Power Games by Judith Cutler Read Free Book Online Page A

problems. And the fact that things like plates don’t bounce on quarry tiles.’
    The prospect of his company every weekend was beginning to lose its attraction.
    â€˜True.’ He pulled his boots off.
    She gestured to a seat at her kitchen table. Muddy jeans wouldn’t mix with her new three-piece suite, courtesy of the January sales. And the kitchen, with its new paint and bright prints, was very pleasant, with the mid-afternoon sun warming the light maple of her units.
    â€˜Tea or coffee?’
    â€˜Coffee, thanks.’
    â€˜Cafetiere or espresso?’
    â€˜Instant decaff. If you’ve got such a low form of refreshment.’
    â€˜Oh, even highly-paid police officers sink to instant occasionally,’ she grinned. ‘Come on, Stephen, don’t you ever get presents? Or do you still have to drink out of a jam-jar?’
    He had the grace to look sheepish.
    â€˜And, if you like, I could offer you a dry crust, while I sit and stuff amaretti biscuits? Or there’s a treacle tart?’
    She made tea for herself, coffee for him, plonking milk still in its carton in front of him. Yes, she’d produce plates, too – no point in getting crumbs everywhere. And then she sat, knife poised over the treacle tart, looking at him ironically.
    â€˜I suppose if I asked for sugar,’ he said, grinning, ‘you could offer me white or golden granulated sugar lumps, or demerara, or muscavado—’
    She laughed. ‘No, this is the only stuff to help the medicine go down.’ She passed the sugar basin, full of ordinary Silver Spoon. She slapped a hand to the side of her head. ‘D’you know, I do have some sweeteners, too.’
    Straight-faced, he declared, ‘I never accept sweeteners.’
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    â€˜So I truly don’t know what to make of him,’ she told Midge, as they took their places in the National Indoor Arena.
    Midge – and her colleague Lorraine – were the officers who’d promised to improve Kate’s social life. Apart from encouraging her to play tennis, they’d now brought her to watch it.
    â€˜My life seems full of moody men at the moment,’ Kate continued.
    â€˜Don’t give him a thought. Just think about mean men instead. Golly, doesn’t Henman look young!’ Midge exclaimed, as the entire auditorium rose to its feet to cheer him and the rest of the Davis Cup players on to court. ‘Except that you haven’t had much luck with men recently, have you? I mean, we hoped you’d hit it off with Cary Grant, and then there was Pat the Path – weren’t you two an item for a bit?’
    â€˜It just – sort of fizzled out,’ Kate said. There was no way she would reveal even to friends exactly how. ‘God, look at those quadriceps …’ What wouldn’t her bad knee give for them?
    â€˜And then,’ Lorraine put in, ‘there was a very strong rumour that Someone Senior was after you.’
    Kate hoped her face was entirely blank. It was inevitable that she and Graham should have become objects of gossip, but she thought she’d scotched any rumours months ago. ‘Not that I ever noticed. Who – come on, you can’t leave me hanging in mid-air like that!’
    â€˜Why, young Rodney, of course. Superintendent Smarm. Ah! Go on, Tim! Go on!’
    And they were only knocking up, so far. What sort of volume would the crowd produce when Henman actually won points?
    So it wasn’t Graham who’d got the job: it was Rodney Neville. So how would Graham feel about that?
    But now the match was starting in good earnest – with Courier looking in ominously good form – she would postpone thinking about it. And concentrate on willing Henman through.
    If only …
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    Bank Holiday Monday morning was living up to its reputation, weatherwise at least. There was a bitter wind confronting a rainy sky. The bonus was that the traffic was light. She’d