2: The Promise Kept
"Boyd's really paying for all this?" Kat asks, wide-eyed, and Grace is highly amused by the strident note of disbelief in the younger woman's voice.
It's Spencer who dryly replies, "Don't feel too sorry for him, he's got to be on at least eighty grand a year."
"Jealous, much?" Eve teases, but with a broad grin.
He smirks back. "Does it show?"
Easy banter. It's a genuine pleasure to listen to, Grace realises. Since news of her illness started to spread she's become too used to stilted, awkward conversations, and people being far too cautious and conscientious about what they think they should and shouldn't say in her presence. Except for Boyd, of course, but that's always been a given. And just as she's about to speak, the man himself comes pacing back towards them, looking impossibly debonair in his sleek dinner-jacket and black bowtie. Spencer may very well be similarly attired, but somehow he's dismally failing to cut quite the same sort of effortless dash as his boss – and from the gloomy look on his face, he definitely knows it, too. Spencer's palpable gloom visibly increases when Boyd ends up with Grace on one arm and Eve on the other, and he's left with Kat, who's clearly made a huge effort for the evening and yet still manages to look rather more like an uncomfortable tomboy than an effortless femme fatale.
The big, expensive hotel's restaurant is… big and expensive. The sort of place where any mention of something as vulgar as money would be crass in the extreme. The eclectic, sophisticated menu doesn't deign to advertise prices, and Grace becomes increasingly certain that Boyd is going to be extremely lucky if he doesn't end the night with close on a four-figure bill for the five of them. But a promise is a promise, and as Spencer has acerbically pointed out, their chief officer is pulling in an experienced Detective Superintendent's healthy salary, plus London weighting, plus whatever additional remuneration he may or may not be getting for commanding the Cold Case Unit. However one looks at it, Boyd is hardly living on the breadline.
All the other diners seated at the tables ranged around the big opulent room are similarly attired in full evening dress, but Grace barely notices. She's far more captivated by her own companions, from Boyd looking striking and dapper in his impeccably-tailored dinner-jacket to Eve elegantly attired in something dark, flowing and impossibly gorgeous that seems to shimmer every time she moves. And tonight they are not just her colleagues, Grace reflects; not even just her friends. Tonight they are undeniably her surrogate family, because they have all stood loyally beside her through possibly the hardest time she's ever known. And tonight she wholeheartedly loves each and every one of them for it.
They're well into the main course before Grace, who's been sitting next to Boyd the entire evening, suddenly notices his cufflinks. Heavy, simple cufflinks that gleam in that restrained but unquestionably expensive way that's characteristic of antique gold. She remembers – quite clearly given the outrageous price tag – impulsively buying them for him. A ridiculously extravagant birthday present bought entirely on a foolish whim by a woman quietly and desperately in love with a man so obtuse, so utterly oblivious that sometimes just his presence in the same room could make her bitterly, pointlessly angry. And now, years later, Grace doesn't know whether to laugh or cry at the shocking extent of her past folly as he reaches out for his glass and the gold at his wrist shines for everyone to see. But the clawing pain and frustration faded a long time ago, and tonight she's able to simply smile wryly instead of wincing.
Conversation flows surprisingly easily. Work is touched on briefly and only in the most general of terms, and that unaccountably pleases her. It's been a long, long time since they've all been together in anything remotely like a social setting – so long, in fact, that it's something Kat has never experienced, and accordingly she seems abnormally subdued. Grace rightly suspects rightly that despite having been part of their unit for more than a year, Kat still feels very much an outsider, particularly on a highly unusual evening like this one. She has been automatically included, naturally, but she doesn't share the same colourful history, doesn't really understand all the subtle nuances in all the different and complicated relationships around the table.
Suddenly feeling genuinely sorry for her, Grace addresses her directly, says, "Kat, why don't you ask Boyd how he ended up as a detective?"
Across the table, Spencer starts to grin conspiratorially. It's not a particularly funny story, but it's certainly an amusingly implausible one. He immediately encourages, "Yeah, go on, Kat. Ask him."
There's a charged moment of anticipatory silence. Kat looks uncomfortable, glances around the table as if suspecting she is being deliberately set up for something by her mischievous colleagues. Grace shoots a quick, meaningful look at Boyd. He raises one eyebrow very slightly in response, more than a touch quizzical, but he obediently takes his cue. He leans back in his chair and says languidly, "Go ahead. I won't bite."
"Probably," Eve supplies helpfully.
Kat is plainly embarrassed by all the sudden attention, but she's unquestionably brave. With more than a hint of defiance she boldly says, "All right. How did you become a detective, sir?"
"By complete accident," Boyd says, deliberately laconic. He picks up his glass, sips his drink for a moment, and then continues in a more reflective tone, "About five minutes after I graduated from Hendon I realised just how much I hated being out on the beat. I swore then and there that once I'd done my time as a probationer I'd take the very first opportunity that came my way to get away from pavement-pounding in all bloody weathers."
"Which unfortunately just happened to be Thames Division," Spencer informs Kat, still grinning. At her bemused look, he adds meaningfully, "What's now the MSU…?"
The resulting look of astonishment and disbelief on Kat's face is priceless. "Seriously?"
"Seriously," Boyd affirms, still casually lounging back in his chair. "Eight week training course and then in at the deep end. Literally."
Kat still seems highly sceptical, and Grace doesn't blame her. Looking at him, it does seem a highly unlikely tale, after all. And no less true because of it, she knows, having had legitimate cause to read Boyd's extensive personnel file on more than one occasion. Sounding wary and deeply incredulous, Kat says, "You're kidding me, right? You were a police diver?"
"Back when there were still plesiosaurs in the Thames," Eve mutters loudly in Spencer's ear.
Boyd pointedly ignores the sardonic comment and nods solemnly. "I was. For three long, miserable years in my twenties. Body and vehicle recovery; evidence searches, close confinement work – you name it, I did it. Freezing my bloody balls off in icy mud and water at all hours of the day and night. As soon as I could, I took the very first chance to transfer out – got accepted as a TDC at Limehouse."
"Frying pan to fire, if you ask me," Spencer comments with a pained grimace, and Grace assumes he is remembering his own time as a Trainee Detective Constable.
"Maybe, but I soon found out that it suited me, and the rest, as they say, is history," Boyd counters with a slight shrug. His dark gaze settles intently on Kat. "Sometimes, you see, you have to be brave enough and honest enough to admit to yourself that things just aren't working out the way you expected. Sometimes you simply have to come to terms with the unpleasant fact that what may have initially looked like the best opportunity in the world just isn't the right one. For whatever reason."
Grace knows what he's tacitly saying, and she can see that their younger colleague knows, too. And, exactly as Grace silently predicts, Kat doesn't look stung or upset. No, Kat looks perfectly calm and there's a trace of respect and grateful relief in her eyes; for the first time that evening, as the conversation naturally turns and moves on, she seems to relax. Boyd is not considering dismissing her from the unit – Grace knows he still thinks Katrina Howard will excel in the CCU if she allows herself the chance to do so – but he is making it known that he's prepared to give her the opportunity to leave of her own accord with her head held high. Should she choose to. And Grace thinks she probably will. Not immediately, perhaps, but soon.
It's just a little thing in a flowing river of conversation, but it stays with Grace as the evening wears on. It's not the exact words that stay, or even the general topic – it's something far more important. The unexpected realisation that Boyd, who has always been so volatile, so driven, and so committed to staying firmly in control of everything, appears to have finally learnt, at least in some small way, how to let go of things – some things anyway – before they get too far under his skin. It may be just a little thing, but in Boyd, it's a very significant change, and one that Grace finds she is fiercely proud of.
It's taken her years of hard work, she thinks ironically, but maybe she's finally succeeded in knocking some of the rougher edges and sharper corners off the tough old warhorse after all.
-oOo-
When they all finally adjourn to the hotel's most exclusive bar it's very late, and after the first round of drinks Grace realises that she has still seen no sign of money changing hands. If the bar bill is being added to the restaurant tab, Peter Boyd is definitely going to be a much poorer man by the morning, but there's no indication that he's at all bothered about it. Then, he's always been the kind of boss who isn't afraid to put his hand in his own pocket. More than one CCU Christmas party has become joyously over-riotous after Boyd has quietly disappeared off home leaving a couple of hundred quid behind the bar. It's just the way he does things. He expects absolute loyalty and absolute commitment, and he's a notoriously hard man to please, but for all his foibles he understands the immense power of even the smallest of goodwill gestures towards his staff.
Eve is the first to leave, saying her goodbyes before kissing Grace lightly on the cheek and murmuring archly, "Enjoy."
The deliberate aside further fuels Grace's burgeoning suspicion that something untoward is definitely going on that she doesn't know about. And when Spencer leaves, forcibly dragging a strangely rather unwilling Kat in his wake, the dark suspicion becomes even stronger. She looks at Boyd, leaning nonchalantly against the bar, and she bluntly asks, "All right – just what are you up to?"
He chuckles good-humouredly. "When did you become so cynical?"
"I'm not at all cynical," Grace tells him promptly, "I just know you far too well."
"Just finish your drink, Grace. There's no Machiavellian agenda."
She knows she's not going to be able to prise the details out of him. Whatever he's up to will doubtless become clear in the fullness of time. And he's categorically up to something because Grace is quite certain it's not just the unrivalled success of the evening so far that's making him look so incredibly pleased with himself. There's definitely a touch of smugness about him as he gazes placidly back at her. Well, she's far more patient than he is, and she can easily wait until whatever it is becomes far too much for him. Boyd may be as stubborn as the proverbial mule, but almost a decade of comradeship has proved beyond any doubt that in any such childish battle of wills she will always win. Eventually. Patting his arm affectionately, she says, "Thank you for tonight, Boyd."
"I keep my promises."
"Yes you do," Grace agrees. She watches him for a few moments as he turns to signal the barman for a refill and she wonders why their relationship away from work couldn't always have been this easy. But in her heart, she knows the answer. Too many undercurrents, too many things left unspoken. And maybe it's simply because Boyd isn't the only one who's learnt that sometimes it's better to just let go that they now can actually be in each other's company without drawing blood at the slightest provocation. It might be the wine talking, or the wine may just be an excuse, but either way she finds herself saying, "You've been such a good friend to me."
"Spare me," he says, turning to face her again. "I'll willingly wine and dine you, Grace, but I absolutely draw the line at wading through a quagmire of sentimentality for you."
She laughs. "Poor Boyd. Even after all this time, you still can't bear any hint of the 'touchy-feely' thing, can you?"
Boyd growls somewhere low in his throat, but it's a half-hearted sort of warning. "Oh, shut up and finish your bloody drink."
"When I do, are you going to tell me exactly why you're looking so insufferably smug…?"
-oOo-
cont...