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...'If we go on like this,' I said, 'we're going to end up playing the meths-drinkers' game.'

'What's that?' she asked.

'One of us leaves the room and the other one has to guess who it is that's gone out.'...

Jim Hussy is manoeuvred into a corner by the beautiful Miss Finch.

Colin Dunne continues his gripping tale.

Afterwards, I could see that all she did was prop me against the bar, tip booze down my neck, and strum out simple ditties on my male ego.

That was afterwards.

At the time I felt as though I'd recently been appointed Master of the Universe and she was my PA.

Eileen was only just unlocking the till for the evening trade when we walked in. When Victoria heard what I'd been drinking earlier, she suggested more of the same. And since this time it was going on her bill, I didn't argue.

Early-evening drinking is kamikaze stuff, and particularly if it's catching up on lunchtime drinking. You've got the sense of release at the end of the day, yet at the same time it's a long haul to bedtime.
Still, I was a big boy, wasn't I, and she was only a little bit of a thing? So I twirled my champagne glass by the stalk and gave out with the wisdom.

She wanted my opinions about the people in the town. With her face fixed on mine, I began to discover opinions I didn't even know I had.

I leaned against the bar firing off facile judgements by the dozen and Miss Finch stood before me, beautiful, appreciative, attentive.

I don't get to see a lot of appreciative, attentive faces these days and when I do they don't look like hers. I could've kept that going for another half century or so without getting bored, when she asked me again if I would stay and help her.

'It's simply not right,' she said. 'I know it isn't. Like knowing that Striker wouldn't be involved in rape or any nonsense like that.'

'But your reasons for not accepting it are . . . well, a bit subjective.'

She almost flared up again then. 'Maybe that's the best way to reach an opinion, by the way you feel about it. You haven't got very far by thinking - Oh, I'm sorry. Here, let me top you up. More brandy with it? I'm having some.'

The glass came back to me looking very full and very lethal.

'If we go on like this,' I said, 'we're going to end up playing the meths-drinkers' game.'

'What's that?' she asked.

'One of us leaves the room and the other one has to guess who it is that's gone out.'

Seriously, I was beginning to have problems getting my feet to touch the earth. The bar was filling - the merchant princes, weary with putting the Great back into Britain, had come in to punish their ulcers and I saw their eyes flicking over Victoria.

'I'll have togo,' I told her. 'Ivegotalongdriveaheadofme.'

'Is it any use asking you again to stay and help me...'

I was all set to let her talk me into it dien, but she went on, '. . . I don't normally sleep with strangers, but if that's the only way to get you to stay, then I'm prepared to.'

The conversation around us died. So did I, almost. It was like someone describing heaven to you then throwing away the key.

'I'm going,' I said in a thick voice.

She had made it impossible, that was true, but there were a lot of other feelings mixed up in there. For a start I'd told Cringle the job was over, and it was going to be difficult going back on that, and I was sick of the place.

But there was something else too. Striker could have had me. I was jealous. Retrospectively and posthumously. Time to run for cover. So I said no.

She didn't look as upset as I might have hoped. She asked me if I'd mind waiting while she popped outside, and when she came back a minute later she was full of bounce.

'Well then,' she said, 'you mustn't drink any more if you're driving but at least you can watch me polish it off. Then I shall start doing my detecting.'

'I've told you, there's nothing to detect. As a matter of interest, where will you start?'

'Let's see, lots of choice. Mr Hands sounds as though he knows a thing or two. Then there's the mysterious Fiona. And I wouldn't mind talking to this phoney rapee of yours.'

I saw her eyes slip past mine towards the door, then she suddenly said, 'Oh well, give me a goodbye kiss then.'

Surprised, I leaned forward.

'Oh darling!' she wailed, somehow contriving to wrap herself round me at the same time.

'Mrs Hussy?'

Two policemen were standing behind me. An agitated Westlake was standing behind them trying to peep over their shoulders.

'Mrs Hussy?' I repeated, looking at Victoria.

'We came as soon as we could, madam,' the policeman said. He was a youngster with a bushy moustache.

'Thank heavens you got here in time, officer,' she said. She gave me a sweet smile and hung on to my arm. 'I'm afraid my husband has had a little too much to drink, and he keeps saying he's going to drive to London.'

The copper turned his official gaze on me. Officially, he didn't seem to think much of me.

'Dear me, you have been drinking, haven't you sir.'

'It's all her fault.' I protested.

'Your wife? I think you'll realise tomorrow that she's trying to keep you out of trouble, sir. You're a very lucky man.'

By this time the entire bar were listening. For a mad moment I thought of asking some of them to confirm that this woman had been offering to sleep with me ten minutes earlier, then I realised that wouldn't do anything to simplify my position. There's no established defence to someone claiming to be your wife.

So I got angry.

'Holy suffering Mother of Jesus, I am going out of that door and I am going to drive to London,' I said.

The policeman stepped to one side to let me go. He even indicated the door with his hand.

'Off you go, sir,' he said. Then he spoke to his colleague. 'Mitchell, follow this gentleman out to his car and breath test him as soon as he indicates any intention of driving, will you?'

I looked at the two coppers. I looked at Victoria. She was brushing a tear from her cheek. It must have been a tear of laughter. Then Westlake chipped in.

'I wouldn't, Mr Hussy, I really wouldn't,' he wittered. 'Stay here with your wife—I'd no idea she was coming up to join you.'

Then, out of a sky dark with clouds, I saw a beautiful shining solid silver lining.

'You're absolutely right,' I said. A small buzz ran around the bar. It must have been like a live soap opera for them.

I took Victoria Finch's arm and gave the sort of look I thought grateful husbands might give.

'I'm sorry, officer,' I said. 'I won't drive. I'll stay here.'

'Very wise, sir,' he said, moving towards the door.

'And Westlake?'

'Yes Mr Hussy?'

'A double room for tonight please?' I turned to the now stunned-looking Miss Finch. 'Thank you sweetheart. Shall we go and have a little lie-down now?'

**

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