Chapter Ten
The following morning’s visit to Adelaide’s brothers at the family warehouse in Cheapside bore little fruit. The brothers were characterless individuals responsible for the mundane side of the operation—accustomed to following orders rather than issuing them. Just a year apart in age, they looked and spoke alike and were almost impossible to tell apart. It was the charismatic uncle, Riley assumed, who found their customers and charmed them into purchasing their goods in bulk.
‘Didn’t either of you ever wonder what had happened to your sister?’ Salter asked, looking appalled by their apparent disinterest in her murder and the lack of emotion in their expressions.
‘Her name was never mentioned in our house,’ the elder brother, Cyril, replied, ‘not after our mother died. Our aunt forbade it.’
‘But at the time of her disappearance,’ Salter persisted. ‘Didn’t you care what had happened to her?’
‘We didn’t know she had run away. Not until it couldn’t be kept from us for any longer.’ Frank, the younger brother, offered that paltry explanation. ‘Mary was quite a bit younger than us, so we didn’t have much to do with her. She was our father’s favourite, spoiled and indulged, and repaid him by running off the moment he tried to put his foot down.’
‘About what?’ Riley asked. ‘Did they have a disagreement?’
Cyril shook his head. ‘Not to my knowledge. Like my brother just explained, she had everything—’
‘Give or take a strict aunt.’
‘What?’ Both brothers looked confused by Salter’s mumbled aside.
‘Your father was seldom there,’ Riley pointed out. ‘Who took responsibility for your sister’s welfare when he was away?’
The brothers shared a blank look and simultaneously shrugged.
‘Our mother and aunt, I would imagine,’ Frank said. ‘Mother was a soft touch but Aunt Ruth made sure she wasn’t taken advantage of. We were either at school or helping with the business when Mary went missing but didn’t know at the time what had happened. Aunt Ruth told us that she had gone to stay with friends for a while.’
‘And now we find that she ran away and became a whore, bringing shame on our entire family’ Cyril added bitterly.
‘Aunt Ruth was in the right of it,’ Frank said, tapping the side of a wine barrel and making a note of a piece of paper. ‘She insisted that no good would come of overindulging a sister who was too pretty for her own good. It will be disastrous for the family’s reputation if her profession becomes public knowledge.’
Both brothers were sanctimonious individuals without an ounce of compassion. Cut from the same mould as their aunt, they were jealous and resentful of a sister who, regardless of what she’d been forced to become, had at least shown a little initiative.
Riley badly wanted them to be culpable for Adelaide’s death but they had been at a prayer meeting on the night of the murder and had dozens of witnesses who could attest to the fact, led by their aunt. Riley couldn’t see any reason why either of them would want their sister dead, much less possess the wits to make such elaborate arrangements to have the deed carried out—unless they had discovered what she’d become and wanted to avoid the damage to their precious reputation that worried them so much.
Her death had squarely focused the attention that she managed to avoid whilst alive on Adelaide and her real identity was bound to leak out. She had been as anxious to distance herself from her family as the majority of them were to see the back of her. But if the meeting with her uncle had resulted in Adelaide making threats of some sort against the family’s standing then something would have had to be done to silence her.
Permanently.
‘Families, eh,’ Salter said, scowling as he and Riley were driven away in yet another hansom. ‘Think I’d be tempted to jump ship if I was related to that lot.’
‘We are all of us the product of our upbringing to a greater or lesser degree,’ Riley replied, sighing as he thought of the differences between himself and Henry—and the alarming similarities between Henry and their father. Had he not exerted himself from an early age Riley would have been moulded into a mirror image of the pompous marquess. Not that he had seemed quite so pompous the previous night when he’d admitted to his association with Celeste. More than an association, Riley conceded. Henry had become completely captivated by a woman who had a defining hold over his baser instincts. He had dropped everything and rushed up to London, a city he disliked, presumably in the hope that Celeste would entertain him again if he persuaded Riley to call upon her.
Pathetic or desperate? Riley was unable to decide.
He looked forward to making Celeste’s acquaintance, if only because he was curious about her. The majority of women in her line of work, having secured the affections of an influential marquess, would fight off all competitors for his sole attention. But Celeste had declined Henry’s offer and quit the area, thereby increasing Henry’s determination to have her. But was it an indication that she’d tired of Henry or was it a clever ploy to…to what? Men in Henry’s situation routinely kept mistresses and supported any children that resulted from the relationship. But they never, ever abandoned or divorced a legal wife so that the mistress could take her place. Society was tolerant of a man’s needs, but not that tolerant, and its doors would be firmly shut in Henry’s face if he was foolish enough to rid himself of his marchioness.
‘Our earliest influences never completely leave us—especially if those doing the influencing are as straitlaced as Adelaide’s aunt, with fixed opinions and an aversion to anything pleasurable,’ Riley added hastily, aware that he had fallen into silent contemplation upon a subject he wasn’t yet ready to share with Salter. ‘Those boys have been taught to look upon pleasurable activities as sinful.’
Salter grunted.
‘I wonder why they have storage for their wine here, close to the docks. Well, actually I don’t. It’s obviously the most convenient location. What I don’t understand is why they have more storage at their home in Ware. All those outbuildings we saw, remember?’ Salter nodded. ‘Seems like a duplication of effort.’
Salter sat a little straighter. ‘Do you think there’s some funny business going on?’ He grinned. ‘Please tell me those pious bastards are trying to evade paying duty on their wine, or something equally underhand that we can nab them for. I would dearly love to haul them in and throw the book at them, destroying their precious reputation in the process, even if we can’t get them for neglecting the gal.’
Riley chuckled. ‘Sorry to disappoint you, Salter, but the wine would come in through the port here. They sell in large quantities to clubs and private establishments so they wouldn’t risk trying to evade duty.’ Riley rubbed his chin as the cab rattled along the rain-slicked streets towards Maiden Lane. Its wheels trundled through deep puddles, covering unwary pedestrians with a muddy spray. ‘Makes you wonder what those sheds on Huxton’s land are used for, but I don’t suppose they have anything to do with Adelaide’s murder, so we’ve got no reason to look into them.’
‘Yet,’ Salter growled. ‘Dare say I could invent one, if only to embarrass that sanctimonious old bint by having uniformed policemen crawling all over her property as ostentatiously as possible.’ He chuckled. ‘That would well and truly set the cat amongst the wine barrels. Imagine trying to explain that one at the church picnic.’
‘Now, now, Jack,’ Riley replied, chuckling. ‘Let’s not allow spite to dictate our actions.’
Salter sniffed. ‘Don’t see why we shouldn’t. Spite has a lot going for it.’
They arrived at Maiden Lane and were greeted by Tennyson, who was in shirtsleeves and looked as though he had only just got out of bed.
‘Oh, it’s you,’ he said without much enthusiasm, letting them in. ‘I hope you’ve come to tell us we can open our doors for business again. This delay is costing us dear.’
‘Glad to see you’re so concerned about the dead girl,’ Salter replied with a scowl.
‘I was fond of Adelaide, right enough, but she’s gone and nothing will bring her back.’ Tennyson sniffed and wiped his nose on the back of his hand. ‘Ain’t no place for sentiment in this business.’
‘So I am coming to realise.’
Riley waved Tennyson into the small salon they had used earlier, he and Salter close on his heels. At this early hour, it was thankfully devoid of scantily clad females and the three men had it to themselves.
‘Tell us about your conviction,’ Riley said, taking his time to select a seat and arrange his tall frame upon it.
‘I didn’t think it would take you long to get around to that.’ Tennyson rolled his eyes and scratched vigorously at his whiskery chin. ‘I’ve done time for receiving iffy goods, so it stands to reason I must have killed a woman for no apparent reason. Case closed. I told Mrs Sinclair that you’d find out and take the easy way by blaming me. Ain’t worth your time to take too much trouble looking for the killer of a whore. Of course, this time you might have to, ’cause iffing you try to pin it on me, I might have to let the newspapers know who else was here that night.’
‘I would advise against threatening me,’ Riley said in an unruffled tone. ‘It only serves to make you look guilty.’
‘Which I ain’t. Adelaide was a moody piece of work, but she was popular. Our best earner, and I get paid a percentage of each night’s takings. I might not be educated like you, but even I ain’t daft enough to cut off me nose to spite me face.’
‘So answer the inspector’s question.’ Salter, who had remained standing, walked up close to the larger Tennyson and poked a finger aggressively at his chest. Tennyson glanced down at the finger in question and growled a warning, looking as though he was considering snapping it in two. Common sense prevailed and he moved out of range of Salter’s marauding digit.
‘That’s all in the past. I got in with the wrong lot. By the time I got out of prison, a cousin of mine was working here. She told me Mrs Sinclair needed someone reliable to keep order and recommended me. She knows about me past and don’t hold it against me.’ He glowered at Salter. ‘Unlike you lot.’
‘Do you still associate with the people who persuaded you to receive goods of questionable provenance?’ Riley asked.
‘Eh? Come again?’
‘Do you still mix with the old lags who dropped you in it?’ Salter succinctly translated.
‘Oh, why didn’t you say so? Nah, I dropped ’em when I got this number.’
‘Just for the sake of argument, if one of them had an axe to grind with Adelaide and wanted to see her in private, you would be the man who could make that happen. An unlocked door somewhere…’ Riley allowed his words to trail off as he observed a kaleidoscope of emotions pass across Tennyson’s face. For the most part he was angry, Riley sensed, and looked as though he was having trouble reining in his temper.
‘Why?’ he asked, spreading his meaty hands. ‘Why would I take that chance and risk what I’ve got here?’
‘Perhaps you’ve committed other crimes we know nothing about and were being threatened with exposure if you didn’t let a former colleague have a few minutes alone with Adelaide,’ Riley suggested speculatively. ‘You weren’t to know that he planned to kill her. Besides, isn’t there supposed to be honour amongst thieves?’
‘Well, it didn’t happen that way. I can’t prove it didn’t but, more to the point, you can’t prove that it did.’
‘Then I must accept your word for your innocence,’ Riley said. ‘But, be aware, if you are lying to us we will find out eventually and it will be the worse for you.’ He shifted position in his chair and fixed Tennyson with a frosty look. ‘Now, here’s another possibility to consider. Someone, some determined person, could have sneaked in through the kitchen door unnoticed, could they not?’
Tennyson gave a reluctant nod. ‘It’s possible, I suppose. Risky, but possible.’
‘The killer got in somehow,’ Salter said. ‘And if you didn’t let him in, then unless one of the girls did we can’t think of any other way for him to have gained access, other than him being here all along.’
‘The girls didn’t unlock any doors,’ Tennyson said with assurance. ‘I watch everything like a hawk during the evenings. Mostly I’m watching the punters to make sure they don’t try to have something they ain’t paid for.’ He grunted. ‘You’d be surprised the tricks they come up with. Anyway, if one of the girls went somewhere she had no place being, she would have had to get past me to open the side door, and I would have noticed.’
Riley nodded, satisfied that Tennyson was being truthful. He couldn’t possibly be at his post the entire time, but it would have been very difficult for one of the girls to know when he would leave it, unless she’d created a deliberate diversion. She would also have to be temporarily without a client at the time, simply so that she could unlock the door. Adelaide wasn’t popular amongst her fellow courtesans, and possessive jealousies ran deep in their line of work. Even so, Riley couldn’t see how it could have happened that way. There were simply too many risks.
‘Do the girls ever receive correspondence?’ Riley asked.
Salter looked more surprised by the question than Tennyson did. ‘Very occasionally. Most of them have given up all connections to their previous lives. If they haven’t, their families don’t know they work here. But now and then a letter arrives for one of them.’
‘Did Adelaide ever receive any correspondence?’
‘Tennyson thought for a moment. ‘Once or twice, but not recently.’
‘Did you happen to notice where her letters came from? Was there return addresses, the name of the sender, something like that? We didn’t find any letters in her room.’
Tennyson shook his head before Riley finished asking the question. ‘I mind me own business,’ he said.
Riley thought it more probable that he found reading a challenge but allowed the man his pride by not contesting his assertion. ‘Thank you, Tennyson, you may go. Please ask Mrs Sinclair to step in and see us.’
Tennyson grunted and left them.
‘Why did you ask about Adelaide receiving letters? You imagine, I suppose, that if someone knew she was here,’ Salter added, not waiting for a response, ‘then that same person might also know something about her death.’
‘We haven’t been able to find anyone who knew where she was, other than the uncle. If he’s to be believed they met in the street by chance just the once, and he had no idea that she lived and worked here. But it seems someone was aware of her whereabouts if she received the occasional letter.’ Riley was not yet willing to explain that Celeste, if she knew Adelaide when she was living in Chichester, must have kept in touch with her somehow. The fact that the letters had stopped implied that they had done so when Celeste moved back to London and that future communications had taken place in person.
‘Don’t suppose we’ll ever find that person,’ Salter said gloomily.
‘Gentlemen.’ Riley stood when Mrs Sinclair entered the room. ‘Any progress with your investigation that you are able to share with me?’ she asked as she took a seat.
‘You will be pleased to know that we have yet to unearth a motive for murder from amongst the men here on the night it occurred,’ Riley replied, resuming his own seat. ‘But our investigation is still in its early stages.’
‘Of course.’ She folded her hands in her lap and fixed Riley with a direct look. ‘How can I be of further assistance?’
‘Is a man by the name of Clement a visitor to this establishment?’
‘Clement.’ Mrs Sinclair took a moment to think. ‘Yes, he has been here on occasion, but he also supplies us with our wines.’
‘Does he indeed?’ Riley digested this information. ‘Did Adelaide take any interest in the vintages, or discuss them with Clement.’
‘She did seem to know quite a bit about the subject as a matter of fact, and advised me on occasion about which labels to try. Whether or not she discussed with them Clement, I couldn’t say. I have no recollection of her being around when deliveries were made, and Adelaide didn’t entertain Clement as a client.’
‘Who did?’ Salter asked.
‘I think Mirabelle attended to his requirements,’ Mrs Sinclair said, closing her eyes to aid her memory. Not that Riley thought it needed much help. Mrs Sinclair seemed to be sharp as a tack with regard to the details of her business empire. ‘I can have her brought down if you like and you can ask her yourself.’
‘No need. It was merely idle curiosity.’ It was a great deal more than that, but Riley didn’t want to make too much of his interest in Clement, or his possible connection to Adelaide, until he understood what that connection might be. It was better, he knew, to ask his questions from a position of strength. And better still to pose questions that he already knew the answer to. ‘Was Clement here on the night of the murder?’
‘No,’ Mrs Sinclair said without hesitation. ‘He was not. In fact we have not seen him here as a customer for some months. Do you suspect him of killing Adelaide? I don’t see how he could have done, but he is clearly a man of interest to you.’
‘Someone killed her,’ Salter pointed out with his customary straightforward logic. ‘And if the crime wasn’t committed by someone who was here then it follows the perpetrator must be someone who was not supposed to be.’
‘Well yes, so it would seem,’ Mrs Sinclair agreed, looking a little bewildered.
‘Clement would have seen Adelaide on the nights when he was here when the ladies mingled with the customers before they went their separate ways, I would imagine.’
Mrs Sinclair inclined her head. ‘Presumably so, inspector. She was difficult to overlook.’
‘Especially when she and Mirabelle put on a show.’
‘They didn’t do that every night, but it’s possible that he might have seen them together.’
‘But, as far as you can recollect, he never specifically requested Adelaide’s services?’
Mrs Sinclair lifted one shoulder in an elegant shrug. ‘If he had, his needs would have been accommodated.’
‘Adelaide couldn’t veto any such request?’ Salter asked.
A hint of a smile touched Mrs Sinclair’s cold lips. ‘This is a brothel, sergeant. A high-class one, I like to think, but a brothel none the less. Adelaide was my star courtesan, but even she was not permitted to pick and choose. If a man asked for her and was willing to pay for her services, then he could have her and she would ensure that his needs were met. In all the time she worked here, I never once received any complaints in that regard, from her clients or from her about them. The other girls routinely complain about being man-handled, and the brutality or quirkiness of some of their clients’ requirements, but Adelaide never joined in. Her attitude seemed to be that the customers got what they wanted, or deserved.’
‘Even though they were not permitted to actually fuck her?’
The elevation of one brow was the only reaction that Mrs Sinclair allowed herself at Salter’s choice of expression. ‘Despite that. Her clients could indulge that particular requirement almost anywhere elsewhere. Adelaide’s services were more select, tailored to individual needs, if you like.’
‘I don’t,’ Salter said, shuddering, ‘but they obviously did.’
‘It takes all sorts, sergeant.’
‘Given Adelaide’s ability to please, you won’t be surprised to learn then that she was still a virgin,’ Riley remarked.
‘Not as surprised as you obviously were, and still are, inspector. I never discussed the matter with Adelaide, but I was aware how much she disliked being touched, and how skilled she was at giving her clients relief in other ways.’ She chuckled. ‘Good for her, is what I say.’
‘That particular snippet of information has not been made public and I would prefer for it to remain that way.’
‘I wouldn’t have lasted long in this business if I wasn’t able to keep a secret. I shall not repeat anything that you have told me, inspector. You have my assurance in that regard.’
‘Thank you, and in return you may reopen this evening.’
‘That’s a relief. The girls are becoming restless. If they are not working they’re not earning, and with nothing better to do they are reduced to squabbling amongst themselves.’
‘Who will take over Adelaide’s position, just as a matter of interest?’ Salter asked.
‘Young Ruby is keen and, given that she is so young, it might work.’
‘Not Mirabelle?’
‘She already has her favourites. It wouldn’t do to disappoint them.’
‘How does Mirabelle feel about Ruby upstaging her?’ Riley asked.
‘If you imagine she killed Adelaide in order to steal her position as favourite in this house then I’m afraid you’re barking up the wrong tree. Mirabelle didn’t like Adelaide, but she is not skilled at flagellation—and it is a skill, despite what you might think. Not just anyone can do it and give the men the gratification they seek. Fortunately Ruby had undergone some training from Adelaide and, like her mentor, has a natural aptitude. It will all work out, I expect.’
‘One last thing, Mrs Sinclair,’ Riley said, standing when she did. ‘If Clement shows his face here within the next few days, I should be grateful if you would get word to me discreetly.’
‘Should I be worried about him renewing his interest in the girls in their professional capacity? Clearly you suspect him of something and I have a duty of care. Besides, I can’t afford to lose any more of my girls. It’s bad for business.’
‘And there was me thinking you were worried about their welfare,’ Salter muttered with a disgruntled twist to his lips.
‘If I thought he was dangerous he would be under arrest,’ Riley assured her, sending Salter a castigating look. ‘I am simply interested in…well, in his interest in this establishment. I cannot tell you why at this stage, but if he says anything about Adelaide that you think I should know about when he supplies your cellar, or asks about our investigation, I would appreciate being told.’
‘Very well, inspector. Thank you for being so candid. Tennyson,’ she called through the now open doorway. ‘The gentlemen are leaving. Please show them out.’
‘What did you make of Tennyson, sir?’ Salter asked as the two men walked briskly in the direction of Clement’s wine shop in Dover Street.
‘He’s not our man and nor is he in cahoots with the person who is.’ A light drizzle had started to fall. Riley pulled his hat lower over his eyes, thought of calling a cab but, upon glancing at the stalled traffic, decided it would be quicker to continue on foot. ‘He has a plum position there with Mrs Sinclair and doesn’t want to risk losing it. Besides, I get the impression that he can take his pick of the girls whenever the fancy takes him. A perk of the job, so to speak, that ensures his loyalty.’
‘Yeah, that’s what I thought too. I’d much rather it was the aunt, or one of those brothers. Don’t like any of ’em.’
Riley smiled. ‘If we gaoled all the people we disliked, the prisons would burst at the seams.’
‘Perhaps, but I don’t see why Tennyson should be the only one to get perks from his employment.’
‘This case is getting to you, isn’t it, Jack?’
‘I’m trying not to let it.’ Salter lifted his hat and scratched vigorously at his forehead, mindless of the persistent drizzle. ‘It’s just the thought of so many people taking advantage of them poor gals that gets to me.’
‘I realise that. But at least if we find out who killed Adelaide her life will have meant something.’
Salter chuckled. ‘Especially if her real identity accidentally finds its way into the newspapers. You know how these things happen,’ he added innocently. ‘That sanctimonious old bag of bones won’t be able to hold her head up ever again after that.’
Aware that his sergeant was referring to Ruth Huxton and that he held her partially responsible for Adelaide’s plight, Riley could only nod his agreement.
The rain grew heavier so Riley and Salter took advantage of a hansom that had just dropped off a fare and completed their journey in relative comfort.
‘I shall be interested to see this establishment of Clement’s,’ Riley said, thinking aloud. ‘Wine is still very much the preserve of the better classes, what with it being imported and heavy duties being imposed upon those imports.’
‘Whereas the rest of us have to make do with home brewed ale and bath-tub gin,’ Salter said with a wry smile.
‘Precisely.’ Riley glanced at the dreary street as the cab made slow progress. Miserable-looking people scurried about, anxious to transact their business and retreat somewhere warm and dry. ‘I cannot help wondering about Clement. As I say, wine is still very much a rich man’s poison, Huxton’s has a stranglehold on supplies in the capital and yet they don’t have a retail outlet. Clement, on the other hand, has set up a wine merchant’s in a smart part of town.’
‘Well, he wouldn’t get much custom in my neck of the woods,’ Salter pointed out.
‘Even so, it makes you wonder why Huxton and his brother haven’t tried to tempt the more discerning palate by opening a shop of their own.’
‘Adelaide’s father was the power behind the throne but seems to have lost focus since the death of his wife and disappearance of his daughter. The uncle now more or less runs things. Those sons don’t have the wits to take over the purchasing and the uncle probably lacks the vision to expand and move with the times. What ain’t broke don’t need fixing.’
Riley inclined his head to acknowledge Salter’s astute assessment of the situation. ‘Very likely,’ he said.
The cab came to a halt outside a small shop sandwiched between an ironmonger and a cobbler’s. A few bottles of wine were tastefully displayed in the mullioned window and there were several barrels behind the counter that had been tapped, presumably so that potential customers could sample the wares. Through the door, Riley saw a young man wearing a green apron and sleeve protectors standing guard over a shop that was devoid of customers. Riley very much doubted whether he was Clement.
‘Good morning, gentlemen,’ he said when Riley led the way into the shop. ‘How can I be of service? We happen to have an exceptionally decent Bordeaux in stock if your tastes veer in that direction.’
Riley introduced them both and asked to see Clement.
‘I regret to say that he isn’t here.’
‘Where can we find him?’ Salter asked.
‘In France. He is on a buying trip.’
‘How long has he been gone and when do you expect him back?’
‘He has been gone for two weeks, but we expect him back at any time. Perhaps as soon as tomorrow.’
‘And you are absolutely sure he has been in France all that time.’
The man, who had given his name as Paul, nodded emphatically, unwittingly giving his employer the very best of alibis. He couldn’t possibly have murdered Adelaide if he’d been in France at the time of her death. Paul’s story also confirmed Mrs Sinclair’s assertion that Clement hadn’t been on her premises on the night in question. Whether he knew anything about the murder, or had arranged for it to be carried out, Riley had yet to decide.
‘Is your master married?’ Riley asked.
‘No, sir. He is a single gentleman.’
‘Any regular lady friends?’
‘I’m sure I couldn’t say, sir.’ Paul looked offended by the question. ‘I don’t know how he occupies his leisure time. If he does have someone in particular, she has never set foot in this establishment.’
‘Does your employer have a brother?’ Salter asked.
Paul’s nose twitched, as though he had just detected an unpleasant smell. ‘A half-brother, sir. Raymond Clement. He runs a stall in Billingsgate market.’
‘He is a fishmonger?’
‘He is, and although it’s not my place to say so, that’s about all he’s good for. He is constantly harping on at my master to allow him to help with this business, but frankly he wouldn’t know a corked wine from a rare vintage.’ Paul rolled his eyes. ‘It’s a ludicrous suggestion, if for no other reason than he is not well spoken like my employer, and his presence here would lower the tone.’
‘Whereas your employer’s does not?’ Salter asked.
‘My employer comes from the upper middle classes, as do I.’ Paul straightened his shoulders, as though defying Riley to contest his claim. ‘When his mother died, his father married for a second time…and his second wife had been, shall we say, obliged to make her living any way that she could before Mr Clement raised her up.’
‘She was a whore?’ Salter suggested bluntly.
‘Since you put it like that, I suppose she was. Anyway, class will tell and Raymond has none.’
Riley thought that if he’d been shouting the odds in a tavern about Adelaide’s death then he very likely did not.
‘You speak with the suggestion of a French accent,’ Riley remarked. ‘Presumably you learned the trade at your father’s knee.’
Paul raised his chin, preening at the implied compliment. ‘Precisely so.’
‘How is trade?’ Salter asked, taking an exaggerated look around the empty shop.
‘People are warming to the idea of popping in to see what’s on offer. My employer knew he was taking a risk opening these premises and doesn’t expect overnight results.’
Paul sounded defensive, making Riley wonder if the retail premises had been his idea. Personally he thought it a good one, and had noticed one or two wines on display that might be worth trying. He made a mental note to have Stout check them out at some future point.
Riley thanked the man and he and Salter left the premises. The rain had stopped and so they walked to the nearest pie stall to fill their empty stomachs.