Chapter 4

Where we meet DI Claudia St Clair and her team

 

Chapter 4

 

 

Claudia St Clair sat on a chair in the dining room of her home. The West Indian and African art that they had painstakingly sought out over many years were thoughtfully sited about the well-decorated deep carpeted and long draped room that was Claudia’s pride and joy.

Now thirty-five years old, Claudia was a woman with presence; matriarch material ahead of the surplus bodyweight required of the role. At this time of her life, she was shapely, toned from the gym and with slight threatenings of over-muscularity around the shoulders and thighs. Not especially tall, there was already a hint of stockiness. She would never lack grace, because her head was so elegantly set, back and up, with a proud flared nose and lifted chin. Her smooth skin was darker than caramel, almost charcoal in the hollows of her face. Large expressive eyes with brows permanently arched, as if tautened by her hair which was drawn straight back and up from her face.

Beside her at the table sat an impeccably dressed, well-groomed, light-skinned black man of thirty-eight. The expensive made-to-measure suit showed that Ken St Clair was exactly what he appeared; a highly successful businessman.

Seated around the table with them were three couples. The gathering consisted of a black male in his forties with a flourish in his manner suggestive of an up-and-coming barrister and his thirty-something partner. Theirs was the glamour of successful professionals: good shoes, good haircuts. The woman was also black; her jewellery was platinum, and little enough of it. Her shirt was grey silk; a black woollen mid-length skirt completed the ensemble of work clothes, slightly creased from the efforts of a stressful day in the Public Relations Department of a government office.

The other black male, Dr Franklyn Beaupierre, a Senior ENT Registrar at Guys and St Thomas’, was accompanied by a blonde (dark roots just starting to show through Claudia noted) white female in her mid to late twenties from Physiotherapy, who whilst being suitable eye candy, did not realise the extent of unease she had brought to the gathering.

The third couple was white, both around thirty-six years old. University friends of Ken, they ran their own successful E-Business from home in Battersea. They took turns texting the nanny to check on their three-year-old daughter Kitty. The woman looked weary, but she had found time to change into a sleeveless, fairly pricey, little black dress from Zara. The man, on the other hand, was dressed smart-casual, soft, floppy fair hair, rather defiantly househusband, non-corporate, and suede shod. Claudia wondered if they had consulted before dressing to go out.

Ken St Clair stood and tinkled his crystal glass with a spoon.

“My dear friends you all know you have been summoned here in this fashion for a reason.”

Laughter from the others caused a brief interruption before he continued. Claudia smiled politely.

“So, I am charged with announcing to you, you select band of few; that my darling wife Claudia has been selected for promotion to the auspicious rank of Detective Chief Inspector.”

“Well done Claudia.”

“Congratulations.”

“About time.”

“Brilliant news.”

Ken lifted his hand and quietened the volley of compliments before he continued. “So dear friends let us drink a toast in celebration and in appreciation of her wonderful news,” he said and raised his glass, “To the soon to be Detective Chief Inspector Claudia St Clair.”

The guests stood and repeated the toast before breaking out into a chorus of “For she’s a jolly good fellow.”

Claudia took their congratulations and good wishes gracefully; even if she was slightly miffed that not only had Ken neglected to invite even one of hercolleagues to this surprise, but also had not managed to prevent Dr Beaupierre from bringing his preposterously young bit of stuff to their home. She would let him know her feelings on that later.

Ever the diplomat, Claudia smiled sweetly as the blonde-haired woman kissed the doctor. Too pretty, too young.

 

 

Marcus woke with a yawn, found the remote that he had left on the bedside table, turned on the TV and zapped through the channels until he found a chat show. The female host announced that the theme of today’s programme was women and their changing role in today’s society.

Eyes entranced by the procession of female guests, Marcus sat up a little more in the bed.  He listened as the first guest stated that she does not want a man in her life. She explained that if she wants sex, then, “I go out and have me a one-night stand.” She added that it was her right to decide what she did with her body and if men did not like it – tough!

“F*****g slag!”

The next guest announced that she is a single mother who had returned to work eight weeks after giving birth; that her child was well looked after in a crèche and had not suffered. She explained that apart from conception, the father had been of no use to her. She hadn’t told him she was pregnant and was better off without him.

“B***h,” Marcus shouted loudly over the applause from the TV audience. Is that what men had become now; mere toys for females, to be disposed of as and when pleased, he reflected.

The final guest was a woman who stated she had been a battered wife who finally flipped and killed her husband in a moment of rage. When she revealed that she had received a sentence of probation, the audience applauded approvingly.

“F*****g cow!   She kills a man and they cheer. What if that was a man? They would lock him up for life! F*****g b*****s! F*****g b*****s!” he ranted to himself.

 

 

 

Natasha eyed the numerous varieties of trainers with unease. She had consciously chosen to go to a specialist running shop to get proper advice in order to make an informed decision. If she was going to spend her hard-earned cash on something, then she was not going to be frivolous and squander it.

Then she remembered the old shop, where she had found her bargains in her school days, in return for helping to tidy up at closing time. In fact, Bernie, the proprietor, had offered her a Saturday job; but her Mum had been so fragile by then. Not well enough to leave.

The owner liked her because even though she had a quiet voice, she had been a good listener and a quick learner. If the shop had gone, so be it. But … but …what if he was still there, and she had to explain about her mother dying? Natasha frowned in her dilemma, before pulling herself together.   So she would just tell him, wouldn’t she?

A twenty-minute bus ride brought her to the old familiar shop, looking much the same as it had done seven years ago.   On the display rack in the store’s porch she fingered the price tag on a pair with massively built up soles and a pretty pink and silver flash. Was she looking at high fashion or high function? They would hardly take them back once she had tried them out for ten or so miles and found them wanting, would they?

The customers inside were mainly young, black and male; assessing racks of vests that did or did not hold the body heat, or expel moisture, or control airflow or support muscles. When they thought she wasn’t looking, they assessed Natasha too.

At the counter, she asked after Bernie – who had not retired, but was now running a second branch two miles away the pleasant female assistant explained. Thirty-five minutes later, Natasha exited the shop smiling proudly as she carried her aptly chosen purchases. Not just shoes, a complete running kit for under £50! She had also left a message for Bernie, and felt that a friendship was halfway to being renewed.

 

 

 

Marcus stood by the window watching as the mixed-race woman from the block opposite pulled up in her BMW. He breathed heavily, still furious at the guests who had so proudly boasted of what he perceived as loathing of men.

A middle-aged man dressed in a stylish suit emerged from the passenger seat, walked round and opened the door to allow the mixed-race woman out of the car. He took her arm and together they entered Napier Court. Marcus remained transfixed. To his surprise after a short while, she reappeared at a window almost directly opposite his and drew the curtains closed.

As if spellbound, Marcus continued watching for a further hour until the couple finally materialized at the entrance to Napier Court then got in the car and drove off.

Marcus went to the kitchen, made himself some noodles then returned to the window. He proceeded to eat the paltry meal whilst keeping his watch on the block.

 

 

 

Andrea sang along with the tape, turned the BMW into the underground garage and eased into her parking space. Her black high heels made a noisy clicking sound as she walked towards the entrance to the flat. Yes, this was her real flat – a place unknown to others – where she could keep her secrets. Not that keeping your secrets was difficult in London; it was the perfect place for those who wanted anonymity, a city where people kept themselves to themselves; where no one bothered to ask questions.   She grinned at the thought that none of her neighbours even knew that Thérèse Williams was her adopted name.

Andrea was just about to open the door to the flat when her mobile rang. She delved into her bag, found the phone and answered the call. She turned around and walked back to her BMW.

 

 

 

Marcus chewed restlessly on his nails. It was another three hours before the woman returned. This time she was with another man; again a suited middle-aged man. They followed her previous routine of withdrawing into her apartment, staying there for about an hour before coming out, getting into the BMW and driving off.

He finally gave up his vigil and returned to watching yet another chat show on TV. This was a more raucous American programme where all the guests were women about to tell their partners that they are having affairs. 

He thought back to that day when his world had been destroyed. He remembered the feeling of shock, anger and hatred as he had opened the door.

Tears started to trickle from his eyes at the recollection of Maxine throwing his clothes unceremoniously out of the window onto prickly cotoneaster shrubs in the bed beneath; (“the best crime deterrent and anti-burglar device known to the police”) said the leaflet from their Neighbourhood Watch Liaison Officer. Shouting obscenities at him as his young son looked on from the bedroom they had recently decorated together in the colour of his favourite football team.

Marcus became aware of the audience on the TV chat show cheering wildly as an attractive blonde woman announced to her husband that she had been cheating on him with his best friend.

The audience became even more animated as the ‘best friend’ was brought on stage and a fight between the two men commenced. Once they had been separated and calmed down, the woman added that she has also been seeing a woman.

Marcus could no longer contain his anger and disgust. His face twisted into a look of near insanity. He rose angrily, switched off the TV and went back to the window.

It was getting dark when the BMW pulled up and the mixed-race woman, accompanied by a pretty blonde, carried their expensive looking bags from the car.   Marcus watched silently, his heart pounding as the lights came on in her flat before she again closed the curtain to him.

 

 

 http://www.amazon.co.uk/exec/obidos/ASIN/0955988306/ref=nosim/findthelowesb-21

Reviews

[Shellie]

Light skinned black man??You put far too much emphasis on describing the colours of evryone. Any book I have ever read has never bore such emphatic reference, it gets very hard to settle with nearly every person you describe you say white white black black chocolate au lait. The last chapter didn't over do it and i'm only as far as The third couple was white, both around thirty six years old. I dont know if im missing something in everyday life but if this is a modern day story about diversity its too focused on races. I'll finish this chapter but im sorry to say I will have to wait your reply on my reviews. I say what I think, this is my second site not my favourite and I have learned from getting reviews on my own work, honesty is the best policy. I know it can sting a little when people have a bad opinion but you will always have criticism. I just feel, knowing you explained that this book is about diversity, that there is just far far too much picking out colours. The story has so much potential, and you have installed a sense of intigue into the lives of these people, but there is just too much honing in on race colour.

[Shellie]

There was still alot of emphasis on skin colour, but with your explanation i managed to not focus mostly on that. This chapter was good, Andrea is a prostitute?