“I’m all right,” she said, when they came up for air. “It’s all right. We’ll get by.”

“I’d hoped we’d do a bit better than that,” he said.

“We will, we will,” she said and kissed him again, and this time they did not break off.

Chapter Six

Alderman Sir Jebediah Hustler, whose portrait gazed down from above the ornate stone fireplace in Committee Room B at Bradfield town hall, would have felt at home amongst the grey suits and iridescent ties which assembled there the next morning for a meeting of the Heights Regeneration Zone Action Committee - HR-Zac for convenience. Jebediah had been a man who combined a harsh regime in his mills and the rows of back-to-back hovels which he rented to his workers with a shrewd self-interest when it came to local government. If there was owt in democracy for the masters, then Jebediah wanted his share, whether it came in the shape of prestige and a knighthood or harder currency. The cold blue eyes set in a face of florid self-satisfaction almost entirely surrounded by well-combed iron-grey hair and whiskers, could have been overseeing the proceedings of HR-Zac, and would certainly have presided over its deliberations with approval.

Councillor Dave Spencer who was actually in the chair was a less imposing figure, but he dressed with as much vanity as his Victorian predecessor and watched with equally sharp and self-interested eyes as his hand-picked committee took its seats around the highly polished boardroom table - not least to make sure that the regulation complement of women and ethnic minorities was present. It was so much more convenient when they could be combined in the figure of one Zufira Ahmed, a director of her father’s import-export business and a governor of Sutton Park school, he thought, as Miss Ahmed took her place and slipped her long white head-scarf back from her dark hair, letting it trail elegantly across her darksuited and much admired breasts.

Spencer had made sure that Zufira’s father’s support for the regeneration project was assured before he had secured the daughter’s nomination. Dave Spencer prided himself on his business savvy. If only he had not committed himself to a career in politics when he was sixteen and still filled with anti-Thatcherite zeal, he thought, he might have been on one of those rich lists himself, at least for the county of Yorkshire. Still, he consoled himself, there was time. He did not have to go on chivvying dozy officials and timid councillors into the twenty-first century forever. As his girlfriend, who was in management herself kept telling him, it was where the chivvying might lead which was important at his stage of career, after all.

Spencer tapped his pen against the carafe of water in front of him to bring the meeting to order.

“Glad you could all make it,” he said. “And I’m delighted to welcome a new member to our ranks. Superintendent Jack Longley from Bradfield police HQ, who I’m sure will give a very welcome perspective to our discussions. Welcome, Jack. We’re glad to have you on board. Let me introduce you to the rest of the action group: Grantley Adams you may know - and all our sympathy goes out to you and Althea at the moment of course - no change there, Grantley?”

Adams shook his head sourly, glancing round the table and reserving a particularly vicious glare for Jack Longley.

“And next to Grantley is Geoff Wright from Wright and Purser up at Long Moor, another of our generous industrial sponsors, Zufira Ahmed, from Ahmed Trading in Aysgarth Lane, Steve Brady from the town planning department here at the town hall, Jim Baistow from Baistow Construction, Jude Laythwaite from education and leisure services, and Barry Foreman who runs his own security company. I’ve had apologies unfortunately today from the housing department and from Ray Hayter of the Afro-Caribbean community liaison committee. And from our Tory representative, Mr. Harvey. No surprise there, I suppose, as there’s not much in this for them - politically speaking, of course. You’ll soon get to know everyone, Jack, and although we don’t expect you to be carrying a police cheque book you can rest assured we’ll value your contribution as much as anyone’s.”

Jack Longley had nodded dourly at each of the committee members as they were introduced but he glanced down at his council blotter before meeting Barry Foreman’s bland smile of welcome. He was sure that Thackeray’s suspicions of the man were unlikely ever to be proved, even if justified: and Foreman was embedding himself into Bradfield’s establishment too securely to be vulnerable to anything but a case of the most cast-iron variety. But Longley was not above hedging his bets. Thackeray was not given to wild flights of imagination and experienced enough to pick up a faint odour of corruption which others might miss. Longley gazed resolutely into the sharp blue eyes of Jebediah Hustler on the wall facing him and did not look away until the rest of the introductions were completed.

Spencer zipped through the printed agenda quickly and it was obvious to Longley that his own presence at the meeting was purely cosmetic. Many of the crucial decisions around rebuilding the Heights and upgrading the infrastructure in that part of town had already been taken in principle and most of the business people round the table had evidently committed funds to the programme and been allotted roles in its implementation, subject to Whitehall approval. That some of them might add financial gain in the long term to the undoubted kudos their involvement brought in the short did not seem to cause anyone any unease. Longley increasingly wondered what he was doing there. He was not used to playing a violet of the shrinking or the hothouse variety. But as Councillor Spencer announced item ten on the agenda his antennae quivered and he decided that as he was there, at Spencer’s invitation and with the Chief Constable’s approval, he might as well make his presence felt

“Right, we’ll turn to youth policies now,” Spencer said briskly with a glance in Longley’s direction. “As most of you know this has been one of the most difficult areas to tackle as it involves so many agencies: education, youth service, the courts, the police, probation, community groups, social services - you name it they’re all in there - all failing together.” Longley kept a straight face although the little sally was greeted with chuckles of approval from the businessmen present. Zufira Ahmed merely looked pained. Those who knew Longley better might have been concerned at the way his almost bald crown flushed slightly under the electric lights but Spencer did not know him well enough to be perturbed.

“Not to put too fine a point on it, kids on the Heights are running wild and no one so far has come up with a means of cutting crime and getting them into employment,” the councillor went on. “So we’re open to suggestions, the more innovative the better. What we need to build into this scheme is something to get the kids off the streets and into jobs so that whatever we invest doesn’t get vandalised the moment the construction workers move out.”

“Performance in the schools is improving …” Jude Laythwaite, the representative of the education department said tentatively.

“But how long will that take to work through, Jude?” Spencer came back sharply. “We need results now not in ten years’ time.” In ten years’ time, Longley thought unsympathetically, Spencer’s political career might have been destroyed by the impact of the lawless young. He was aware that the councillor’s sharp gaze was now focused in his direction.

“What chance more intensive policing, superintendent? Residents up there complain they never see a bobby until there’s a crisis.”

“We have a community officer up there most of the time,” Longley said mildly. “Like everything else, it’s a question of resources. I’d have thought your best bet was that project they’ve already started up there, give the kids some skills to get decent jobs …”