Chapter 1
Roberta inspected the man sitting at the other side of her desk and decided that she
didn`t like what she saw. He was altogether too relaxed, too confident, too self-assured
for someone in his position. There he sat, erect but with all the appearance of easy
nonchalance, one leg crossed over the other with the highly polished shoe swinging just
slightly. He`d contrived to do that without endangering the crease in the immaculate suit
he wore: dark blue: mohair, she judged, elegant, expensive, understated. Just like him: he
was a mass of understatement, from his artlessly unkempt yet somehow perfectly groomed
thick black hair to the even grey eyes, past his entirely unremarkable but subtly handsome
face to his fine-boned, long-finger hands, now crossed, relaxed but not limp, in his lap.
A combination of understatements that added up to something altogether too damned
handsome, composed and elegant than anyone had any right to be; something that the
unconscious mind recognised long before even a judiciously observant person could put a
finger on it.
He nettled her, sitting there with that calm serenity, his lips bearing the almost
infinitesimal hint of a smile. It was as if he was mocking not only her but also the world
around him; a world that she knew, instinctively, would fall at his feet if he as much as
hinted that it should. And she knew that he knew it, too, as certainly as anything could
be. Behind all that careful carelessness, on the other side of those level almost mocking
grey eyes was arrogance: a huge, overweening arrogance. He`d be hell on wheels with women,
she judged; probably had been since he`d been old enough to take an interest. He made her
angry.
She was good at hiding her feelings, just as she was good at judging people; it was part
of her job, and she was very good at that. But just in case anything showed, she bent her
head to the folder on the desk. It was an artifice, too: by taking her look from him, she
made a gesture of disinterest. She didn`t expect it to break that self-assurance, but it
might put a tiny dent in it.
Peter Ransome, she read. He`d have to have a name like that, wouldn`t he? Like the hero
in some cheap novel: 33 years of age, occupation: company director. That could cover a
multitude of sins and probably did; given some of the other so-called `company directors`
she`d had through her hands. She flipped the page; offence: assault with intent to which
he pleaded guilty; sentence: one year`s probation, awarded by... She blinked... Maude
Carter? How had he got away with that? Maude Carter was the hardest of the new breed of
magistrate; in the old days, she`d have been all for flogging, birching and deportation. A
plea of guilty to assault with intent would normally have her reaching for the guidelines
on maximal penalties and handing out a six-month jail sentence. Or had the smooth operator
sitting opposite her waggled his eyebrows at the 40-odd-year old magistrate? Anyone else
trying that would probably have collected a contempt charge, but she fancied that this one
might just have got away with it. Well, he might have smarmed his way round Maude Carter,
but he was getting away with nothing as far as Roberta Richards was concerned.
Ransome examined the woman with considerably more approval than she had him. Her
distaste for him had shown, despite her practised impassivity: a tiny tension in the
shoulders, a faint hint of anger in the eyes. It didn`t bother him; in fact, he rather
admired her for it. Women fell under his spell far too easily; to find one that didn`t was
something of a relief. But then he`d know she`d react like that, just as he knew that
Roberta Roberts was 26 years old, unmarried, unattached and more than just a little
attractive. She was five feet eight in height, weighed ten stones exactly, had thick
blonde hair - of which she was inordinately proud - cut to shoulder length, a perfect
complexion that required and received no make-up other than a hint of lipstick. He knew
her measurements, too, though it was hard to believe them, given the severity of the
clothes she wore; it was odd that a woman who took such pride in her hair could hide the
rest of herself so effectively. Even away from the office, she dressed similarly; no one
could possibly have told from looking at her that she had a figure that more than one film
star would kill for.
He knew all that because he`d made it his business to know. He knew a few other things,
too; the principal one was that Roberta Richards was a hellion of the first order. She
made life hell for anyone who came into contact with her, particularly her colleagues. Not
because she was ambitious: if she had been, she`d have chosen something other than the
Probation Service as a career. Nor was she sexually dominant; his researches had indicated
a remarkable lack of sexual activity of any kind, with either gender. It might have been
some deep-seated frustration that Ransome wasn`t qualified or interested enough to probe,
but the fact was that Roberta Richards was a right royal pain in the arse.
Her hands came down on the open folder and she looked up, holding his level gaze.
"You," she said, icily, "are a very lucky man, Ransome."
He inclined his head while his lips twitched slightly. "Indeed I am," he said.
His voice was baritone with just a hint of gravel, as assured and confident as everything
else about him.
There was no inflection in what he said, nor any overt sign of what she could consider
impertinence. But Roberta was not the sort of woman to let even a slight ambiguity pass
by. "Understand one thing from the outset," she said, her voice bleak. "You
have been assigned to me because you pleaded guilty to a serious offence. Just how you
managed to charm your way round the magistrates is no concern of mine, except that you
should, in my opinion, be serving a prison sentence at this very moment. But I warn you
now that I am impervious to any and all tricks, ruses and stratagems; I`ve seen them all,
so don`t bother."
Those grey eyes didn`t falter. "I quite understand," he said, his voice as
level as the look.
"Good. Then understand something else while you`re about it. You are on probation
for one year. I am your probation officer. That means that I have the power, if I so
choose to refer you back to the court for a review of your sentence. That, in turn, means
jail, which I`ve already said I think you deserve. So if I were you, Ransome, I`d tread
very carefully indeed."
"I will follow your advice to the letter. I am entirely in your hands."
The sheer equanimity of the man nettled her even more. He wasn`t even slightly nervous,
rebellious, angry, defiant or just plain scared, all emotions she`d seen in those who`d
sat where he was sitting. It was as if he was discussing the cut of a new suit with his
tailor rather than having his first interview with his probation officer. It goaded her
into going further than she`d intended. "I might as well tell you that there are two
or three things against you from the start: you have never expressed any remorse for what
you did; you brutally assaulted a woman: I don`t like men who hit woman. And last of all,
I don`t like YOU, Ransome." That last was going too far, she knew, but he showed no
sign that he heard it.
"The girl was a burglar; she was in my house, stealing my property."
"That is no excuse for a brutal assault!"
"I put her across my knee and spanked her. It seemed appropriate."
"Your ideas of what`s appropriate and those of the law are at considerable
variance, Ransome. And it isn`t going to help you at all if that attitude of yours doesn`t
start changing, and changing fast. I..." A tap on the door interrupted her. She
glared at it. "In," she called.
It opened hesitantly and a young, apprehensive face peered round; the office junior,
Sandra. She`d worked in the office for only three weeks and had already felt the sharp
side of Ms Richards` tongue: hence the nervousness on her face. With good reason: the
fierce expression on Roberta`s face deepened into an angry scowl.
"Are you blind, you pathetic little ignoramus? Or are you just plain stupid? What
does a red light outside a door mean? Or are you such an ignorant cretin that you don`t
know?" she snapped.
The girl, who`d advanced a step into the office, but who`d kept the door protectively
between her and Roberta, having felt the woman`s anger before, flinched; her lower lip
trembled and tears sprang to terrified eyes. "M....mister Collins said..." she
began.
"I don`t CARE what Mister Collins said," Roberta snapped, red spots appearing
on her cheekbones. "You don`t burst into an office when there`s a client interview
going on, EVER. So go back and tell Mr Collins that we need a junior with a lot more sense
than you`ve ever had in the feather-brained head of yours. Now go away, you idiot!"
The girl hesitated for a moment, then burst into tears and left, closing the door behind
her. Through it, they could hear the diminishing sound of sobs as she fled. Roberta turned
angry eyes back to Ransome. His expression hadn`t changed; it was as if the episode had
never happened. He held her gaze, quite calmly for a moment then let it slide away to the
desk. She followed it, to the two small buttons, one red, one green. The green one glowed.
She`d forgotten to push the red one.
With an entirely casual motion, she reached out and pushed the red one now, looking back
at him challengingly. Once again, there was no change, except that the merest suggestion
of a smile twitched at the corners of his mouth. She wanted to hit him. A deep breath
controlled that surge of anger, but she vowed that she`d have him jumping through hoops to
keep himself from going back to court. She decided to push that point home.
"Remember, Ransome, that I`m in charge of your life for the next twelve months. I
want to see you here at nine sharp every Wednesday. No excuses. I want to see a full
description of your activities in writing and I will have to come to inspect your
house." She glanced at her watch. "Now, I don`t have any more time for you. Ask
at the reception desk for the information folder. Read it. I will call at your home
tomorrow at three in the afternoon. Be there." She snapped the folder closed.
"That`s all. Don`t bother offering to shake hands or perform any other conventional
ritual. Just close the door behind you." She hadn`t bothered covering the areas that
the law said she should cover, nor had she explained what her responsibilities were. She
didn`t care: if he got it wrong and landed himself back in court, then that`s what he
deserved. Roberta believed strongly in justice: her sort of justice.
He paused at the door. "It will be a pleasure," he said.
She opened her mouth to reply, then paused as the odd expression he`d used sank in. By
the time she`d recovered, the door had closed. "Smart-arse smoothie," she
muttered, jabbing at the green button with more force than necessary. As she did it, the
telephone rang.
* * * *
Paul Collins was a big man in his mid-forties. He`d been muscular, but like many
semi-fit rugby-playing men, time had begun to turn the muscle to flab. It had worked on
his hair, too, so that what Roberta saw as she entered his office was a man past his
physical best. And in Roberta`s opinion, not too good in the mental stakes either; she
regarded him as a weakling, someone she`d been able to dominate quite easily in previous
encounters.
"Sit down, Roberta," he said. He looked uncomfortable and nervous.
She took her time about it then grabbed the initiative. "I suppose that this is
about that idiot junior?" she said.
"Er, yes, it is. And, er, one or two other things." He fiddled with a pencil.
"Look, Roberta, we`ve had this discussion before and I`ve asked you before to try a
little harder to get on with your colleagues. Now we`ve got young Sandra having hysterics.
And it wasn`t her fault, you know. That light was green, I saw it myself only a few
minutes before."
"The girl`s an incompetent. I must have put the light on after you saw it."
Which was true enough.
"She`s not the only you`ve upset," he pressed, becoming a little more
confident. "I`ve had several more complaints from other members of staff. You really
do have a somewhat abrasive way with people." He took a deep breath. "It can`t
go on."
She raised her eyebrows. "Are you asking me to resign?" she asked. "If
so, I`m only too happy to accommodate you." She opened her handbag, took out an
envelope and handed it to him. "It`s not sealed; you can read it."
He looked relieved, yet puzzled. Sliding the folded sheet from the envelope, he unfolded
the sheet of paper and read it, his expression clearing to one of barely-suppressed joy.
Roberta had been a thorn in side ever since she`d been in the office and now he held her
resignation in his hand. It felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
"Of course, she continued, "I`ll be following that one with this." She
held up another envelope.
His eyes narrowed; he frowned, suddenly wary. "I don`t understand," he said.
She handed him the envelope. "Read it," she suggested.
He did so, his expression changing from puzzlement to shock as the colour drained from
his face, leaving it grey. His hands shook so badly that the paper slipped from them; as
it did, his head rose and he gazed at her with anguished eyes from an ashen face.
"It....it`s .... It`s a lie," he croaked. "not a word of truth in
it!"
"Isn`t there?" she replied, reaching out to take the paper from his
unresisting fingers and slipping it back into its envelope. "That`s not what Karen
told me. And Tracy. When I twisted their arms a bit, that is." She shook her head,
tut-tutting. "How many years do you think they`d give a senior probation service
officer who messes about with his female clients? Sixteen-year old clients, at
that."
"It`s not true! You can`t prove any of this!" he croaked.
"I won`t have to. Just think of the fun and games you`ll have while they
investigate. They`ll turn up something, I`m sure." She tucked the envelope back into
her handbag. "You can keep the letter of resignation," she said. "Just
remember what`ll follow it, won`t you? Oh, and get rid of that bloody junior, all
right?"
His head had gone down as she spoke. As she rose to her feet, he stayed in the bowed
position, the picture of a broken man. It had taken less than three minutes.
"All right?" she repeated.
"Yes, all right, Roberta," he said, his voice broken.
As she left the office, she exulted. Not only did she have power over the egregious
Ransome, but now she`d beaten down Collins, too. She could do exactly what she wanted and
no one could stop her.
Back in the office she`d just left, Collins wiped his brow with a handkerchief, his hand
still shaking. Then he reached for the telephone and punched a number.
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