talking.’ This didn’t sound convincing, but Banks didn’t regard it as any of his business. ‘And then this car came,’ Sally
continued. ‘We thought it was getting late anyway, so Kev, my boyfriend, looked at his watch – it’s a digital one with a light in it – and it said twelve fourteen. I knew I
should have been home hours ago, but I thought I might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb. We just stayed where we were not paying it much mind really, then when we heard it go Kevin looked at
his watch again and it said twelve twenty-nine. I remember because it was funny. Kevin said they hadn’t much time to . . .’
Sally stopped and reddened. It had been all too easy, once she got going, to forget who she was talking to. Now, she realized, she had not only told this strange man with the pipe her
boyfriend’s name but had also given him the impression that she knew all about what men and women did together at night in cars on lonely hillsides.
But Banks didn’t pursue her romantic activities. He was far more concerned about the accuracy of the information he was getting than about her love life. Besides, she looked at least
nineteen – old enough to take care of herself, whatever her parents thought.
‘I imagine Kevin, your boyfriend, could confirm these times?’ he asked.
‘Well . . . if he had to,’ she answered hesitantly. ‘I mean, I told him I wouldn’t mention his name. We don’t want any trouble. My mum and dad wouldn’t like
it, see. I told them we were at his house watching telly. They’d tell his mum and dad where we really were and they’d stop us seeing each other.’
‘How old are you, Sally?’
‘Sixteen,’ she answered proudly.
‘What do you want to do with your life?’
‘I want to be an actress. At least, I want to be involved in films and theatre, that kind of thing. I’ve applied to the Marion Boyars Academy of Theatre Arts.’
‘I’m impressed,’ Banks told her. ‘I hope you get accepted.’ He noticed that she was already a dab hand at make-up. He had thought she was nineteen. Most girls of
her age never seemed to know when enough was enough, but Sally obviously did. Her clothes sense was good too. She was dressed in white knee-socks and a deep-blue skirt, gathered at the waist, that
came to just above her dimpled knees. On top she wore a white cotton blouse and a red ribbon in her gold-blonde hair. She was a beautiful girl, and Banks wouldn’t have been at all surprised
to see her on stage or on television.
‘Is it true you’re from London?’ Sally asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Did Scotland Yard send you?’
‘No. I moved here.’
‘But why on earth would you want to come up here?’
Banks shrugged. ‘I can think of plenty of reasons. Fresh air, beautiful countryside. And I had hoped for an easier job.’
‘But London,’ Sally went on excitedly. ‘That’s where it all happens. I went there once on a day trip with the school. It was fabulous.’ Her wide eyes narrowed and
she looked at him suspiciously. ‘I can’t understand why anyone would want to leave it for this godforsaken dump.’
Banks noted that in about twenty seconds Sally’s opinion had undergone a radical reversal. At first she had been coquettish, flirtatious, but now she seemed disdainful, almost sorry for
him, and much more brusque and businesslike in her manner. Again, he could hardly keep from smiling.
‘Did you know Harold Steadman?’
‘Is that who . . . the man?’
‘Yes. Did you know him?’
‘Yes, a bit. He often came to the school to give lectures on local history or geology. Boring stuff mostly about old ruins. And he took us on field trips sometimes to Fortford, or even as
far as Malham or Keld.’
‘So the pupils knew him quite well?’
‘As well as you can know a teacher.’ Sally thought for a moment. ‘But he wasn’t really like a teacher. I mean, I know it was boring and all that, but he liked it. He was
enthusiastic. And he even took us to
continued. ‘We thought it was getting late anyway, so Kev, my boyfriend, looked at his watch – it’s a digital one with a light in it – and it said twelve fourteen. I knew I
should have been home hours ago, but I thought I might as well be hung for a sheep as a lamb. We just stayed where we were not paying it much mind really, then when we heard it go Kevin looked at
his watch again and it said twelve twenty-nine. I remember because it was funny. Kevin said they hadn’t much time to . . .’
Sally stopped and reddened. It had been all too easy, once she got going, to forget who she was talking to. Now, she realized, she had not only told this strange man with the pipe her
boyfriend’s name but had also given him the impression that she knew all about what men and women did together at night in cars on lonely hillsides.
But Banks didn’t pursue her romantic activities. He was far more concerned about the accuracy of the information he was getting than about her love life. Besides, she looked at least
nineteen – old enough to take care of herself, whatever her parents thought.
‘I imagine Kevin, your boyfriend, could confirm these times?’ he asked.
‘Well . . . if he had to,’ she answered hesitantly. ‘I mean, I told him I wouldn’t mention his name. We don’t want any trouble. My mum and dad wouldn’t like
it, see. I told them we were at his house watching telly. They’d tell his mum and dad where we really were and they’d stop us seeing each other.’
‘How old are you, Sally?’
‘Sixteen,’ she answered proudly.
‘What do you want to do with your life?’
‘I want to be an actress. At least, I want to be involved in films and theatre, that kind of thing. I’ve applied to the Marion Boyars Academy of Theatre Arts.’
‘I’m impressed,’ Banks told her. ‘I hope you get accepted.’ He noticed that she was already a dab hand at make-up. He had thought she was nineteen. Most girls of
her age never seemed to know when enough was enough, but Sally obviously did. Her clothes sense was good too. She was dressed in white knee-socks and a deep-blue skirt, gathered at the waist, that
came to just above her dimpled knees. On top she wore a white cotton blouse and a red ribbon in her gold-blonde hair. She was a beautiful girl, and Banks wouldn’t have been at all surprised
to see her on stage or on television.
‘Is it true you’re from London?’ Sally asked.
‘Yes.’
‘Did Scotland Yard send you?’
‘No. I moved here.’
‘But why on earth would you want to come up here?’
Banks shrugged. ‘I can think of plenty of reasons. Fresh air, beautiful countryside. And I had hoped for an easier job.’
‘But London,’ Sally went on excitedly. ‘That’s where it all happens. I went there once on a day trip with the school. It was fabulous.’ Her wide eyes narrowed and
she looked at him suspiciously. ‘I can’t understand why anyone would want to leave it for this godforsaken dump.’
Banks noted that in about twenty seconds Sally’s opinion had undergone a radical reversal. At first she had been coquettish, flirtatious, but now she seemed disdainful, almost sorry for
him, and much more brusque and businesslike in her manner. Again, he could hardly keep from smiling.
‘Did you know Harold Steadman?’
‘Is that who . . . the man?’
‘Yes. Did you know him?’
‘Yes, a bit. He often came to the school to give lectures on local history or geology. Boring stuff mostly about old ruins. And he took us on field trips sometimes to Fortford, or even as
far as Malham or Keld.’
‘So the pupils knew him quite well?’
‘As well as you can know a teacher.’ Sally thought for a moment. ‘But he wasn’t really like a teacher. I mean, I know it was boring and all that, but he liked it. He was
enthusiastic. And he even took us to
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