the door,' he said.
'Make me.'
'All right, I will.'
He grabbed Jim's left arm to pull him away when the other arm came up and struck him a glancing slap across the face. That was it. Wexford was young and strong and could throw a hefty punch. He took a step back and struck the other man a blow to his jaw. It wasn't all that hard, not half as hard as he could have made it, but Jim's knees buckled and he fell to the floor. Medora was screaming, real heartfelt terrified screams, quite different from the sounds she made when claiming to be raped.
'Stop that noise,' Wexford said. 'He's not hurt.' Jim was struggling to sit up. 'Well, not much hurt.'
'You've busted my jaw,' said Jim. Wexford knew he couldn't have if the man could speak. 'You've not heard the last of this.'
Wexford gave him a poke in the thigh with the toe of his shoe. 'Goodnight,' he said and let himself out of the front door. Down the garden path, past the parked Mini. Jim's car? Out into the street, pulling the gate shut behind him. No one tried to stop him. He was quite sure he would hear no more about it and was in no doubt he had done the right thing in hitting Jim but he still felt all kinds of a fool. A fool for going there, a fool for not walking out when she said he'd like to be alone with her and most of all a fool for letting himself become obsessed with a girl he had never even spoken to just because she was pretty, wore a rose-pink hat and had a romantic name. Walking up Denis Road towards the beach and the bus stop, he resolved that he would never again let an obsession master him, not realizing then that the peculiarities of our psyches are not so easily conquered and subdued. In those days, if he decided on something he was certain he would keep to it, for he was full of self-confidence. This particular resolution was doomed to failure from the start and even today Burden often cautioned him about another fixation. Hadn't he, after all, been obsessed for half his life with Eric Targo?
The buses from Port Ezra to St Austell were infrequent and he had walked for nearly two miles in sight of the sea before his reaching a bus stop coincided with the arrival of the bus. He had enjoyed walking in those days, walking fast and vigorously, in contrast to today when it was done purely for exercise and to offset the results of red wine and cashew nuts. In St Austell he found a pub and asked for a half of bitter. He took his drink to a table in the corner because he wanted to be alone to think. But when he was sitting down he realised that there was nothing to think about, he had done all the cogitation and recriminating that was necessary.
'Tomorrow to fresh woods and pastures new,' or in other words to interview William Raw and take him back to Kingsmarkham. He looked forward to another ride on the Cornish Riviera back to Paddington.
His experience put him off Cornwall. Medora Holland and her boyfriend had tainted the county for him and when his mother wanted him to go on holiday to New quay with her he contemplated a flat refusal. But his father had died six months before, her sister – the aunt who said she wouldn't give someone or other the satisfaction – six weeks before, and she seemed puzzled, forlorn and lost. Anywhere else, he said at first. Lime Regis was supposed to be very nice (and he could see where Jane Austen's Louisa Musgrove jumped off the Cobb) or how about Teignmouth, where Keats had written about going over the hill and over the mead to Dollish? Ultimately, he couldn't refuse her. New quay on the north coast was quite a long way from Port Ezra on the south.
It was the first time in his life he had stayed in a hotel. Up till then it had been boarding houses which later on became B & Bs. The hotel wasn't very big and not at all grand but it had a dining room with separate tables and at one of them, not on their first evening but on their second, sat a middle-aged man and woman with
'Make me.'
'All right, I will.'
He grabbed Jim's left arm to pull him away when the other arm came up and struck him a glancing slap across the face. That was it. Wexford was young and strong and could throw a hefty punch. He took a step back and struck the other man a blow to his jaw. It wasn't all that hard, not half as hard as he could have made it, but Jim's knees buckled and he fell to the floor. Medora was screaming, real heartfelt terrified screams, quite different from the sounds she made when claiming to be raped.
'Stop that noise,' Wexford said. 'He's not hurt.' Jim was struggling to sit up. 'Well, not much hurt.'
'You've busted my jaw,' said Jim. Wexford knew he couldn't have if the man could speak. 'You've not heard the last of this.'
Wexford gave him a poke in the thigh with the toe of his shoe. 'Goodnight,' he said and let himself out of the front door. Down the garden path, past the parked Mini. Jim's car? Out into the street, pulling the gate shut behind him. No one tried to stop him. He was quite sure he would hear no more about it and was in no doubt he had done the right thing in hitting Jim but he still felt all kinds of a fool. A fool for going there, a fool for not walking out when she said he'd like to be alone with her and most of all a fool for letting himself become obsessed with a girl he had never even spoken to just because she was pretty, wore a rose-pink hat and had a romantic name. Walking up Denis Road towards the beach and the bus stop, he resolved that he would never again let an obsession master him, not realizing then that the peculiarities of our psyches are not so easily conquered and subdued. In those days, if he decided on something he was certain he would keep to it, for he was full of self-confidence. This particular resolution was doomed to failure from the start and even today Burden often cautioned him about another fixation. Hadn't he, after all, been obsessed for half his life with Eric Targo?
The buses from Port Ezra to St Austell were infrequent and he had walked for nearly two miles in sight of the sea before his reaching a bus stop coincided with the arrival of the bus. He had enjoyed walking in those days, walking fast and vigorously, in contrast to today when it was done purely for exercise and to offset the results of red wine and cashew nuts. In St Austell he found a pub and asked for a half of bitter. He took his drink to a table in the corner because he wanted to be alone to think. But when he was sitting down he realised that there was nothing to think about, he had done all the cogitation and recriminating that was necessary.
'Tomorrow to fresh woods and pastures new,' or in other words to interview William Raw and take him back to Kingsmarkham. He looked forward to another ride on the Cornish Riviera back to Paddington.
His experience put him off Cornwall. Medora Holland and her boyfriend had tainted the county for him and when his mother wanted him to go on holiday to New quay with her he contemplated a flat refusal. But his father had died six months before, her sister – the aunt who said she wouldn't give someone or other the satisfaction – six weeks before, and she seemed puzzled, forlorn and lost. Anywhere else, he said at first. Lime Regis was supposed to be very nice (and he could see where Jane Austen's Louisa Musgrove jumped off the Cobb) or how about Teignmouth, where Keats had written about going over the hill and over the mead to Dollish? Ultimately, he couldn't refuse her. New quay on the north coast was quite a long way from Port Ezra on the south.
It was the first time in his life he had stayed in a hotel. Up till then it had been boarding houses which later on became B & Bs. The hotel wasn't very big and not at all grand but it had a dining room with separate tables and at one of them, not on their first evening but on their second, sat a middle-aged man and woman with
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