“Is he coming up to Manchester?”
“No,” she said, “I told him I’d rather meet on neutral ground. He’s booked a hotel in London. I might get a chance to see some of the galleries. Haven’t been to the Tate for years.”
“Does his fiancee know?”
“Single rooms, Sal. What do you think I am?”
A chump, seeing as you’re asking. And you didn’t answer my question. After a night on the town, a nice meal, fine wine, some heartfelt talk, I couldn’t see separate rooms being an obstacle. Diane had just told me how much she still cared for the man. Of course she’d want to sleep with him.
“I knew you’d do this,” she said.
“What?”
“Go all moral on me.”
“I just don’t want you to get hurt again, that’s all.”
“I’m a big girl,” she said.
I began to smile. “So I can see.” I nodded at Diane’s statuesque figure.
She laughed. A truce. I didn’t dare ask whether Desmond knew about Ben or the coming reunion. I knew I’d hear all about it in good time.
Monday morning had that crisp autumn feel to it. Not cold enough for gloves yet but no longer balmy. Monday was Ray’s regular slot for doing the school run so I was able to set off for Sheffield as soon as I was ready. The journey took longer then I expected. Much of it was over the peaks via the Snake Pass, which gives some indication of its nature. On many of the winding sections overtaking was prohibited and I got stuck behind a slow climbing lorry. The scenery was exhilarating especially on the tops above the tree line where I could see moorland and grass rippling over the hills and dropping down in folds over the valleys and gulleys.
I usually pride myself on being punctual, part of the professionalism I want to bring to the job but I knew I’d be late. Not that Caroline Cunningham was going anywhere with an infection like that.
Towards the end of the journey I joined the motorway and was soon negotiating my way along the dual carriageways and ring-roads of the city. There was still plenty of evidence of Sheffield’s history as the steel-making capital of the nation. Tracts of derelict factories and warehouses, evidence of re-building and demolition and the great water towers which I assumed were previously used by the smelting works.
I got lost twice but finally made it to my destination. Caroline Cunningham lived in a row of terraced houses banked up on a long, incredibly steep hill. We’re not used to hills in Manchester nor the vistas they provide. I could see the panorama of the city and beyond the jumble of buildings, chimneys and roads to the surrounding hills.
