Free Skinner's Trail by Quintin Jardine Page B

— not even the assembled Edinburgh media corps in all its glory — will make me late for that!'
    Fifteen
    ‘You fancy your new room, wee man, don't you?'
    The baby's eyes were wide open as Bob cradled him in the crook of his arm. They seemed to follow the movement of the brightly coloured - mobile suspended above his cradle, as it swung in a slow circle in response to Sarah's touch. That, and the American-style satin-lined cradle, had been her choice. Bob had picked the nursery-rhyme motif of the wallpaper. A huge stuffed panda, which he had bought in John Lewis that morning, en route for the Simpson, filled a high-backed rocking-chair by the dormer window.
    Bob carried his three-day-old son over to the window and showed him the mature back garden, flooded in midday sunshine. 'See that tree down there, Jazz? That nice silver birch with the strong branches. That's where we'll hang your swing in a year or so. The climbing frame can go on the grass just over there, and the sandpit can go up against the garage. You'll be a lucky lad, 'cos there's the same again in your other house out at Gullane, the very swing and frame that your big sister Alex had when she was a nipper. She didn't have a sandpit though. There was hardly any point, was there, with a beach out there.'
    Sarah reached up and ruffled her husband's hair. 'You're really looking forward to all this, Pops, ain't you?'
    Too right, I am. His first childhood, but my third. What I'm looking forward to is doing all the things right this time that I might have got wrong with Alex. There's not too many guys my age get that chance.'
    `From what Alex says, you didn't get too much wrong. Come on, set him down in the cradle. Let him get used to it.'
    Gently, Bob laid the bright-eyed child down in his crib. For a second it seemed as if Jazz would cry at the breaking of the contact, but then his eye was caught once more by the blue-painted balsa-wood birds of the mobile, and he stared following their movement. Quietly, mother and father backed away from the cradle, and stood together by the window.
    `It's a dream, isn't it, honey?' said Sarah softly.
    Bob said nothing. He could only grin, happier than he could express in words.
    `What's a dream, too,' she went on, 'is the idea that you'll actually be off work for a few days. How long are you taking?'
    `Best part of a week. I've cleared my diary until Tuesday morning. Roy Old's looking after things. It's just you and me and Jazz, apart from tomorrow night. Remember, I told you about it — a meeting of Murrayfield and Cramond Rotary Club. Peter asked me to do it a while back. It's in their programme, so I don't like to back out. Is that okay? They start at half-six, so I should be back around eight-thirty.'
    Sarah smiled. 'Well, since you're taking us to Spain in a couple of weeks, I don't really think I can bitch about it. Anyway, Alex is coming through for the night, and Andy said he'd look in later. You'll be back for him, won't you?'
    `Mm, sure. Listen, about Spain. You sure it's okay, with Jazz being so young?'
    Sarah turned to face him. His arms circled her waist as she placed the flat of her hands on his chest.
    `Listen, you can be the fussiest Dad of all time, but trust me on the medical side, just like I leave the detecting to you. I told you already, before we set off I'll take him back to the paediatrician for a 500-mile check-up. If there's the slightest flicker of disapproval on her face, we cancel the ferry and stay home. But worry not, my love. That boy of ours is the thrivingest baby you'll find in a day's march.'
    `It won't be too hot?'
    `Would it be too hot for a Spanish baby? It's early summer, and so it won't be baking. Believe me, he'll be fine. He'll be in shade all the time. That buggy you bought for him has got everything save air-conditioning, and the house does have that. As for his food, I carry my own supply, remember.' She tapped her chest with a long finger. D-cup these days, boy. Tits like racing