Читать книгу A Year Less a Day - James Hawkins - Страница 9

“Detective Inspector David Bliss,” cries a London Guildhall usher, running down a list on a clipboard.

“That’s you, Dad,” says Samantha Bliss as she prepares to help her father to his feet. “Can you manage,” she asks, “or should I come with you?”

“I can manage, luv,” Bliss says, though he wobbles alarmingly as he tries to rise from the deeply-cushioned chair. Bliss’s prospective son-in-law, D.C.I. Peter Bryan, steps in and steadies him. “I’ve got you, Dave.”

Daphne Lovelace, a sparky and spry septuagenarian who has lied about her years so often she’s forgotten her true age, holds out a pair of crutches to her old friend, saying, “You really ought to be in a wheel-chair, Dave.”

“I’ll be fine, Daphne. You and Sam should go on in. The show will be starting in a minute. I guess Sergeant Phillips isn’t going to make it.”

“We’ll be in the middle of the front row,” says Samantha proudly as she gives her father’s tie a final tweak; then she takes Daphne’s arm and leads her toward the Grand Reception Hall with Peter Bryan at her side. Bliss barely controls a laugh at the sight of Daphne’s giant polka-dot hat as the crowd parts to let it through. “Made it myself, ’specially for the occasion,” Daphne had beamed when she arrived, but Bliss felt that the word constructed or erected would be a more accurate description of the process.

Bliss takes a final look around the Guildhall’s opulent foyer and is disappointed that RCMP Sergeant Phillips is not amongst the fast-thinning crowd. Then he takes up his crutches and slowly heads for the antechamber where the Commissioner, dignitaries, and the other award recipients are assembling for their grand entrance to the award ceremony.

“Hey, Dave,” calls a cheery Canadian voice as Bliss nears the small side door.

Bliss spins and winces as his injured leg scrapes the ground, then he beams at the sight of the Canadian Sergeant in his ceremonial dress uniform. “You made it, Mike.”

“Sure. Wouldn’t miss your big day,” says Phillips. “Where am I supposed to sit?”

“Front row. Samantha and Peter Bryan are keeping a seat for you.”

“Detective Inspector David Anthony Bliss is hereby awarded the Commendation of the Commissioner of the Grand Metropolitan Police Force,” reads Samantha from the vellum scroll, as the five of them await the hors d’oeuvres in the main dining room of the Dorchester Hotel two hours later.

“That was quite a ceremony,” says Phillips.

“For service above and beyond the call of duty,” adds Daphne, reading over Samantha’s shoulder.

“It’s hardly an OBE though, Daphne,” says Bliss, knowing that the somewhat reckless Canadian adventure that brought him the award pales in comparison to her wartime heroics in Europe and Asia. Bliss ignores Daphne’s black look and sloughs off the praise as he encompasses his daughter, his boss, and the Canadian officer with a gesture. “You three deserve this more than me. I would have been dead if you hadn’t rescued me.”

“It all sounds jolly exiting,” carries on Daphne. “I read it in the Times—how you’d been shot and left for dead on an island. How the Natives attacked ...”

“They didn’t attack,” protests Bliss. “The newspaper got it wrong.” They just pointed their guns at me when they realized I threatened their dodgy little exploit.”

“But the bear attacked you. That bit was right, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah,” cuts in Phillips. “It sure is, Daphne. Biggest damn bear I’ve ever seen. Took a dozen shots to scare him off.”

“That’s why I’m glad you could make it,” says Bliss. “I wasn’t in a fit state to thank you properly before I left Canada.”

“My pleasure,” says Phillips. “Anyway, I always wanted to take a look at London. But, how are you doing now?”

Bliss’s head goes down. “It’s going to take quite awhile—nearly lost the leg—infected wound, a lot of nerve damage. Good job I’ve got my daughter to take care of me. Sam’s been great.”

“The stairs at your little place must be a nightmare,” says Daphne to Samantha—forever practical—then she turns to Bliss. “Why don’t you come and stay with me for awhile? The country air will do you good, and I could make you up a bed in the study.”

“Hmm ... Westchester,” muses Bliss, with memories of a previous secondment when he’d first encountered Daphne—the police station’s cleaning lady.

“That sounds like a great idea, Dad,” jumps in Samantha just a fraction over-enthusiastically.

Bliss catches on immediately. “I smell a conspiracy,” he says, looking from Daphne to his daughter. “Are you two ganging up on me?”

“No ...” starts Samantha, but can’t get her expression to agree.

“It’s a waste of time lying to me, Sam,” says Bliss with a smile. “I guess you’ve had enough of me under your feet all day.”

“Oh, Dad ...”

The arrival of the waiter gives Samantha thinking space and Peter Bryan comes to her aid. “Actually, Dave, I think it would be a great idea. In fact, I’m pretty sure that admin will actually pay Miss Lovelace to take care of you ...”

“I don’t expect ...” protests Daphne, but Samantha stems the dissent with a warning look.

“I’m not going to argue,” says Bliss, catching them all by surprise. “Daphne makes the best treacle pudding I’ve ever had. Anyway I haven’t seen the old General for a year or so.”

Daphne slumps at the thought of her old tomcat. “The poor thing died of old age back in the summer,” she tells Bliss, and he knows her pain.

“That’s a coincidence,” he says. “Balderdash, my old cat, died as well.”

“Oh, dear,” sympathizes Daphne; then she perks up a little. “Actually, I’m getting a kitten next week. She’s the fluffiest little thing, and her fur looks almost red at times. I was going to call her Madam Rouge but I thought that made her sound a bit like a Parisian street walker, so I’m calling her Missie Rouge instead. What do you think?”

“I think I’m looking forward to meeting her,” says Bliss.

Now it’s Daphne’s turn to smile, though Bliss holds up a hand in caution. “But it won’t be for a few weeks. I’ve got my physio to finish first.”

“Anytime you’re ready, Dave, and I’ve got room for you as well, Mike, if you’d like.”

“Thanks Daph,” replies Phillips. “But I’ve gotta get back to Vancouver in a day or so. The place might fall apart without me.”