Spencer slid off her desk and raised his arms. ‘You see what I mean! What’s he bloody going on about a kids’ entertainer for? I’m fed up to the back bloody teeth with this. I’m seriously about to throw in the towel.’

Dors pushed back his chair. ‘I’ve got a bloke who can blow up balloons and make them into animals, you know, poodles and things like that.’

Spencer looked at him as if he had two heads. ‘What in Christ’s name does this have to do with anything? Blowing up ruddy balloons for a profession?’

‘He charges fifteen quid an hour, plus transport.’

Spencer shook his head in frustration. ‘Maybe I should think about blowing up fucking balloons. Certainly pays better than working here. I’m going for breakfast.’

Jane felt sorry for Spence. He rarely, if ever, discussed his private life, but she knew he had married a young, aristocratic girl called Serena. It was clear that it wasn’t a good match. All he’d ever said about it was that after Serena had told Spence she was pregnant, her father had threatened him and he was persuaded to marry her. Serena’s parents had bought them a flat in Shepherd’s Bush. There had been a miscarriage, and Spencer had inferred that he had been unashamedly relieved.

*

The remainder of the week was as mundane as usual. She and Spencer each spent a day in court, but apart from that there had only been a domestic assault inquiry and the search for a missing pupil from the prestigious Hill House. Thanks to the school’s odd-looking uniform of burgundy knickerbockers, a beige V-neck sweater and beige socks, the search was soon called off after the pupil was spotted playing with the puppies in Harrods’ pet department.

Jane was having lunch in the canteen when Spencer, his tray loaded with shepherd’s pie and green fruit jello, came and stood at her table.

‘OK if I sit with you?’

Before she could reply he pulled out a chair with his foot and sat opposite her.

‘There’s been a development. Apparently DI Arnold is now in hospital with a suspected kidney stone. I was thinking of applying for a transfer but if Fatty Arbuckle isn’t returning any time soon, then maybe I could get promoted.’ He shrugged. ‘If not, then I’ll just have to sit it out until my bloody pension.’

Jane smiled. ‘You’ll have a long wait for your pension. You’re only thirty-eight. Besides which, if DI Arnold has been diagnosed correctly, he’ll be back at work in a few weeks.’

Spencer banged the last of an HP Sauce bottle onto his shepherd’s pie. ‘How old are you, then?’

Jane hesitated, finding it a rather uncomfortable question, but then replied, ‘I’m thirty, Spence.’

Spencer shoveled the food into his mouth, mashing the potatoes into the gravy and the HP Sauce with his fork.