A Different Step
He knew his good suit, the one he wore to the Old Bailey Number One Court and other really special events would rise to the occasion. It wasn't bespoke but it was partly tailored and fitted nicely. A dark navy, it was three-piece and though he rarely wore the waistcoat, he had decided to give an airing for once, lending a certain gravitas to his appearance. A snowy-white shirt with the merest hint of a pearlised stripe, a dark blue silk tie with embroidered burgundy arabesques and a suitably dark handkerchief to fold into the jacket's breast pocket completed his official 'escort' outfit. His decent black Oxfords had been buffed to a high gleam and he had even bought new navy silk socks for the night. He had both money and credit cards in his wallet, one of his spare white 'witness' handkerchiefs in another pocket in case of happy tears later on, and several dabs of a subtle Burberry aftershave he'd treated himself to, because why not. He was scrubbed from top to toe, smelled good and was everything he thought a proper gentleman escort needed to be. Given there was likely to be drinking with the dinner, he felt a cab would be the most prudent mode of transport for the evening which was cool but dry.
At precisely seven o'clock on a chilly Friday night, his cabbie waited as he rang the Foy's front door bell. Hearing muffled voices behind the door, Greg waited feeling suddenly and unaccountably nervous. The door opened and ...
Backlit against the hallway lights, Joanna looked like something out of a classy Hollywood film. Her dress was pale, floor-length and sparkled a little. He caught the impression of a long string of pearls, red lipstick and earrings that glinted in the street lights. She turned in the doorway to speak to someone inside.
"You have my number if anything happens, though the children are normally fairly well behaved. Jack is to go to bed by eight no matter what he tells you and please make sure Beth isn't still reading after ten. I'll be back by midnight at the latest, so help yourself to whatever's in the fridge if you're hungry and call me if there's a problem, you have my number." Joanna stopped and thought. "I think that's it. See you later. Be good, you two." Waving to Beth and Jack who were standing behind the professional baby-sitter, Joanna finally turned to face her escort for the evening, fastening her jacket a little tighter around her shoulders. She smiled.
Whether it was the change in proximity or the fact that the evening breeze was blowing towards him, Greg found himself caught in a wave of delectable perfume that reminded him of a spring garden. It was the first time he'd ever seen Joanna with her hair up and make up that was seriously applied.
"You look fabulous," he said, offering her his arm. "Everything all right with the kids?"
"Thank you," Joanna smiled, shivering a little in the cool air. "Beth is probably more excited about this than I am, to be honest, and Jack keeps staring at me as if I'm one of the pod people."
"He's probably not seen you all dolled up like this for a while, has he?" Greg opened the wide rear door of the black London taxi and helped her inside.
"Not for a very long while. Not since he was a toddler, probably." Joanna settled into the wide rear seat and belted in as the taxi moved off. At this time of an evening, the drive to St Mary's in Marylebone would take around half an hour. "You're looking rather dapper yourself if you don't mind me saying."
"Didn't want to let the side down on what will undoubtedly be a night of triumph for you," he smiled at her. "You really do look spectacular."
"Now you're flattering me," she said, smiling anyway. "It was fun to be able to go out and buy a new dress without worrying too much about the cost," she said. "Although this one was in a sale anyway, but it felt good to be able to do it. Beth considers it most suitable as it covers up all the saggy bits."
About to say that he hadn't noticed a saggy anything, Greg felt that discretion might be the best rule for the evening. He was here to support Jo, not to flirt with her. The night lights of London were, as ever, brilliant against the dark of the sky, the whole city giving off a glow of excitement that never entirely disappointed.
"I didn't think to ask," Greg said. "Are you going to have to make a speech? If you're up for an award, will they expect you to say something about it?"
"Maybe a few words, but that's all," Joanna nodded in the dark. "Though there's really not much I can say. Everything I do is part of my job and the fact that I've been able to make a demonstrable difference is really all the recognition I ever wanted. The award tonight is more for the BACP's public profile than mine."
"Well, that's a load of cobblers, for a start," Greg frowned. "You've obviously done something pretty special to be even noticed in a national organisation filled with other people also doing their job. You've worked for this and the stuff you've done has been noticed and considered well above the norm." Greg folded his hands together in his lap. "I'd be chuffed to bits if it were me," he added quietly. "Don't sell yourself short."
There was a reflective silence between them as they watched the night lights flash by the cab. Before they knew it, the car was slowing to a gentle halt outside a large, mid-century building.
"Here you go, Mate." The cabbie stopped right outside the main entrance which was gaily lit and had numbers of well-dressed couples entering. Paying the driver with a decent tip, Greg exited the cab first, helping Jo out and onto the pavement. He felt her fingers tremble. It might be the cold. Though more likely ...
"Nervous?" he asked.
"A little," Joanna gazed forward as the brightly lit building before sliding her hand automatically into the crook of his arm. "Though I've no idea why I should be."
"You're probably feeling a bit out of practice," he strolled with her to the main entrance where she produced a printed white card, handing it across to a woman, dressed neatly in black, standing by the door. After being ushered through into the main body of the reception space they were able to relax and look around as the warm air removed the outdoor chill. The magnificent, double-story hall fielded a couple of dozen large round tables around the empty centre of the room and people were already beginning to take seats. A small band in the far corners was quietly playing some background jazz, the sound gradually being muted out by the rise of voices and laughter.
"You'll be great; you know, riding bikes and all that. Looks like there's a full bar over there. Let me get you a proper drink to help you warm up. What's your pleasure?"
Unbuttoning her jacket and handing it to the cloakroom attendant, Joanna missed the expression on her escort's face as he took in her appearance for the first time in good light. As his eyes drew lightly across her eye-catching sheath of a dress: a long cream and sand-coloured gown, with a scattering of pale sequins across the shoulders and sleeves that glinted as she moved. Greg didn't look bemused so much as thoughtful. With her hair up and the pearls around her throat and the smiling mouth as she turned to speak to him, he saw, with a jerk of realisation, that Joanna Foy was a stunner. Had he been so far gone in his own gloomy apathy that he hadn't recognised a lovely woman when he saw one?
"A Tom Collins, if they're up to making cocktails, or a glass of red if not, please. That would be lovely."
Blinking himself out of his momentary fugue, Greg smiled. "Do we need to find a table first or is the seating allocated?"
Glancing at the nearest table, covered in white damask and lit by a small central table light, Joanna saw no name cards. "Looks like we can sit anywhere we like," she smiled at him again, a happy, excited smile and he felt his breath catch in his chest.
"Grab a couple of seats then, and I'll be back in a tick," Greg nodded, inhaling deeply as he headed for the bar. There were cocktails available, so he got Jo what she wanted and a glass of Semillon Blanc for himself: it was probably best to avoid the hard stuff this evening. Looking around in the subdued lighting that filled the main well of the venue, he spotted Joanna sitting at a partially filled table chatting to several people either side of her. Making a swift count of the number of seats, both filled and empty, he reckoned there were a few hundred people expected here tonight. It was clearly an important do and made him even more positive that convincing Jo to attend this evening had been the right things to do.
Depositing Joanna's drink on the table in front of her, Greg gave everyone else at the table one of his general 'nice policeman' smiles. "Evening." He nodded around, taking the empty seat beside Jo who immediately began introducing him to the others at the table.
"Greg, this is Sara Gutamari and her husband Mark and the other side of you are Juliet Hardacre and her partner Christopher. Sara and Juliet and I were all at Reading on the same master's course. It seems like a million years ago now, though."
"Hello, Greg. It's lovely to see Joanna here again after missing the event so many times because of work. It's good you were able to persuade her to come tonight." Sara's clear contralto voice befitted her striking good looks.
Realising Jo had pleaded volume of work to avoid attending this annual dinner in previous years, Greg took his cue and nodded, smiling. "Jo works herself too hard and what with the job and the kids, I'm amazed she's got time for anything else quite honestly."
"And you work at Scotland Yard as well?" Juliet's partner Christopher seemed to be sizing him up for some reason Greg couldn't immediately fathom. Maybe the guy had known Steven before his death and was naturally curious and comparing.
"I work in CID and Jo's upstairs with the management," Greg nodded amiably, taking a sip of the crisp white wine. "It's a big place."
"We found out we once used the same cleaning service. It's funny how things like that can begin conversations." Joanna shared a quick glance between her friends who looked knowing.
"I'm sure our Jo is glad to have all the help she can with that brood of hers." Christopher Hardacre leaned around the back of Greg's chair, patting Joanna's arm in a manner Greg felt was entirely too familiar. And why was he calling her 'our Jo'? Had they known each other before? Smiling politely but with fractionally narrowed eyes, he said nothing and sipped his wine.
Most of the tables were fully seated now with only the odd vacant chair. There was movement on the small circular podium at the front of the room as the main lights sank down and the stage brightened. A well-dressed man in his late forties stood up to speak.
"Good evening to you all and a warm BACP welcome to practitioners and partners ..."
The man was obviously the head of the organisation and Greg sat back preparing to be bored. The inevitable speech wasn't too bad as speeches went but it was clearly aimed at the members of the association rather than their plus ones. Unlike events he'd attended in the past, some of them within the hallowed halls of the Met itself, the CEO was brief. He probably knew better than to woffle on and on in front of an audience of psychotherapists. After a refreshingly short address, another man appeared clutching a handful of large white envelopes. Greg rested his elbows on the table and leaned forward. This looked a bit more promising.
The newcomer to the stage introduced himself as Anthony Wood, Head of Quality Service within the organisation.
"And to anyone who's never been to one of our annual dinners before, we always make three awards each year to recognise some of our best and brightest practitioners in the three key areas of service to the community, advancing the profession and high achievement of the year." He held three large envelopes up in the air, taking a couple of minutes to give examples of projects that had won each category in the past.
"And ... without further ado, our first award goes to Georgia Hughes for services to the elderly in central Cardiff ..."
As an older woman navigated her way to the front podium through a wave of applause and some whistles, Greg looked around at the faces on nearby tables. Everyone was smiling and laughing. It seemed this was a popular choice of recipient. The grey-haired woman accepted the envelope and spoke a few words about her work with the elderly and how lovely it was to be ahead of the game in her final year before her own retirement. Returning to her seat to further applause, a second envelope was held aloft.
"The award for advancing the profession goes to ..." Greg zoned out a little, watching a neat little man with enormous spectacles make his way to the front. Judging by what was said, he seemed to have brought a new level of counselling to the Coast Guard service of Cornwall, no mean feat if he'd done it alone. Greg frowned. If the first two awards were already gone, then the one Joanna had won must be ...
"And so, to our final award of the evening, the recipient of which is one of our best and brightest counsellors whose consistent results demonstrate an ability to maintain the highest standards of quality service, ethical practice and yet produce effective outcomes within a highly pressured and sometimes challenging environment ... from right here in London, Joanna Foy of the London Metropolitan Police."
Not only an award but the award of the night? Standing without thought, Greg turned, grinning at a flustered-looking Joanna, raising his hands as he clapped his hands together hard and loud.
Her eyes met his and he could see she was already close to tears, leaning down, he kissed her perfumed cheek "Don't cry or Beth will never let you hear the end of it."
"Oh, you." Bright-eyed and smiling, Joanna rested her fingers briefly on the side of his face before turning towards the front of the room to tumultuous applause. Taking the envelope, Joanna was passed a small hand microphone.
"As with all awards of this nature, it's actually the result of many people working to achieve many objectives. I simply happened to be in the right place at the right time to bring the efforts of my predecessors to fruition. I am deeply honoured to be recognised by the BACP, though the recognition must be shared among all my colleagues at the Met. On their behalf, I thank you very much."
Returning to the table to more rousing applause, Joanna pressed her palms to her heated face as Greg stood and gave her a one-armed hug before pulling out her chair.
"Bloody brilliant you are, I told you so."
"What's in the envelope, Joanna?" Juliet Hardacre's long narrow face was alight with curiosity.
"Absolutely no idea, but I'm about to find out," Joanna laughed as she ripped the paper open with her thumb. Inside, there were several individual papers which she drew out onto the table.
The first was a cheque for £300 made out to her directly, an unexpected though pleasant surprise. The second was a book token to the value of £500 from Waterstones Bookshops which was a very a very useful addition, especially given the cost of new publications in professional fields. The third paper was thicker and folded in half to fit in the envelope. Unfolded, it was a headed letter from the Lime House Hotel and Spa set in the middle of the New Forest, less than two hours from London. The letter confirmed a pre-paid weekend for two in the Lake Cabin in the hotel's forest grounds to be enjoyed at some point within the following twelve months.
"This has to be worth a lot of money," Joanna frowned a little as she re-read the letter detailing all the amenities. Spa treatments and massage and all meals paid for the entire weekend. There were even walks in the forest to see the wild ponies that lived in the hotel grounds.
"And don't even think of refusing it," Greg stood to get more drinks. A faint noise to his left showed waiting staff sliding back long partitions separating a table-filled side section down the length of the hall. The tables were covered with platters of foods and the warm scent of heated savouries filled the air. "And dinner is served," he smiled. "You got enough room in your bag for all that stuff?" he asked, eyeing the small clutch she'd brought with her for the evening. "Or would you like me to keep it safe?" he patted his jacket pocket.
"Oh, would you?" Joanna looked faintly pleased, handing him the paperwork. "Shall we get something to eat?"
The buffet-style dinner was an elegant blend of the conventional and the exotic. As everyone returned to their tables with plates of food, Greg saw that Christopher Hardacre had seated himself the other side of Joanna and was busily chatting with her. Knowing that she wasn't likely to put up with being monopolised for long, he turned his attention to Juliet Hardacre, asking about the time the three of them were at university together. It seemed that Joanna had been much more outgoing back then, though being a young widow with three small children was bound to change anyone's lifestyle. Mark Gutamari had gone off to speak to someone he knew at another table and so Sara joined in the conversation. The three of them were soon laughing at memories of college life. Turning sideways, Greg saw that Joanna was still having her ear bent by Hardacre and decided enough was enough. Excusing himself from Jo's old classmates, Greg walked around to stand behind the man's shoulder.
"Fancy getting some dessert?" he smiled at Jo. "I spotted some baklava and I know how much you like Greek food."
Looking up at him, Greg thought he saw a flash of relief cross her features, but it was gone so swiftly he couldn't be sure.
"That sounds perfect, Greg," Jo smiled down at Juliet's husband as she stood. "It was lovely talking with you, Christopher."
Allowing Greg to guide her elbow, Joanna scanned the long dessert table which did indeed have all manner of European delicacies.
"Your friend's husband seems a bit keen," he said, reaching for two plates, handing one back to Joanna.
"Yes, and I've no idea why," Jo shook her head debating whether to go for the baklava or try the Sacher Torte. Both looked divine. "I only know him through Juliet."
Glancing sideways at her expression, Greg realised Joanna was speaking the unadorned truth. She really didn't have a clue why the husband of one of her oldest friends was so interested in her. Making a sour face as he bent to help himself to a decent portion of the gloriously sticky Greek sweet, Greg kept his silence, however, you didn't get to work in police investigations for thirty years and not learn a thing or two about human behaviour. He wondered if the Hardacre's marriage was breaking down or if Juliet's husband had always been a bastard.
Almost as soon as everyone had taken their desserts, the band started playing again, louder this time and with a little more beat. By now, everyone was on their second or third round of drinks and the noise level rose accordingly. It wasn't long before the first brave souls ventured out into the middle of the empty floor to gyrate in a more-or-less sedate manner. Knowing, without a shadow of a doubt, that Christopher Hardacre would be asking Jo for a dance as soon as his wife began talking with someone, Greg did the only honourable thing and asked her first.
"Come on," he said, holding out a hand. "You know Beth's going to disapprove if you don't at least make an effort."
"You and my daughter seem to be as thick as thieves these days," Joanna laughed as she took his hand and walked with him out into the rapidly filling dance floor, squeaking as Greg tugged her into his arms and whirled them both into a space. He'd never really considered himself much of a dancer but compared to some on the floor, he wasn't doing too badly. Jo didn't seem to mind either as the band changed from one number into the next.
After nearly twenty minutes, Joanna demanded they stop so she could have something to drink and, rather than leave her at the table, Greg pulled her by the hand to the bar.
"Oh, what the hell. I'd like a champagne cocktail, please," she beamed at the young bartender who smiled happily back, pulling together a bottle of the bubbly wine, cognac and a sugar lump.
"Make that two, if you don't mind." Greg wasn't usually one for elaborate drinks but tonight was the first proper night out he'd had with a woman in ... he shrugged mentally. He couldn't remember. Even before the divorce, he and Ange had stopped socialising. Tonight was special, so a cocktail he would have. He might even have two if the mood took him.
"This has been such a lovely evening," Joanna sipped her drink and smiled up at him. "And it's all thanks to you. I'd have missed out on everything if you hadn't offered to come with me."
"Let's not forget Beth who, by all accounts, is now a fully-fledged mastermind when it comes to organising things." Greg laughed, finishing the sparkling drink. "These things are pretty nice. I might have another as I'm not driving tonight."
"They are rather lovely, but never really long enough." Finishing off her own cocktail, they turned back to the bar, presenting their empty glasses
###
It was after eleven and the band was playing quieter music now as people began saying their farewells and headed for the exits. Greg was in very good spirits. He'd had a great night; managed to keep Joanna away from Christopher Hardacre for most of the evening and had enjoyed himself far more than he'd expected.
Even though the following day was Saturday and neither he nor Jo had to work, he imagined she'd not want to be back too late. As his watch ticked towards midnight, he tapped Jo's elbow as she was talking and laughing with another old friend.
"I hate to spoil the mood but is it time to think about making a move?" he asked. "We don't want you turning into a pumpkin."
"Oh. Is it that late already?" Joanna sighed and smiled at her friend. "Better go and relieve the baby sitter, I suppose." Collecting her jacket from the cloakroom, Jo slid her arm through Greg's as headed to the main exit.
"I've had a fabulous evening," she said with a sigh. "I almost don't want it to end." Detecting a note of unusual relaxation, Greg smiled. Someone had enjoyed their champagne cocktails.
"Time to go home, Cinderella," he said, offering his hand.
"Yes. You're right." They looked around for one of the many cabs patrolling the area. After the heated warmth of the packed hall, the outdoor chill was a shock to the system, and they jumped in the first vehicle that presented itself. They were hardly ten minutes into the drive home when Jo turned to look at him in the dark of the cab.
"Your place is not far from here, is it?" she asked with some purpose, as the car headed due east towards Whitechapel.
"Be driving past it in about five minutes at this rate." Greg met her eyes curiously.
"Then, and please don't laugh, but I absolutely have to find a loo really soon. I don't think I can wait to get home. Would you mind awfully if we stopped off at your place first?"
"It was that last cocktail that did it," he shook his head, smiling as he leaned forward to give the driver the changed directions.
The next few minutes seemed to pass with the speed of an ice-age, as Joanna's posture grew increasingly rigid. Almost leaping out of the cab in front of Greg's building, she was already in the lift before he'd closed the main doors behind him.
Doing his best not to smile at her predicament, having been in similar situations more times than he could count on nightly stake-outs, he unlocked his front door and pointed her down to the end of the passage.
"Down and to the right," he called after her, flicking all the lights on so she wouldn't stumble.
Following towards the kitchen at a much more sedate pace, Greg chuckled to himself. Filling the kettle, he thought he'd make a cup of tea now that they were here. He'd already paid off the cabbie and planned to drive Joanna across the river himself. The sound of flushing water and then the bathroom tap running made him smile again.
"Thank you so much. I don't get into such situations as a rule." Joanna sighed hugely as she walked into the kitchen, noticing her grey bowl on the table. "So you are using it."
Catching the direction of her gaze, Greg nodded, pouring boiling water into two mugs with teabags. "Course I'm using it. I told you it was a piece of art." Pulling milk from the fridge, he ditched the teabags and waved her to a seat at the table.
"I paid the cab driver off. I'll drop you down to your place as soon as you're ready to go. I just though a nice cup of tea might warm you up a bit, though you might want to use the facilities again before you leave." He kept a straight face, but it wasn't quite enough to save him from a severely jaundiced look.
"While I'm here, can I have a look around?" Joanna was already taking in the airy proportions of the kitchen and the warm floorboards. "I thought you said this place was a tip?"
"It was until our mysterious cleaning lady paid a visit." Greg stood by the door, holding his tea. "Come on then. I'll give you the tour."