Peter James - Dead Man's Time

Location: English's Restaurant, Market Street

Transcript: They walked the narrow Lanes he loved so much, passing packed restaurants and bars, and came into the square, Brighton Place, dominated by the flint façade of one of Brighton’s landmarks, the Sussex pub. English’s restaurant was directly across, with a long row of outside tables roped off, Mediterranean style. ‘Inside or outside?’ the restaurant manager asked. ‘I booked outside,’ Cleo said decisively, and glanced at Roy Grace for approval. He nodded enthusiastically. They were led down the line to the one table that was free. From long experience, Cleo indicated for Roy to take the chair with its back to the wall. ‘You take the policeman’s chair, darling.’ He squeezed her hand. After a few years in the force, most police officers only felt comfortable in restaurants and bars if they had their backs to the wall and a clear view of the room and the entry points. It had become second nature to him. They took their seats. Behind Cleo, an endless stream of people walked along the alley from Brighton’s trendy East Street into the Lanes. He picked up the leather-bound wine list and opened it. Just as he began casting his eye up and down, looking for the dry white wines he knew Cleo liked, and which he liked best, too, he suddenly saw two people he recognized. ‘Bloody hell!’ He pulled the wine list up, covering his face, wanting to spare them the embarrassment of being spotted. Although the Machiavellian streak in him almost wanted them to see him. ‘What is it?’ Cleo asked. He waited some moments, then lowered the list, and pointed at a couple, arm in arm, strolling away from them. ‘I thought they were coming in here!’ She stared at the couple. The man had a large bald patch, and was wearing a brown jacket and grey trousers. The woman had brown hair cut in a chic style, and wore a pretty pink dress. ‘Who are they?’ ‘You’ve met them both, individually, at the mortuary over the years. DS Norman Potting and DS Bella Moy!’ ‘And he’s been married – what – four times?’ ‘Yup.’ Their waiter appeared. Grace ordered two glasses of champagne and some olives. ‘That’s terrible.’ ‘He is pretty terrible. But hey, good on Norman pulling Bella!’ ‘Good on Norman pulling Bella?’ she quizzed. ‘What is it with you men? Why do men treat pulling women like a sport? What about, Poor Bella, lumbering herself, in desperation, with a serially unfaithful old lech?’ He laughed. ‘You’re right.’ ‘So why do they, Roy?’ ‘Because, I suppose, for most people, life’s a compromise. That writer – philosopher – you like, whose work you introduced me to a few months ago. What was his great line? Something about so many people living lives of quiet desperation?’ ‘Yes. Don’t let us ever get like that, Roy.’ He stared back into her clear, green eyes. ‘We never will,’ he said.