Havers said, “I’ve been called worse.” She scratched her mop of badly cut and currently uncombed hair. “Are you always so chipper before breakfast, sir? Because if you are, this is the last time I’m sharing a bathroom with you.”
He could, for the moment, do nothing but stare, so unprepared was he for the sight of his former partner. She was wearing floppy sky blue socks in lieu of slippers and she had on pink flannel pyjamas printed everywhere with the image of vinyl records, musical notes, and the phrase “Love like yours is sure to come my way.” She seemed to realise he was examining her getup because she said, “Oh. A gift from Winston,” in apparent reference to it.
“Would that be the socks or the rest of it?”
“The rest. He saw this in a catalogue. He said he couldn’t resist.”
“I’ll need to speak to Sergeant Nkata about his impulse control.”
She chuckled. “I knew you’d love them if you ever saw them.”
“Havers, the word love does not do justice to my feelings.”
She nodded at the bathroom. “You finished your morning whatevers in there?”
He stepped aside. “Have at it.”
She passed him but paused before closing the door. “Tea?” she said. “Coffee?”
“Come to my room.”
He was ready for her when she arrived, dressed for her day. He himself was clothed and he’d made tea?he wasn’t desperate enough to face the provided coffee crystals?when she knocked on his door and said unnecessarily, “It’s me.”
He opened it to her. She looked round and said, “You demanded the more elegant accommodation, I see. I’ve got something that used to be the garret. I feel like Cinderella before the glass boot.”
He held up the tin teapot. She nodded and plopped herself onto his bed, which he’d made. She lifted the old chenille counterpane and inspected the job he’d done. “Hospital corners,” she noted. “Very nice, sir. Is that from Eton or somewhere else in your chequered past?”
“My mother,” he said. “Proper bed making and the correct use of table linens were at the heart of her child rearing. Should I add milk and sugar or do you want to do your own honours?”
“You can do it,” she said. “I like the idea of you waiting on me. This is a first, and it may be a last, so I think I’ll enjoy it.”
He handed her the doctored tea, poured his own, and joined her on the bed as there was no chair. He said, “What are you doing here, Havers?”
She gestured at the room with her teacup. “You invited me, didn’t you?”
“You know what I mean.”
She took a sip of tea. “You wanted information about Daidre Trahair.”
“Which you could easily have provided me on the phone.” He thought about this and recalled their conversation. “You were in your car when I phoned you on your mobile. Were you on your way down here?”
“I was.”
“Barbara…” He spoke in a fashion to warn her off: Stay out of my life.
She said, “Don’t flatter yourself, Superintendent.”
“Tommy. Or Thomas. Or whatever. But not superintendent.”
“‘Tommy’? ‘Thomas’? Not bloody likely. Are we fine with ‘sir’?” And when he shrugged, “Good. DI Hannaford has no MCIT blokes working the case for her. When she phoned the Met for your identification, she explained the situation. I got sent as a loan.”
“And that’s it?”
“That’s it.”
Lynley looked at her evenly. Her face was a blank, an admirable poker face that might have duped someone who knew her less well than he did. “Am I actually meant to believe that, Barbara?”
“Sir, there’s nothing else to believe.”