Free Hell Hath No Fury by Rosie Harris Page B

order.’
    Beneath the seemingly contrite apology, Ruth sensed a tinge of constrained laughter.
    â€˜It certainly was, Sergeant,’ she agreed stiffly.
    Paddy didn’t answer. Instead, he slowed down and pulled off the road on to a gravel forecourt. Ruth frowned as she saw the illuminated sign, and realized that they’d pulled into a pub car park.
    â€˜Can I buy you a drink, ma’am . . . by way of apology?’
    â€˜Well . . .’ She was about to refuse, but a sixth sense told her that if she did there would be no possibility of establishing a feeling of comradeship between them.
    â€˜We’re not in uniform, and technically we’ve been off-duty ever since you informed the SOCO that we were leaving Twenty-Seven Fieldway,’ he pointed out.
    She bit her lip. It was late. They’d both had a tough evening, and he was right, they were not wearing uniform, so why shouldn’t she accept his offer, and go for a drink? Perhaps if she found out what made Sergeant Paddy Hardcastle tick she would understand him better, and they’d make a better team.
    â€˜OK! We’ll have a drink . . . only, I’ll pay.’
    The firmness of her tone surprised her. She shot a quick sideways glance to gauge his reaction, but the set look on his square-jawed face gave no inkling of what he was thinking.
    A barrage of bright lights and deafening noise met them as they pushed open the door to the Lounge Bar. It was so packed that Ruth stepped back. ‘Shall we leave it?’ she suggested.
    â€˜No!’ He took her arm, firmly guiding her a few yards along the building to another door marked Public Bar. Inside it was quiet and almost empty. A few middle-aged working men were propping up the bar, a couple of older men ensconced in armchairs drawn up at a table to one side of the open fire.
    â€˜Why don’t you find a seat while I get them in,’ Paddy suggested. ‘What’s your drink, by the way? Lager . . . cider . . . or a G & T?’
    â€˜White wine. Dry if they have it.’ She opened her bag, and took out a note, but he’d already walked away towards the bar.
    She bit her lip and slipped the tenner back inside her bag. Probably better not to make an issue about paying, she thought sagely. If things went according to plan, and she was successful in establishing the right sort of rapport between them, then there would be plenty of other occasions.
    She moved to a corner table and settled on the dark-red banqueting facing the fire, leaving an armchair for Paddy. There was enough background noise from the Lounge Bar to ensure their conversation wasn’t overheard.
    â€˜I’ve ordered a couple of rounds of sandwiches,’ Paddy told her as he set down her glass of white wine and a pint of beer for himself. ‘They don’t serve meals in here, and I didn’t think you’d want to face the noise in the other bar.’
    â€˜You shouldn’t have bothered. It might spoil your dinner,’ she remarked, checking her watch with the clock over the bar.
    â€˜Dinner! What dinner?’ He laughed and took a deep draught of his beer. ‘Aah, that’s better!’
    â€˜Surely your wife will have dinner waiting for you?’
    â€˜I’m not married!’
    â€˜Your mother, then.’
    â€˜I live on my own. Self-contained, purpose-built flat with all mod cons. No garden, no pets, just me.’
    â€˜That sounds rather lonely.’
    He shrugged. ‘It suits the hours I keep. More police marriages break up because of the strain of unsociable hours than for any other reason.’
    â€˜Is that why you’ve never married?’ she murmured as she took a sip of her wine.
    He grimaced. ‘Partly. I lived with my mother until she died three years ago. She was a widow, and a semi-invalid. Unsociable hours, and a live-in mother-in-law would be too much to ask any woman to take on, don’t you think?’
    The arrival of their