thisrecent unpleasantness, she should be given rather more time. He thinks women are fragile.” She smiled with a sudden bright tenderness. “Which is utter nonsense, of course, but on this occasion I might pretend that I agree with him. Thank you. This cannot have been easy for you to say.”
Claudine smiled back at her. “Easier than listening to the rest of the songs,” she said lightly. They both laughed with fellowship, and there was a sudden easing of the tension.
Claudine went to the clinic the next day, determined to coerce Squeaky into further action regarding Winnie Briggs, even if it meant taking over some of the bookkeeping herself. The weather was still mild, but it was raining. She was glad to be inside where she could take off her wet boots and put on dry ones.
She intended to remain only until she could speak with Squeaky and find out if he had learned anything further. Regardless of what he said, she must tell him of her growing conviction that Ernest Halversgate was lying about something, and perhaps Alphonsine was, too. Might he even have confided in her? Or possibly she had guessed as much from his manner, or a slip of the tongue?
Claudine worked for nearly two hours, mostly on arrangements to provide a really good Christmas dinner for any patients who were resident in the clinic or who might come in longing for a dry bed and a warm roof over their heads on the days that were set aside to celebrate the birth of Christ, and the charity that went with that event. Efforts to ease the longing for a sign there was an eternity beyond the grief of this world, where so many had so little chance of happiness.
It was almost midday when Squeaky staggered in, disheveled and bleary-eyed. He led the way to his office and sat down heavily in his chair. Claudine looked at him. Both compassion and practicality sent her away immediately to fetch him a pot of tea and several slices of toast. She set them down in front of him and then took the chair opposite the desk and demanded his attention.
“Take your breakfast,” she ordered him brusquely. “Eat the toast, whether you feel like it or not, and drink two cups of tea. I shall tell you what I have learned. Then, when you have finished and feel fit to conduct yourself like a man, you will tell me what you have learned.”
For once he did not argue. It was only too clear that he had spent a long and supremely testing night, andmuch of it had been unpleasant. She wished to know exactly where he had been and what he had learned and did not intend to allow him to evade answering.
Carefully she recounted to him whom she had seen and all that had been said that mattered. She had brought two cups on the tray, and had tea herself, then wished she had also brought more toast. He ate all five slices himself, with butter and marmalade.
“Well?” she said impatiently when he had swallowed the last mouthful.
He shook his head slowly, pursing his lips. “Foxley and Crostwick are two very self-indulgent young men,” he said, framing the words carefully, his eyes on hers to watch her reaction.
“Self-indulgent,” she repeated. “Don’t wrap it up, Squeaky. We don’t have time.”
“Couple o’ drunken sods.” He relaxed a little. “Bullies, lechers, arrogant bastards, but with enough money, and charm when they need it, so’s they get away with it. You won’t get anybody to swear to it—not that they’d be believed anyway. Can see how they get along with Dai Tregarron. Natural companion, you might say. Except that he can hold his drink better, and charm the women so as he don’t have to pay nobody.”
“But not Ernest Halversgate?” she pressed. Squeaky had confirmed what Arthur Davidson had said.
“Not him.” Squeaky lifted his shoulders exaggeratedly. “Much too tight-collared and stiff-necked to do that sort of thing. Wants to be one of the boys, but only to be included, not for its own sake. Too careful, too clean.” He raised his hands
Claudine smiled back at her. “Easier than listening to the rest of the songs,” she said lightly. They both laughed with fellowship, and there was a sudden easing of the tension.
Claudine went to the clinic the next day, determined to coerce Squeaky into further action regarding Winnie Briggs, even if it meant taking over some of the bookkeeping herself. The weather was still mild, but it was raining. She was glad to be inside where she could take off her wet boots and put on dry ones.
She intended to remain only until she could speak with Squeaky and find out if he had learned anything further. Regardless of what he said, she must tell him of her growing conviction that Ernest Halversgate was lying about something, and perhaps Alphonsine was, too. Might he even have confided in her? Or possibly she had guessed as much from his manner, or a slip of the tongue?
Claudine worked for nearly two hours, mostly on arrangements to provide a really good Christmas dinner for any patients who were resident in the clinic or who might come in longing for a dry bed and a warm roof over their heads on the days that were set aside to celebrate the birth of Christ, and the charity that went with that event. Efforts to ease the longing for a sign there was an eternity beyond the grief of this world, where so many had so little chance of happiness.
It was almost midday when Squeaky staggered in, disheveled and bleary-eyed. He led the way to his office and sat down heavily in his chair. Claudine looked at him. Both compassion and practicality sent her away immediately to fetch him a pot of tea and several slices of toast. She set them down in front of him and then took the chair opposite the desk and demanded his attention.
“Take your breakfast,” she ordered him brusquely. “Eat the toast, whether you feel like it or not, and drink two cups of tea. I shall tell you what I have learned. Then, when you have finished and feel fit to conduct yourself like a man, you will tell me what you have learned.”
For once he did not argue. It was only too clear that he had spent a long and supremely testing night, andmuch of it had been unpleasant. She wished to know exactly where he had been and what he had learned and did not intend to allow him to evade answering.
Carefully she recounted to him whom she had seen and all that had been said that mattered. She had brought two cups on the tray, and had tea herself, then wished she had also brought more toast. He ate all five slices himself, with butter and marmalade.
“Well?” she said impatiently when he had swallowed the last mouthful.
He shook his head slowly, pursing his lips. “Foxley and Crostwick are two very self-indulgent young men,” he said, framing the words carefully, his eyes on hers to watch her reaction.
“Self-indulgent,” she repeated. “Don’t wrap it up, Squeaky. We don’t have time.”
“Couple o’ drunken sods.” He relaxed a little. “Bullies, lechers, arrogant bastards, but with enough money, and charm when they need it, so’s they get away with it. You won’t get anybody to swear to it—not that they’d be believed anyway. Can see how they get along with Dai Tregarron. Natural companion, you might say. Except that he can hold his drink better, and charm the women so as he don’t have to pay nobody.”
“But not Ernest Halversgate?” she pressed. Squeaky had confirmed what Arthur Davidson had said.
“Not him.” Squeaky lifted his shoulders exaggeratedly. “Much too tight-collared and stiff-necked to do that sort of thing. Wants to be one of the boys, but only to be included, not for its own sake. Too careful, too clean.” He raised his hands
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