Julia rest of chapter 3

It wasn’t something polite people spoke about of course but when Brian made it plain that his desire was for a ‘full relationship’ she knew straight away what he meant. It wasn't long after she discovered that Brian was an unusually ‘large’ man and it took several visits to the doctors before arrangements were made to make things more comfortable.

‘It is not unusual for a woman of your age to find things have changed down there’ said the doctor during the first visit, ‘it’s quite normal for nature to shut down.’ She didn’t want ‘nature to shut down’ she wanted nature to behave itself and  continue to provide her with a fully functioning body.  So she took the tablets, bought the creams and set a course for rejuvenation.  Fortunately Brian was away during the week and so she had time to recover from his ever enthusiastic love making.  There were moments when she considered a membership of the gym, such was her initial lack of stamina, but the thought waned. He would calm down in due course, she told herself, they always did. Her mind was still drifting on the physical aspects of her relationship when she heard the telephone.

‘Mrs Spenser?  My name is Detective Constable James Dawson from the Dorset Constabulary.’ Her mind immediately went into overdrive.  The Police! What could they want?  Even though Julia lived in the Cotswolds she never the less assumed it was something to do with her.  ‘Is it Julia? Is she in trouble?’  Despite the fact she'd long since grown up, Julia had in her youth drawn the police to the door on more than one occasion and was always the first to spring to her mothers mind in such circumstances. ‘No madam its concerning Mr Spenser that I am calling. Is he there?’  ‘No, he’s not, is he alright?’ she asked in a panicked voice.

‘As far as we are aware he is fine Mrs Spenser, I’m sorry to bother you.  We just need to talk to Mr Spenser that's all. Can we come in?’ The detective’s reassurance was comforting and having taken it on board she realized she had been silly and that his the call was probably to do with Brian’s work.  He had told her that in his capacity at the Foreign Office he often had dealings with the police.  State visits, diplomatic issues, immigration problems, they all required liaison with the local constabulary. ‘Have you any idea when he might be home?’ She tried to remember the day of the week, and decided it was a Wednesday.

‘He comes back on Friday evenings’ she said ‘he works in London during the week as of course you probably know.  The Foreign Office takes him during the week, I get my share at the weekends.’ She giggled like a little girl at her joke.  ‘So he stays in London Monday to Friday?’ asked the Detective. ‘Yes that’s right.’  ‘Do you have an address for him?’ She was stumped by the question. She had never thought to ask for Brian’s address, his phone number was all she needed.  ‘I am sorry, I’m afraid I don’t. Although I do remember him saying his accommodation was provided by the department and if I recall rightly he said it was in Admiralty Walk?’

‘I see’ said the Detective. ‘Well no doubt we can follow that one up. Thank you for your help.’ ‘Should I phone him and let him know you called, I can do that?’ She said thinking it would give her a reason to speak to Brian. ‘That’s alright Mrs Spenser, don’t bother him, it isn’t important.  What you could do however is to let us know if he comes home before Friday, otherwise we'll contact him then.’  

She didn’t like mysteries, they unsettled her, and despite the fact that the policeman had said Brian was alright, the conversation had left her wanting an explanation. She dialed Brian’s number. It rang until the voice recorder came on ‘Brian Spenser is not available at the moment please leave a message.’ She sighed.  If she couldn’t get through to Brian then she'd telephone Valerie. The phone rang three times and Valerie answered. ‘It’s mother’ she said.

‘Hello mother’ replied Valerie ‘Is everything alright?’  ‘Well I’ve just had this call from the police about Brian,’ She needed Valerie to take on board some of her curiosity and so deliberately said as little as possible. ‘The police? Brian? What about?’ from the sound of Valerie’s voice it was clear that the message had been delivered successfully.  ‘Well that’s the thing, I’m not sure.  They're trying to get in touch with him.’ ‘Why would they need to do that?’  Now that she had hooked Valerie, she eased back.  ‘I think it might be to do with his work.’

‘Oh, I see, so nothing to worry about then?’ Valerie almost sounded disappointed.  ‘I hope not, but the thing is they asked me for his London address and do you know I hadn’t thought about it before but he’s never told me. So I was wondering whether when you were staying over last weekend if he talked about anything like that.  I know you had a long chat to him about Foreign Office things.’  She waited a moment, whilst Valerie considered her question.    

‘No, I am sure he didn’t say anything about his London address.  I assumed that you would know it, after all you’ve been together for over six months now.’  Valerie’s comment sounded vaguely like a reprimand.  ‘I know, that’s what struck me when the Detective asked me.  Why hadn’t I thought of asking Brian?  I suppose it wasn’t necessary with the phone and everything.’

‘I have to say I wondered why when you flew out to Teneriffe you didn’t stay in his accommodation on the way up.  I mean that hotel must have cost a packet.’ ‘Oh that, yes well we wanted to be at the airport so that we didn’t miss the flight, and Brian said it would be more romantic to stay in a hotel.’

‘What, at the airport? I can think of more romantic places.’  Valerie was not being helpful and Janet was getting annoyed. ‘So, what do you think I should do?’ ‘I’d get in touch with Brian if I were you. Tell him about the call and at the same time ask him for his London address so that you’ve got it handy.’ ‘I’ve tried once but he’s not answering.’ Valerie responded with a limp ‘oh okay.’ Then she said something which touched a nerve. ‘By the way how did the police get Brian’s home number? Why didn’t they just contact him at the Foreign Office if it's to do with work?’ It was a simple and obvious question but in the flurry of her mind it wasn't one she'd got around to asking.  Why didn’t they contact him at work, and how did they get his number?’ The whole episode took on a new meaning once these questions were asked.      

‘I don’t know’ she replied. ‘Perhaps I should call them back and just check.’ She said her goodbyes and put the phone down.

‘Can I speak to Detective Dawson please.’  She had reached a call centre, the bane of her life.

‘Which station is that?’ asked the operator. ‘Well I don’t know’ she replied, he called me.

‘Hold the line a minute’ said the operator, at which the inevitable music began.  Vivaldi ruined for the two millionth time.  She felt like putting the phone down but resisted.

‘We’ve got two Detective Dawsons listed, Pamela Dawson at the Poole station and James Dawson of the Fraud Squad, they are based in …………..’

‘It was a man’ she replied.  ‘Putting you through.’  With Vivaldi still scraping out Autumn she picked up on what the operator had said ‘the Fraud Squad.’ How strange, why the fraud squad? Why would Brian be in touch with the fraud squad? Moments later she heard a voice on the line.

‘Detective Dawson, how can I help you?’  ‘It’s Janet Spenser.’  ‘Hello Mrs Spenser. I hadn’t expected to hear from you so soon, have you got some news?’ There was a note of optimism in the detective’s voice.

‘No, not really.  It’s just that I was thinking about your call and it occurred to me - you're trying to contact Brian at home and I wondered why?  Have you tried his work?’ There was a no immediate response and she thought she heard a muffled sound as if he had cupped his hand over the mouthpiece and was having another conversation. ‘Hello are you there?’ she said. ‘Yes, sorry Mrs Spenser I was interrupted by a colleague. Where were we?’  ‘I was asking you how you had our telephone number and why you hadn’t contacted Brain at work?’

‘Ah yes, well the fact is we don’t have his work details.’  ‘So this isn’t to do with the Foreign Office then?’ she asked.  ‘Er no, it isn’t anything to do with the Foreign Office.’   ‘Then can you tell me what it is about?’ She was getting frustrated and wanted answers.

‘I’m sorry at the moment I can’t, other than we need to speak to Mr Spenser as soon as possible.’ ‘Then why don’t you try the Foreign Office, it isn’t that big an organization, they're sure to put you in touch with him.’ The call ended without a true resolution and Janet felt worse than when she'd first dialed the number.  The detective reminded her she should contact them if her husband reappeared, at which point she reminded him Brian didn’t come home during the week.  It was an impasse.

The episode regarding Brian the previous day had left her tired and frustrated, and she awoke with it on her mind. There was no doubt the police were being their usual incompetent selves.  She had no time for them nowadays, having heckled the Home Secretary at their annual conference and been proven guilty of lying about the ‘Plebgate’ affair.  Brian was firmly of the same opinion, and both the Telegraph and the Mail confirmed their mistrust on a daily basis.  They'd obviously either mistaken her husband for someone else and or had failed to realize he worked for the Foreign Office. It was quite clear the fault lay at their door. As a result of their incompetence she would have to follow the whole thing up herself.  She obtained the number of the Foreign Office and spent a furious ten minutes listening to Vivaldi yet again as she waited for a response.  Why the Four Seasons? She fumed to herself.  Was it some sort of joke that you had to sit through a years worth of orchestral pap every time you phoned somebody.  It was probably that Nigel Kennedy playing it, the man who didn’t know how to use a comb.  She was convinced they played this music deliberately to get people to hang up.  Well she wasn’t going to, and when she got through she'd have a word with Brian about changing it.  It wasn’t right to have a foreign composer on a British ministry line, it should be Elgar, or Sir William Walton. The switchboard operator was polite but insistent that Mr Brian Spenser didn't work for the Foreign Office, and was she sure he didn’t work for some other service?  She assured her it was the Foreign Office and told her of the USS George Washington’s visit to the Island in which her husband played a key role. The operator suggested that perhaps the Ministry of Defence would be able to help. Janet knew the woman was trying to get rid of her.  She hung up and stood staring out at the sea through the conservatory window. It'd only been a moment when she heard the dull thud of the door knocker. It was unusual for anybody to call unannounced at Cove House and she assumed it must be the postman with a parcel. Through the stained glass panel of the front door she saw the dark outlines of two silhouettes.  She opened the door and to her surprise and slight trepidation she was confronted by two uniformed police officers one young man who looked as though he should be in the school playground, and one woman PC who at least had the decency to look old enough to be serving the local constabulary. 

‘Good morning, Mrs Spenser?’ asked the WPC. She replied with a querying ‘Yes?’  ‘I'm Police Constable Wearing and this is PC Todd. May we come in?’ She opened the door wide and stepped back into the hall allowing them to pass. ‘A beautiful house you have here madam’ said the WPC on her way through. ‘Yes……thank you.’

‘May we sit down?’  Janet looked at their bulky armored waistcoats, at the handcuffs in their leather pockets and the radio’s pinned to their lapels, and realized that she felt intimidated by them.  The officers sat down, but they perched on the edge of the sofa as if ready to spring up at any moment.  ‘What is this about?’ she asked.  ‘Is it something to do with Brian? I’ve had a telephone call from your colleague from Dorset yesterday. What is the problem here?’ The younger officer  obviously hadn't been trained how to speak to the general public, although she directed her question at him, the WPC responded. ‘Yes, it's to do with Mr Spenser’ she replied. ‘You told my colleagues you don’t know where Mr Spenser is?’

‘I don’t, I know he is in London working.’  Despite the fact that she'd been told he didn’t work there, she still wouldn't believe it.  Brian was a civil servant in the Ministry, he'd told her so. ‘Well unfortunately Mrs Spenser my colleagues in Dorset now have definite confirmation that Mr Spenser does not work for the Foreign Office.  I’m afraid that Mr Spenser is being investigated by the Fraud Squad and we've been asked by our colleagues to come to see you personally to update you about the investigation.’  Her mind tried to take in the information but refused to do so.  Despite the chill that ran through the very core of her being, logically she could not assimilate the situation.  It was as though she were two people at one and the same time, a frozen, scared vulnerable woman, and a second person who could not possibly countenance the thought that such a monstrous thing was happening. ‘Mrs Spenser? Are you alright Mrs Spenser?’  She didn't know much about the next few minutes until she found herself on the floor with the WPC leaning over her. Her mind had jammed, locked, switched off, disengaging to the point where shed' collapsed into a small heap on the Chinese rug. She heard the words but was not really there. ‘Get some water from the kitchen.  I’ll lift her onto the settee.’ The voice was fuzzy and distant. Her body was lightly carried, her head placed on cushions before she even knew what was happening. The water came and was put to her lips. She did as she was told and took some, sipping it like a sparrow. 

‘What has he done?’ she muttered when her mind finally managed to surface.  ‘I’m afraid we don’t have the full details Mrs Spenser, but we can tell you that Mr Spenser is wanted for questioning in relation to a number of criminal offences connected with illegal property transactions, and polygamy. It was hard for Janet to think straight. She heard the words ‘property transactions’ and that seemed to register somewhere in her mind, but polygamy?  She knew the word, but couldn't quite bring herself to understand its meaning in the context of herself and Brian.  Then mentally she saw herself looking at the Mail crossword, five across, eight letters, more than one wife, polygamist.  She felt a sharp pain in her chest, her breathing became erratic and she gasped.

‘Mrs Spenser, Mrs Spenser! The WPC’s voice was urgent.  She leaned her forward and told her to take deep breaths. ‘My chest, my chest!’ was all she could say. ‘Call for an ambulance Gerry’ shouted the WPC.

The room took time to come into focus. When it did it made no sense.  She'd been on the beach in Tenerife having her photograph taken, she was smiling like the queen, telling the cameraman to make sure he captured the light from her diamond ring. What was this place?  Who had dragged her from her dreams and brought her into a sterile and alien reality? It was a man, a foreigner, with a beard and sharp Arabic features. He wore a hospital gown and had a stethoscope around his neck. 

‘Mrs Spenser, can you hear me?’ She could hear him but his voice was miles away from his body.  ‘Mrs Spenser, if you can hear me can you squeeze my hand.’ Something automatically responded to his request and her hand moved slightly.

‘Good.  That’s very good Mrs Spenser.’   He looked at his watch, then picked up a clipboard and wrote something. ‘You're in St Mary’s Mrs Spenser.  Do you remember what happened?’  She was listening to him but out of her body, whoever was responding to him was not under her control. Then she heard her own faint voice.  ‘The police came to see me. Brian’s gone missing.’  Was that her voice?  Everything was so distant, so out of touch.  ‘Do you remember anything else?’  What should she remember?  Was there something she needed to know? The crossword, something to do with the crossword was lingering on the edge of her memory. ‘No’ she replied.  ‘I’m so tired.’