Palmer-Jones 05 - Sea Fever Read Online Free Page B

Palmer-Jones 05 - Sea Fever
Book: Palmer-Jones 05 - Sea Fever Read Online Free
Author: Ann Cleeves
Tags: Literature & Fiction, Mystery, Private Investigators, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Crime Fiction, Teen & Young Adult
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declarations of imminent reform. It was never that easy.
    Then there came routine enquiries from the mother of a prisoner who wanted details of the probation coach which carried visitors to the nearest remand centre, and from a young mother whose gas was threatened with disconnection. Jane dealt briskly with the immediate problems and ignored the glances, the hesitation, as her clients went out. They were hoping she would ask: “Is there anything else? How can I help you?” so they could unload onto her the loneliness of their lives, the stories of husbands’ infidelity and children’s ingratitude. At least Roger and I never had children, she thought, as she hardened her heart and showed them to the door.
    Just before lunch one of her favourite customers came in. From her office Jane could hear Mary down the corridor calling cheerfully to the receptionist, who was still sniffing into her handkerchief. Mary was an elderly Irish woman, an alcoholic who had no permanent address and was often seen wandering around one of Bristol’s modern shopping centres. She always dressed in layers of clothes, like a Russian grandmother, and in the hot weather, she smelled. She wanted money. She only ever came to see Jane when she wanted money.
    “Where are you living now, Mary?” Jane asked. There had to be the pretence of an interview before she handed over the cash. It was a ritual they both understood.
    The woman winked. “I’ve got friends,” she said proudly. “ I’ve always got somewhere to stay.”
    Eventually Jane had given her money. She had a sudden foolish impulse to take Mary out for a meal. She wanted to feel her gratitude and childish happiness in the shared experience. She realised just in time that would have been unprofessional, so Jane just saw her to the door, slipped a few pound coins from her purse into the wrinkled brown hand, and wished her luck.
    “Good luck to yourself,” the old woman said, “though you’ll not be needing it, a fine lady like you!”
    And they say that the Irish have second sight! Jane thought.
    In the afternoon she left the grimy office on one of the city’s bleakest housing estates and drove to a smart village just beyond the suburbs to interview a separated mother before writing a contested custody report for the divorce court. The woman was educated, superficially civilised but more bitter and dishonest than any of Jane’s clients from the criminal court. Jane returned with relief to the office. She had more in common with the separated mother than she liked to admit, and the similarity disturbed her. She began to write the report but could not concentrate and knew she would have to complete it while she was in Cornwall.
    At five-thirty Jane hovered in the tearoom, hoping that one of her colleagues would suggest that they should go for a drink after work, but everyone else hurried away, and she was forced at last to go home.
    She knew as soon as she walked in through the door that Roger was furious. There was a pile of suitcases in the carpeted hall, and he was waiting for her. The house seemed lifeless and empty. Watching his anger, she felt as detached as she had been when interviewing the heroin addict. She could recognise how good-looking he still was despite his grey hair and lined face. She could remember how she had loved him.
    “You know I wanted to start early,” he fumed. “ You promised me you’d be back on time tonight. It’ll be midnight before we get to Rose Pengelly’s.”
    “I’m sorry,” she said. She was sorry. She liked Rose. She liked Cornwall.
    He looked at her suspiciously. “ You haven’t been to the pub with all your friends from the office?”
    She roused herself to self-righteous anger, too.
    “No,” she said. “ Of course not. I’m a probation officer, not a teacher. I don’t have twelve weeks’ holiday and finish work at four o’clock in the afternoon.”
    “No,” he said. “I’m sorry.”
    She could not tell what he was thinking
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