. She looked undeniably French from top to toe and oozed a certain je ne sais quoi which Strange would have readily concurred with if he had only known what it meant.

Jim shook hands with Claudine, greeting her with a nervous 'Bonsoir. Je m'appelle Jim' which provoked admiring giggles, squeals and gasps from both girls and a look of astonishment from Paul at whom Jim merely nodded as they shook hands. Jim contented himself with merely greeting Joan with a smile though he was scarcely expecting the light kiss on the cheek that Joan gave him in return, causing him to fight off turning a distinct shade of pink. As an Englishman he was always uncomfortable with Continental greeting practices and was relieved that Claudine hadn't attempted to kiss him French-style on both cheeks otherwise he suspected he might have almost literally died with embarrassment. There was a brief amount of nervous shuffling of feet before Joan led the way up the steps and into the cinema to see what was on offer and coordinate an agreement on a film and a showing for them to buy tickets for.

Five minutes later the four of them were walking up the road en route to a restaurant which Joan had suggested they try out on Claudine's recommendation.

'I take it this place is French, is it?' Strange asked Claudine as they walked side by side together behind Joan and Paul.

'Oui,' replied Claudine, a half-smile playing enigmatically around the corners of her mouth. 'Is that a problem?' she asked.

'Oh no, of course not,' responded Strange quickly, anxious not to get off on the wrong foot with the young woman. 'Just so long as they serve more than frogs' legs and snails.'

Claudine burst out laughing and Strange returned her infectious smile with a nervous one of his own. He hoped she was laughing with him and not at him.

'They do. Don't worry, you'll find something there you'll like, I'm sure. They do an excellent pork in creamy white wine and mustard sauce.'

'Ah! Now you're talking,' said Strange, beaming from ear to ear. 'That sounds like my kind of food. I'm a bit of a meat and two veg man, me. I reckon that will be right up my street.'

Claudine giggled again at Strange's delightfully English turns of phrase which made Strange start to feel good about himself for the first time that evening. If he was able to make Claudine laugh like that, in such a wonderfully coquettish and charming manner, merely by being himself, French phrases or no French phrases, then perhaps he had good cause to be optimistic about the outcome of this evening after all.

Part 2

'What's up, Morse? You look miles away tonight,' Veronica asked as she gazed across a tad anxiously at her drinking companion from the other side of the table. Morse gave a start as if surprised to be dragged back without warning from whatever dark corner of the universe his mind had briefly been occupying.

'Nothing,' he said quickly yet knowing that Veronica wouldn't believe him for a second. She didn't.

'Oh, come on, Morse. This is me you're talking to, not some wide-eyed young innocent who takes everything you say at face value. Something's worrying you, I can tell. What is it? Is it the case you're working on?'

Morse smiled shyly and felt guilty he had tried to conceal his concerns from a smart woman like Veronica who could obviously read him like a book even after such a short acquaintance.

'I guess so,' he said, albeit reluctantly. 'I feel like we're so close but there are a couple of puzzles to solve first and I just can't make any headway with them.'

'Oooh, that sounds interesting. I love puzzles. What sort of puzzles? Try them on me.'

Morse chuckled at the sight of Veronica's girlish enthusiasm and was momentarily tempted to run a couple of Vera's baffling crossword scratchings past her but fortunately he stopped himself just in time.

'I'd love to,' he said with a sigh. 'You'd probably solve them in no time at all but…sadly I can't. I can't discuss the details of a case with anyone. I'm sure you understand that.'

Veronica pulled a face at Morse which made him laugh. 'It must be a very lonely job being a detective. You can't share your problems with anyone, not even a wife, a partner or a lover. You must feel quite alone most of the time.'

Morse looked up at Veronica and could see the sadness in her eyes as she expressed her sympathy for the extremely stressful and lonely job that he had.

'It can be lonely at times,' he admitted with a cursory nod of his head although he neglected to add that it was largely speaking an occupation that entirely suited his temperament and his psychology. 'Although one does have colleagues to talk things through with, of course. That often helps.'

'But it isn't helping this time?'

'No, not this time. At least not so far.'

'Is that what you were thinking about just now when I caught you staring into space thousands of miles away, lost in your own private world? You were trying to work out the answer to one of those puzzles?'

Morse nodded silently as he drained the last dregs of his first pint of the evening and placed the empty pint glass quietly on the table in front of him. 'Sort of. There's something bugging me about these clues that I believe have been left for us. Something feels like it's screaming at me so loud that it should be impossible for me not to hear it but…I can't be hearing the words properly. It's like it's going in one ear and coming straight out of the other.'

'Would another pint of beer help, do you think?' Veronica picked up Morse's empty glass and looked at him quizzically with a broad smile. He returned her smile with an even bigger one of his own and nodded. 'It's got to be worth a try, hasn't it?' he said mischievously and watched as she got up and slowly walked over towards the bar.

He ran his mind over the clues again while he waited for Veronica to return, in particular the three books Vera Cooper had with her before she died. He was convinced that they hadn't been random choices by Vera to put on her living room table while she waited to meet her assailant. There had to be a reason for those specific books to be there but they were so different from one another, so seemingly incongruous that he was struggling to see a connection. Perhaps the connection was not an obvious one. Perhaps he needed to look beneath the surface, delve deep into the origins of these books, find out more about how and why they came to be written instead of just playing around with the names of the authors and the titles of the books.

Veronica returned with their drinks and Morse was grateful that his confused thoughts and mental meanderings had been interrupted before they started to send him dizzy.

'Cheers,' he said, raising his glass at Veronica who responded in like manner with her glass of white wine.

'We had one of your chaps nosing around at the town hall today,' said Veronica out of the blue. 'Caused quite a stir, I believe.'

'Really?' said Morse, raising an eyebrow as he tried to think who that could have been.

'I think he said his name was Fancy.'

'Oh yes, now I remember,' said Morse, ticking himself off for forgetting the line of enquiry Fancy had been charged with pursuing. 'That would be right. One of my colleagues, Detective Constable Fancy. He'd been asked to make a few more enquiries about this story that our victim had been covering recently.'

'That property development business last year, you mean? The one you spoke to my boss about that got him so upset and angry?'

Morse had a brief flashback to Carmichael's furious reaction to the questions put to him by Thursday and himself and nodded ruefully. 'Yes, that's right. Fancy's just…looking at it from a new angle. He's not bothering Mr Carmichael, though. He's talking to one or two other people in the department.'

'Word still gets around, Morse. My boss likes to know everything that happens in his department. Who's talking to who, who's been seen with who. He doesn't miss a thing. If your guy's been talking to people behind his back, however discreetly, you can bet your life he will hear about it eventually.'

'We're making legitimate enquiries in the execution of our duties as police officers. Can't see what he's got to complain about there.'

Veronica let out a snort of derision. She knew her boss better than Morse and was very well aware that Carmichael held grudges, held them almost for fun and above all, she knew that he believed in his own self-importance. He wouldn't be shy in fighting back and she could imagine a long and heated telephone conversation with the Assistant Chief Constable or whichever senior policeman's ear he happened to have at the time would be forthcoming in the not too distant future.

'I'd take care if I were you, Morse. You and your boy, Fancy. Mr Carmichael is a powerful man, not without influence in the corridors of law enforcement. He won't be afraid to lean on people in high places and call in a favour or two.'

Morse shrugged his shoulders dismissively. 'I'm used to that, Veronica. I've spent most of my career so far rubbing people up the wrong way, making a few powerful enemies inside and outside the police force. I don't get put off that easily.'

'Even so. Just watch yourself, Morse. I wouldn't like to see you come to any harm over a man like Mr Carmichael.' Veronica looked across at Morse with genuine concern and her eyes betrayed a certain sadness at the risks that Morse was clearly more than prepared to take to do his job to the best of his abilities.

Part 3

The meal in the French restaurant was going splendidly and everyone was getting on extremely well with one another. Jim Strange's initial concerns about the food had proved totally unfounded as his pork dish had been to die for and he had wolfed it down with almost unseemly haste, finishing way before all the others, a fact which had not gone unnoticed by the girls.

'Blimey Jim! Have you not eaten today?' asked Joan, her eyes wide open in astonishment at seeing his plate bone dry while the rest of them were barely halfway through eating their main course.

'Better than frogs' legs, then?' remarked Claudine with a cheeky grin. Strange looked at Claudine a little sheepishly and was embarrassed to recall the reservations he had expressed on the way over to the restaurant.

'I'll say,' he replied as he wiped his mouth with his napkin to remove all possible traces of sauce. 'That was absolutely the bee's knees, I can tell you.'

Joan and Paul burst out laughing in unison while Claudine looked on with a look of complete bemusement. 'The bise what?' she said, frowning furiously as she tried to work out what he had just said and what it could possibly mean.

'That's a bit of English slang you won't have come across before, Claudine,' explained Joan, still giggling while Jim looked on in bewilderment at the fuss he had seemingly caused. 'The bee's knees means something is absolutely fabulous, top class, first rate. It's a compliment, believe it or not.'

'Oh, totally,' added Jim hastily, keen to repair any offence or misunderstanding he was afraid he may have inadvertently caused. 'I meant that my pork dish was truly wonderful, not that it tasted like bees' knees.'

Claudine broke out into a huge smile and Jim breathed more easily now, relieved that she clearly hadn't taken offence.

'It's a quant old English expression meaning really good, like 'the cat's whiskers' or 'the cat's pyjamas', Claudine,' added Joan, trying to be helpful but this only succeeded in making Claudine burst out into a fit of uncontrollable giggles which were so endearing and charming that pretty soon everyone was laughing, even Jim Strange.

'I think it might have got lost in translation,' said Jim with a rare show of humour which was appreciated by the girls who giggled some more.

'When you said, 'the bee's knees,' said Claudine, 'at first I thought you were trying to say something in French, Jim.'

Jim looked astounded. 'Like what?' he asked as the others looked on with increasing amusement.

'Well, in French 'bise' means a kiss.'

Jim looked horrified while Paul and Joan whooped and cheered as they laughed even louder. Poor old Jim didn't know where to look and remained suitably embarrassed until Claudine sympathetically laid a comforting hand on his arm, squeezed it and looked at him with sparkling, laughing eyes which told him that she was laughing with him and not at him.

The conversation moved on, much to Jim's relief as they were handed the dessert menu and made their selections, with Jim plumping for something extremely chocolatey with lots of fruit and fresh cream.

'So, Joan tells me you're a photographer, is that right?' he asked, moving in closer to Claudine and leaving Joan and Paul to do likewise.

'Something like that,' replied Claudine, a little mysteriously or so it seemed to Jim. When he frowned and raised an eyebrow Claudine smiled and expanded on her cryptic response.

'I'm a photojournalist, to be precise,' she explained which sadly left Jim none the wiser.

'There's a difference, is there?' he asked, acutely aware of his ignorance in such matters. 'Forgive my ignorance,' he hastened to add, unnecessarily as it turned since Claudine wasn't the least bit surprised or offended, having come across this reaction countless times in her career.

'There certainly is,' she remarked, preparing to trot out her standard response to a familiar question. 'A photographer is someone who usually takes pictures of mainly beautiful things – people, landscapes, wild life, artistic works, that sort of thing. A photojournalist is essentially a news reporter who conveys the news in picture form, by taking images of things that are happening in the world. Often these photographs are not of beautiful things but ugly, wicked, even evil things.'

'I see,' said Jim, nodding. 'So, I expect that means you often go to a lot of dangerous places where some really bad stuff is happening and it's your job to take the pictures to show to the world what's going on that we need to know about.'

'Exactly, Jim. Well done. You've understood my job perfectly.'

Jim smiled shyly in appreciation of Claudine's compliment which he hadn't been expecting. 'Not unlike my job, in a way. We see a lot of pretty unpleasant, ugly stuff most of the time. There's not a lot of beauty in what we do either.'

Claudine smiled and nodded in agreement. She could imagine Jim's job as a policeman often would lead him into some pretty dark places that ordinary members of the public wouldn't get to see and she sympathised with him.. Such a constant diet of violence, misery and despair was bound to test the strength and resolve of a man, she thought.

'So what made you want to do that instead of taking pictures of beautiful things? Surely that would have been a lot safer?' Jim pursued his interest in Claudine's unusual profession and the young Frenchwoman was thrilled to be with a guy who was interested in her for once and not obsessed with talking about himself all the time.

'Good question, Jim,' said Claudine who was becoming more and more impressed and intrigued by this relative stranger of a dinner companion with every passing minute. He wasn't just cute, shy and ultra-polite – in short the archetypal Englishman – but he had an enquiring mind on him as well, a very rare combination in her experience.

'I wanted to seek out the truth. I wanted to tell a story in picture form of what the world is really like – not some perfect, idealised image of the world where everything is wonderful and beautiful and good. That isn't the real world. The real world can often be bad and cruel and anything but perfect. I want my photos to represent the truth in all its forms, in all its imperfections. I want to capture the true Image.'

That was quite an impressive little speech that Claudine had given, thought Jim. Indeed she was quite the impressive young lady, in all aspects and yet there was something in what she had just said that worried him for a moment. Something that struck a chord and not necessarily a pleasant one, he suspected. He couldn't put his finger on it but he knew something she had said rang a bell. He would return to it later, he decided.

'And what about you, Jim? Do you like being a policeman?'

'Yes, most of the time, I do. I never wanted to be anything else, right from when I was a boy.'

'But it's a tough job, isn't it? It must be dangerous at times. Running around trying to catch criminals all day long. Thieves, robbers, burglars, even murderers sometimes.'

Jim smiled at Claudine's rather old fashioned yet entirely understandable notion of policemen such as him forever chasing criminals up and down the streets of Oxford hour after hour, day after day. 'Well, sometimes, it can be. But we don't spend the whole time walking the beat, ready to spring into action, catching criminals in the act and then carrying out thrilling car chases like they do in films or crime novels. We're a bit more sophisticated than that nowadays. Often you end up solving a crime just by sitting at your desk and thinking. Or at least, that's how some of us seem to do it.'

She smiled back at him but chose not to follow up his last half-whispered, off-the-cuff remark so he wasn't forced into mentioning Morse who, if it was down to him, would have chosen to solve a particularly tricky and perplexing murder case without even leaving the office or, worse still, his bed.

Part 4

At the end of the film, which all four of them had enjoyed immensely, Paul suggested going for a snifter before closing time which Jim, in particular, was all in favour of. It would give him the chance to carry on talking to Claudine which he had understandably been unable to do much once they were in the cinema and all eyes were turned towards the big screen as soon as the film started. He had found her a deeply fascinating young woman during their conversations earlier in the evening and he had been pleasantly surprised to discover that she, in turn, had not found him the dullest man in Oxford.

'Where shall we go?' asked Joan and the two guys looked at each other and simultaneously shrugged their shoulders in a clear display of united apathy.

'Not bothered, really' said Paul for whom one pub was pretty much like another. Provided it served ice-cold lager on tap, he wasn't fussy where he took his custom when it came down to supping a pint.

'Well, let's just pop into the first one we come to,' suggested Strange, helpfully, equally unfussed as he wasn't anywhere near as snobbish and particular as Morse was when it came to drinking establishments. They all agreed and carried on walking up the road until after a few minutes they came to a pub on the corner into which they all dived without any hesitation. Paul said he would get the round in so the girls and Jim gave him their orders and went off in search of a table to sit at, if they could find one, with Joan leading the way. The pub was still fairly packed even though it was gone half past ten and there was only one table spare which could comfortably accommodate four people, situated over in the far corner of the pub. As they approached the empty table, Joan came to a sudden halt in complete surprise when her eyes lit upon the couple sitting at the adjoining table, chatting away to each other.

'Morse!' cried Joan and the detective sergeant abruptly swung his head round at the sound of his name being called and stared up at Joan with a look of disbelief etched all over his face. The expression 'of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, she walks into mine,' came into his head immediately. 'Joan!' he cried back followed swiftly by 'Jim?' as Strange appeared by Joan's side, followed by Claudine who observed this somewhat awkward scene with not a little amusement.

'Hello, matey,' said Strange, sounding distinctly unimpressed to put it mildly. He had not been expecting to find Morse in this particular pub as it was some way off the beaten track of his regular and favourite watering holes. 'What the hell are you doing here?' He might have guessed that the minute he got himself a proper date for once with a really nice girl, Morse would somehow find a way to gate crash his rare moment in the spotlight and attempt to rain on his parade. He was worried that if events subsequently turned out as he feared and the two groups got together as one for a drink or two, his opportunity to continue getting to know Claudine would be considerably reduced.

Morse quickly recovered his poise and manners and introduced Veronica to the others and Joan did likewise with Claudine and shortly afterwards with Paul who had arrived with the drinks. Morse gave Paul a cursory nod and a brief handshake without exchanging much in the way of eye contact. Veronica smiled when Morse introduced her to Jim Strange and Strange returned her cheery smile with a shy one of his own, getting some small satisfaction from seeing Morse compelled finally to introduce his new woman when he would probably have liked to delay the inevitable a while longer for when he was truly ready and prepared.

'Will you join us?' asked Joan, moving her seat back so as to enable Morse and Veronica to bring their chairs across to their table around which six people could still sit with reasonable comfort. Veronica accepted the invitation eagerly before Morse could even ask her the question and before long all six were seated around the table, each with their drinks in front of them and the germ of an uncertain, uncomfortable silence already threatening to take shape.

'What have you been up to tonight?' asked Morse, desperate to break this nervous silence quickly and create at least the impression of an easy conversation.

'We had a bite to eat,' began Joan, taking Morse's cue to facilitate a comfortable atmosphere amongst them all. 'Then we went to see a film and then Paul suggested a quick drink to finish the evening.'

Morse smiled at Joan and nodded. 'Sounds like you had a good evening,' he said, to which the others all murmured their agreement in turns, causing Claudine to giggle in amusement. All eyes turned towards the French girl who unashamedly smiled back at them and offered up her explanation.

'Forgive me,' she replied in her adorable French accent although her tone didn't betray much in the way of apology or regret. 'You all just sound so…English, the way you exchange such pleasantries and politely agree with each other. It's really quaint.'

After a second or two of bemused silence, Paul burst out laughing, followed swiftly by Joan and soon even Morse and Strange could see the funny side of the impression they must have given Claudine of archetypal English manners and polite society customs and traditions. Strange instantly began to relax. He had been concerned that the rest of the evening might have become a rather stiff and awkward ordeal, one to be endured and tolerated and which he prayed would not last too long but now he could see that Claudine would not allow it to become like that and his spirits were lifted, not for the first time that evening, by this enchanting young French girl with the deliciously wicked sense of humour and the confident boldness to demonstrate it at every opportunity.

Claudine, for her part, could see Joan glancing across at Veronica from time to time when she thought Veronica wasn't looking at her as the conversation grew more relaxed and natural amongst the six of them. She wondered what her friend made of this new female acquaintance of Detective Sergeant Morse. Of course she had heard a lot about Morse from Joan over the past couple of months whenever they met up for a coffee and a gossip every week in a local café. She was aware of Joan's feelings for Morse and his possible feelings for her but equally understood why the two of them were so utterly unsuited to each other, emotionally as well as in practical terms what with him being a policeman, just like her father.

Morse was a little peeved initially at having his quiet evening with Veronica so unexpectedly disturbed by the sudden arrival of the other group but Veronica was so adept at chatting away merrily to complete strangers that he soon relaxed sufficiently to be able to join in the various conversations that were sprouting up across the table. The time passed by so quickly that when the bell for last orders rang at eleven he was the first to get to his feet and offer to buy the last round of drinks. Jim had managed to get to talk some more to Claudine so he was quite relaxed about staying for one final pint and Paul and Joan certainly didn't need persuading to have another.

When the six of them finally rolled out of the pub at just gone half past eleven, everyone was in very good cheer, even Morse although he was careful not to be seen to be too intimate with Veronica and kept a respectable distance from her as they all walked up the road, which might well not have been the case if they had left the pub on their own. He and Veronica took their leave from the rest of the group when they got to the traffic lights at the top of the road, Morse explaining he would see Veronica home safely and they bade the others good night and moved off in the opposite direction to the others. He suspected that they would be the subject of much gossip and tittle-tattle once they had moved on but he was now beyond caring about that. Let them talk, he thought. After all, he now had plenty of ammunition to throw back at them if they wanted to play that game.