Free Mary's Prayer by Martyn Waites

concentrated on eating for a while. Eventually Charlotte summoned up her courage.
    ‘Do you miss your wife?’
    Larkin took a long time to answer, searching for the right words. ‘Yes. All the time. And my son.’
    Another awkward silence; then Charlotte said, ‘Did you ever think about me?’
    Larkin stared at her, holding her gaze, his eyes unflinching.
    ‘I’m sorry …’ Charlotte began.
    ‘Yes, I thought about you. I thought about you a hell of a lot. You were everything to me once.’
    He hadn’t wanted to say it, but there it was. The statement hung there, like the coyote in the Roadrunner cartoon, suspended
     in mid-air after running off a cliff, prior to meeting a sticky end on the valley floor.
    Charlotte steered the conversation back to safer ground. ‘What’s your impression of Mary?’
    ‘I think – I feel sorry for her.
Felt
sorry for her. I mean …’ He was struggling to make his thoughts coherent. ‘She … this singles club she went to – what kind
     was it?’
    ‘I don’t know. Just a lonely-hearts club. The Rainbow Club, it was called.’
    ‘It wasn’t one of those “Can travel, no timewasters” affairs was it? A sex-contacts kind of thing?’
    Charlotte looked shocked. ‘Course not! At least, I shouldn’t think so. I can’t imagine Mary … Why?’
    ‘Well, it’s just the stuff I found in the bottom drawer – all that tacky Frederick’s of Hollywood stuff. It seemed so … out
     of character.’
    ‘You’re saying she seemed too nice to go in for kinky sex? Come on, haven’t you ever done anything like that? I bet you have.’
     She smiled. ‘
I know
you have.’
    ‘That’s not what I meant,’ said Larkin, his face reddening. ‘I just got the feeling something was out of place there, that’s
     all.’ He swallowed a big lump of pizza,dripping with stringy mozzarella, tomatoes and olives, and washed it down with a slug of wine. He tried to keep his mind on
     business. ‘Do you know if she went in for any of that with her husband?’
    ‘I wouldn’t have thought so.’
    ‘Reckon it’s worth talking to him?’
    ‘I doubt it. Anyway, he’s long gone by now. Last I heard he’d taken early retirement and was running a pub in Somerset or
     somewhere.’
    Gradually they began to feel more at ease. They let the conversation drift and meander as they ate: books, music, how Newcastle
     had changed. Larkin asked Charlotte about her job.
    ‘We’re only a small firm,’ Charlotte said, ‘but we’ve come a long way in quite a short space of time.’
    ‘How did you manage that?’
    ‘Well, apart from being completely brilliant whizzkids, we did a couple of jobs for Sir James Lascelles. He was very impressed
     with us and asked us to handle his affairs. He knows we’re small but ambitious – he likes that.’
    ‘Who’s Sir James Lascelles?’
    Charlotte gave him an incredulous look, as if he’d failed to identify the Princess of Wales. ‘
Who’s Sir James Lascelles
? You don’t know who he is?’
    ‘If I did I wouldn’t have asked.’
    ‘He’s hugely important. Very influential. And not just in Newcastle.’
    Larkin’s ears pricked up. ‘How big is he, then?’
    ‘
Very
. There’s not much happens that he doesn’t know about.’
    ‘Really? Might he know who stumped up the money for Gary Fenwick?’
    Charlotte’s face was a locked door. ‘I’m not even going to answer that.’
    ‘Why not? It’s a legitimate question. If he knows, I’ll need to talk to him.’
    Charlotte looked upset. ‘He won’t, and you can’t – and that’s the end of it.’
    ‘I thought you—’
    ‘Just change the subject, OK? Talk about something else. He’s done a lot for us – he’s a good man.’
    ‘OK. Speaking of good men, how’s Charles?’
    Charlotte’s face remained closed. ‘He’s fine. Still away.’
    ‘Right.’ Larkin tried to affect a casual manner. ‘So, you met him through work?’
    ‘He was a partner in the firm. He took a shine to me. What did I