Routine is the spy’s greatest enemy. Never travel the same route two days in a row. Never leave work at the same time. Don’t eat at the same restaurant every Friday evening. Routine gives your enemy an opportunity.
An opportunity to plan ahead, an opportunity to hide, an opportunity to pounce.
Her split-second is up. Her last thought is ‘Please, please don’t hit Stephen.’ She doesn’t even feel the blow she knows is coming.
‘And then, in the late seventies, I went out with a member of UB40, but I think we all did back then,’ says Pauline.
‘Which one?’ asks Ron, trying to eat his soup with a little decorum.
Pauline shrugs. ‘There were so many of them. I think I slept with one of Madness too, or he said he was at least.’
Ron had rung his son, Jason, and asked where might be good for lunch, somewhere that was classy, but wouldn’t make a fuss if he didn’t know what knife to use. Somewhere that did food he would recognize, but would have proper napkins, and nice loos. Somewhere you didn’t have to wear a tie, but you could if you wanted, just hypothetical, say, but to remember he was a pensioner, and not made of money, though, you know, he had a few bob put away, don’t you worry about that.
Jason had listened politely, then said, ‘And what’s her name?’ Ron had said, ‘Whose name?’ Jason had said, ‘Your date,’ and Ron had said, ‘What makes you think …’ and Jason had said, ‘Le Pont Noir, Dad, she’ll love it,’ and Ron had said, ‘Pauline,’ and Jason wished him the best of luck. Then they spoke about West Ham for a bit until Ron asked Jason if he could book the restaurant for him, because he could never work out websites, and was too shy to ask Ibrahim to do it for him.
‘Your mate really going to Darwell Prison today?’ Pauline asks.
‘We have a habit of interfering,’ says Ron. ‘So, what’s your take on this Bethany Waites thing? You were around at the time?’
Le Pont Noir is what they call a gastropub. Ron had to scan the whole menu twice before he saw there was a steak. Even then it said ‘bavette’ of steak, but it came with chips, so he was hoping it was going to be safe.
‘She was a terrier, that’s for sure,’ says Pauline. ‘In a good way. Mike was very cut up when she died. They looked out for each other. Rare in this business.’
‘A looker too,’ says Ron. ‘If you like blondes, which I don’t. Not my type, not that I have a type. I’m not fussy. Well, I’m fussy, but –’
Pauline puts a finger to Ron’s lips to help him out of his cul-de-sac of a sentence. He nods gratefully.
‘She’d just started dating a new fella too,’ says Pauline. ‘Some cameraman, as always. In telly, the women all date their cameramen, and the men all date their make-up artists.’
‘Oh, really,’ says Ron, eyebrow raised. ‘So you and Mike Waghorn? You ever –’
Pauline laughs. ‘You’ve no worries there, darling. Mike dates cameramen too.’
‘There go Joyce’s chances,’ says Ron, as his ‘bavette’ of steak arrives. He is mightily relieved to see it is just a normal steak that someone has already cut up for him. Bingo. ‘You reckon the story got her killed?’
Pauline is pretending to look enthusiastic about a dish of braised cauliflower that has just been put in front of her.
‘Maybe,’ she says. ‘Let’s talk about something else; I get enough of this from Mike.’
Ron is trying to work out who Pauline looks like. A bit Liz Taylor maybe? The new head judge on
‘Take a wild guess.’
Ron smiles.
‘You enjoy yourself last night, then?’ says Pauline. Ron had stayed over at hers for the first time. If you can eat braised cauliflower suggestively, then that’s what she’s doing.
Ron feels his cheeks flush. ‘I, look, yeah, it’s been a while for me, so maybe I’m not what you’re used to. It’s been a long time. It was nice, just staying up talking. I hope that was OK?’
‘Lover, it’s been a long time for me too,’ says Pauline. ‘It was perfect. You’re a gent. And a handsome, funny gent at that. Let’s just go at our own pace, shall we?’
Ron nods, and eats some more of his steak. They hadn’t brought any ketchup, but other than that he couldn’t fault Le Pont Noir at all. Thank you, Jase.
‘You fancy a walk along the front after this?’ says Pauline. ‘While the sun’s still in the sky? Get an ice cream on the pier?’
Ron thinks about his knees. How much they hurt when he doesn’t use that blasted stick Jason bought for him. How they make him feel like an old man. Every step will hurt, all the more so for hiding it from Pauline. He’ll be laid up in bed all day tomorrow.
‘I’d love to,’ says Ron. ‘I’d love to.’ Perhaps he doesn’t need to hide anything from Pauline?
‘And I know your knee gives you gip,’ says Pauline. ‘So let’s get you a stick for goodness’ sake. I don’t need a tough guy slowing me down. I just want an ice cream and a kiss from Ron Ritchie on the pier.’
Ron smiles again. He still won’t be using a stick – he’s got standards – but it’s nice to hear.
