Shaping the Ripples (9 page)

“She scrubs up quite well, don’t you think Jack?” Rebecca said with a mischievous smile.

“You look absolutely beautiful, Katie.” I said as my voice returned.

“Thanks.” she smiled, “We’d better get going before Becky thinks of some really embarrassing story to tell you about me.”

“Oh, we’ve already been through all of those.” Rebecca teased her as we left.

We spent the short journey into the city going through what we each planned to say after the meal. We reached the restaurant and were shown upstairs to a large dining room with spectacular views of the Minster. A waiter hurried over with a tray laden with glasses of champagne, and we both took a glass and moved to the side of the room. The room was set out rather like a wedding reception, with a table set at the head of the room, and a number of other long tables crossing the purple carpeted floor. All around the room, groups of people – mostly men – were talking animatedly.

“Ever felt like a spare part?” Katie murmured to me and I nodded in agreement.

“Katie! Jack!” A cheerful voice boomed across the room and we saw Ian Jacobs striding towards us. He approached with a welcoming smile.

“Let me show you where the two of you are sitting. I’m afraid I only managed to fit George onto the top table, but I’m sure you won’t mind missing out on the privilege of having everyone watch you while you’re eating.”

As he talked, he was leading us to the furthest of the tables. At the end nearest the door, Katie’s name was on the card marking the final place. My name was on the place opposite.

Ian continued talking. “You look totally stunning, Katie. Now I don’t want either of you to worry about your presentation. Just relax and enjoy the meal and you’ll both be fine. Remember that by the time it’s your turn to speak, everyone will be stuffed with food and wine, so they’ll all be in a benevolent haze. Let’s see what I can tell you about the people you’ll have sitting next to you.”

He bent forwards to examine the name tags on the next couple of places, and then looked up with a slightly concerned expression.

“I’m afraid you’re due to be next to the group from A.G. Taylor. They’re a nice group, quite young, which was why I thought this would be a good place to put you. Unfortunately their MD rang a little while ago to say they were having a bit of a crisis and may not be able to get here.” His frown deepened. “We don’t want to leave the two of you out on a limb. Perhaps I should try and move you, but the first course is ready to be served and if they do manage to get here …” Ian’s voice trailed off.

“Don’t worry.” Katie interrupted, “I’m sure Jack and I will manage to entertain each other if we do end up next to empty seats.”

“Yes, but” Ian began, but had to break off as the head waiter banged a small gong.

“Ladies and gentlemen, could you please take your seats for the feast.”

As people began to mill around the tables, Ian gave us an apologetic look. “I’d better go and sit down then, I really am terribly sorry.”

After he’d gone, Katie grinned “Actually it will be a bit of a relief not having to make polite conversation to complete strangers. But can you cope with having to talk to me all evening?”

“I dare say I’ll put up with it.” I said, and began to read the menu.

Sure enough, the chairs next to us did remain empty as the meal began. As a result, the two of us seemed to have exclusive rights to four bottles of wine (two white and two red with all of them looking very expensive) and a basket of warm bread rolls.

“If we work our way through all of this, I won’t be able to stand up at the end of the meal, never mind speak coherently.” Katie commented as I poured her a glass of the Chablis.

“Well, you’re pretty much on your own with the wine, unless you feel like walking home.” I reminded her.

At this, she got up from the table and made her way to the top table where George was sitting. I noticed that quite a number of heads turned as she passed. Soon she was back.

“It’s alright, George isn’t drinking anyway so he said he’d drop me off at home. He did say we weren’t to embarrass him, so we’d better not polish of all the wine.”

I took a long drink of the wine and toasted her. “So, how long have you and Rebecca been friends?”

“We met at college about ten years ago. We just seemed to hit it off straight away, and then shared a house for the second and third years. Then she got a job here in York, and I stayed in London.”

As we worked through our first course – a delicious assortment of mushrooms and a creamy sauce – and the following winter fruits sorbet, Katie told the story of how she had ended up in York. It was the tale of a long term relationship which had ended very unpleasantly and acrimoniously.

“David was very angry and bitter, and as all our friends were joint ones, it made for an awkward situation. They all felt they were being forced to choose sides and, as I was the one that had ended it, David tended to get the sympathy vote.”

She managed to keep her voice very light as she recounted this, but the long pause before she continued suggested that the reality wasn’t quite so painless.

“Anyway, I got a letter from Becky mentioning that her house mate was moving soon. About the same time, I saw the job at the Crisis Centre in the paper so it looked like a good way of escaping.”

I looked at her. Again her eyes seemed paler. “That must have hurt a lot, feeling everyone was against you.”

She gazed directly back at me, her expression unreadable. “I can see why our clients find you so easy to talk to. Yes, it did hurt. Unreasonably I felt very let down. Just because I ended it didn’t mean that it wasn’t just as painful for me. If it hadn’t been for Becky, I would have really struggled.”

I had never seen her looking vulnerable before, and for one mad moment I wanted to move around the table and give her a hug. Fear of how she would react kept me pinned in my seat though, and the moment passed. Katie shook her head slightly as if to clear it like an etch-a sketch, and then smiled.

“In the end, it all worked out for the best. I love living in York and I love my job. Becky’s great fun to be around and it’s been nice to have a break from serious relationships. Anyway, now you’ve had my life story, it’s your turn.”

My reply was postponed by the arrival of our main courses. I had gone for the duck breast in a raspberry sauce, while Katie was having the traditional roast turkey. As we made our selection from the seemingly endless trays of potatoes and vegetables, I had to acknowledge that my reaction to hearing that Katie didn’t have a partner had been one of relief and excitement. Suddenly my fixed position that I was never again going to risk a serious relationship didn’t feel quite so secure.

“Come on then,” Katie interrupted. “You can’t keep being the man of mystery for ever.”

Keeping it as casual as possible, I told her about my marriage to Liz and its eventual collapse.

“Do you still see her?” Katie asked.

“No,” I replied. “She’s moved to Bristol and started a new life there. We exchange the odd letter or phone call but that’s all. She’s hoping to get married again next summer.”

“And how about you since then?” she pressed. “No special person in your life?”

I took another bite of the delicious meat while I considered my answer.

“The job doesn’t leave much time for a social life. I suppose I’ve just concentrated on that. Being with Liz taught me that I’m not exactly cut out for domestic bliss.”

Katie’s eyes had now turned to the deepest of green, filled with warmth. She looked on the brink of saying something but then appeared to change her mind.

“OK, that’s enough comparing scars for now. Let’s talk about more cheerful things,” she suggested.

Perhaps the wine was helping the process, but we seemed to naturally fall into relaxed conversation. It was soon clear that Katie was a dangerous combination of qualities – not just beautiful but also intelligent, witty and kind. Most refreshingly she seemed to savour life, laughing out loud when something amused her. I couldn’t remember an evening when I’d enjoyed someone’s company so much.

The desserts came and went and suddenly Ian Jacobs was banging on the table to bring the room to a hush. “Ladies and gentlemen, I trust you’ve all enjoyed your meal.” There was a general buzz of approval around the room. Ian continued,

“The tradition is that you now have to pay for the meal by listening to me making a speech. Just to warn you I’ll be starting in about ten minutes. The bar is open in the room next door, so if you need something to fortify yourselves before the speeches, this is your chance.”

He sat down, so I turned back to Katie and asked if she wanted anything.

“I’d probably better start sobering up,” she mused. “A glass of mineral water would be nice.”

I made my way out of the room and towards the bar where a scrum was already forming. Waiting for my turn, I heard a voice behind me. “Enjoying your evening, Mr. Bailey?”

I knew who it was at once and, with a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach, turned to face Michael Palmer.

“I hadn’t realised that you were a member of the Executive Club, Detective Inspector.”

His face wore an amused look. “Thought us dumb policemen too lowly to be invited, did you? In fact I’ve been a member for a few years. I don’t often get to the meetings, but when I heard you were going to be speaking to us, I couldn’t wait to see you in action.”

Fortunately just then I reached the front of the queue and so was spared from having to come up with a suitable reply. When I took the drinks back to our place, Katie sensed a change in my mood, but seemed to think it was just nerves about the coming speeches, and encouraged me not to worry.

Ian Jacobs soon banged on the table again, and the room fell silent.

“Ladies and gentlemen, you will be pleased to hear that my speech tonight will be brief.”

He paused while there was some cheering and applause, before going on. The first part of his speech reviewed the work of the club, and paid tribute to those who had helped to run the thing. There were a lot of jokes, many of them clearly referring to people or incidents that neither Katie or I had heard of but, judging by the loud guffaws around the room, they were much appreciated by the rest of the audience. After about ten minutes, Ian’s face turned serious.

“Of course, it’s a great privilege to be a member of the Executive Club. You are all here because you are at the very top of York society. All of you have succeeded in your chosen professions to the extent that you have a major influence on the society around you. That’s why a key part of what we do is to try and give something back to the city and area in which we have prospered. Whatever our religious beliefs, or lack of them, as we approach Christmas, it seems an especially apposite time to think of those in our community who aren’t faring so well. Some weeks ago, I became aware of a remarkable institution that works at the very heart of our city. So impressed was I by what they do, that I’ve invited some of them along this evening to share their experiences with you.”

He paused, and slowly gazed around the room. There was no doubt that he was an outstanding communicator; every eye was fixed on him.

“To begin their presentation, I would like to introduce to you Mr. George Bantry of the York Domestic Crisis Centre.”

As Ian sat down and George took his feet, there was polite applause. He gave them a quick overview of the history of the Crisis Centre, the work we did, and a summary of our current difficult financial position. All too soon, he reached his conclusion.

“Perhaps the best way for you to understand what the Centre does, is to hear it not from me, the fundraiser, but from the people actually doing the work. Two of our three counsellors are here tonight to try and do just that. Could I introduce you to Jack Bailey and Katie Dixon.”

We both stood as heads began to turn in our direction, and walked up to the top table. I looked at the expectant faces and, inevitably, the sceptical face of Michael Palmer caught my attention. Taking a deep breath, I began.

“We thought it might help to try and put a human face onto the work we do. So, I wanted to tell you about one of the most agonising cases I’ve faced in my time at the centre, but also the one which I’m most proud of. Obviously I won’t use the people’s real names.

“When Jane came into the Centre, I thought she must have just escaped from a car accident. Her face almost didn’t look human, it was so badly bruised and swollen. At first, she could hardly speak above a whisper, and all she would say was “I need you to help me”.

“I managed to persuade her to let me call a doctor. We have a friend who will come to the centre to give confidential help, so he’s quite used to dealing with distressing injuries. But even he could still be shocked. When he came out of the room after seeing Jane, his face was white and his hands were shaking.

“It would take too long to list all her injuries, so I’ll just pick out a few highlights for you. Apart from the bruising to her face, she had a broken jaw and nose. Several of her teeth were missing. Her upper body was also covered with bruises. Three of her fingers were deformed where they had been broken. She hadn’t gone to hospital on the night her husband broke them one by one, and the bones had not set properly. Various parts of her body were covered with scar patterns, which probably indicated cigarette burns inflicted over a period of months if not years. Later X-rays revealed a number of past broken bones. None of them had received medical treatment.”

Looking around the room, I suspected that I was managing to spoil an excellent meal by giving them all indigestion. However, Katie and I had agreed that there was no point in pulling punches at our one chance to convince these influential people that we needed their support.

“I’m sure some of you are asking the question why had she put up with it. Why didn’t she leave the first time her husband laid a finger on her? Without meaning to, people who ask that blame the woman for letting herself become a victim. Let me try and explain.

“One thing that helps is that in almost every case of domestic abuse, at the start the woman loves her husband a great deal. Men who have this sort of rage inside them are very often extremely charming and likeable the rest of the time. The first time it happens, they are always so genuinely apologetic afterwards, it’s hard not to forgive them. The woman sees it as an isolated, out of character, incident and blames the pressure he’s under or even herself for “making him so angry”.