First Frost by Henry James Page A

soft spot for Jack. He was one of those lads who always caught the eye of women of a certain age. It wasn’t just a mothering thing.
    ‘That’s what Mary keeps saying. She’s at me about it night and day. But in this job, you’ve got to have some vices. Wouldn’t surprise me if she wanted me to start jogging next – it’s all the rage.’
    She watched as Frost puffed out his chest, and winked at her. ‘I haven’t seen him since Saturday,’ she found herself saying. ‘He went out just before lunch, said he wouldn’t be long, and that was the last I saw of him. He took the car, too.’
    ‘That’s a bloody long time,’ said Frost, scratching his chin. ‘But he’s gone on benders before, hasn’t he?’
    ‘Not normally for this long. A night maybe. A day. Sometimes two. I expect he’ll come through that door any minute, stinking to high heaven, looking like he’s been sleeping rough, which he probably has. What am I to do, Jack? He can’t go on like this. How can I get him to dry out?’
    ‘I don’t know, Betty. I really don’t. I’m sorry.’
    ‘The thing is, he hasn’t been drinking that much recently. Part of me hoped he’d got it back under control. I didn’t want to make a big deal about it. You see, he’s been very preoccupied about something. I wondered whether it was his retirement. I don’t know. Work-related was my guess.’ It pained her to reveal anything intimate about Bert. Though Jack was almost family; if anyone could help it would be him.
    ‘I’ll check around,’ said Frost. ‘Try some of his old haunts. Put the word out.’
    ‘There is something else,’ she said, sure it was nothing, but feeling that odd niggle at the back of her head again. ‘He keeps popping out to the phone box, down the road. I’ve watched him. But we have a perfectly good phone here. At first I thought he was nipping off for a drink, so I followed him one day last week. Thankfully he didn’t see me. You don’t think he’s …’
    ‘He’s what, Betty?’
    ‘You know, having an affair?’
    Frost laughed. ‘At his age? Can he still get it up?’
    Betty found herself laughing too, first time in days. ‘You’d be surprised.’

Monday (3)
    A pretty, young secretary showed Frost and Hanlon into a smartly furnished, wood-panelled office, not at all dissimilar to Mullett’s lair at the Eagle Lane cop shop.
    ‘The manager will be with you shortly,’ she said, with some anxiety. ‘But he only got back from holiday this morning and he says he wasn’t expecting you. I keep his appointments diary, you see.’
    ‘Thank you, love,’ said Frost. He didn’t want to get this pert young thing into trouble. ‘Arthur, you did telephone ahead to say we’d be coming in?’
    Hanlon looked blank.
    ‘Never mind. I’m sure the manager of such an esteemed bank wouldn’t have wanted to keep the fuzz waiting out in the cold. We’ll make ourselves at home.’ Frost took in the plush surroundings and pulled out a Rothmans. ‘Good to see our hard-earned cash has been so wisely invested.’
    ‘I’ll leave you to it.’ The girl smiled uncertainly and left, leaving the door ajar.
    ‘Think this Michael Hudson will know anything useful, Jack? By all accounts he’s an awkward sod.’
    ‘He’s a bank manager,’ said Frost. He wandered over to the enormous desk in the centre of the room and took a closer look at the various curios that covered the green leather-topped surface.
    Presently in hurried a short, plump, grey-haired and blue-chinned man, wearing a pinstripe suit.
    Frost replaced a fancy-framed photograph on the desk, accidentally dropping some ash as he did so. He then tried his best at what he thought was an ingratiating smile, and stuck out his hand towards the approaching bank manager.
    Michael Hudson took Frost’s hand in a surprisingly limp fashion, as if he was afraid of catching something. ‘Sorry to keep you. I’ve just got back from a short break. What can I do for you,