Sidney Chambers and The Shadow of Death (The Grantchester Mysteries)

cocktail waitress with black harlequin glasses approached with a tray of cigarettes. Keating asked for a packet of Players while Sidney declined. As he did so the waitress smiled.
    ‘Stylish suit,’ she said.
    Sidney was cheered. ‘I like your spectacles.’
    ‘Must make a change from all that clobber you have to wear on Sundays.’
    ‘How do you know I’m a priest?’
    ‘My brother pointed you out.’
    Sidney guessed. ‘Are you Johnny’s sister?’
    ‘I’m Claudette.’
    ‘An unusual name . . .’
    ‘I think my parents wanted another boy but Claude’s a funny name too, isn’t it? People call me Claudie, Claudie Johnson. Sure you don’t want a cigarette?’
    ‘No, thanks. There are just the four of you then?’
    ‘Three. My Mum died when I was six. I’m Daddy’s girl. I’m sure he’ll come and say hello.’
    Sidney worried that the inspector might recognise Phil ‘the Cat’, but hoped that a criminal who had done his time should be regarded as an innocent man in the eyes of the law.
    He noticed that Claudette was so pale that her eyes appeared very dark. They were like a pair of jet earrings that had fallen in snow. ‘I’d best move on,’ she continued. ‘But you have a good evening, won’t you, gentlemen? Put the troubles of the world behind you. And if there is any trouble just come and find me.’
    ‘Trouble?’ Inspector Keating asked.
    ‘We get some funny types in here.’ Claudette leaned in so close that Sidney could smell her chewing gum. ‘Some of Dad’s old friends. Money in dark corners, that kind of thing. But if you stay by the bar and keep in the light you’ll be all right.’ Claudette gave him a little wink. ‘Stay cool, OK?’
    ‘I’ll do my best.’
    Inspector Keating looked alarmed. ‘I hope there’s not going to be any nonsense.’
    ‘I wouldn’t worry about that, Geordie.’
    He looked across to see Phil ‘the Cat’ Johnson coming over to greet them. Clearly his daughter had tipped him off. He was a large man with a pockmarked face and a belly like a barrel of beer. He called out to his friends by name as he approached, ordered up drinks and told jokes that he then ruined by laughing through the punch line. ‘Have another beer, Sid. I know what you did for our boy.’
    ‘It was nothing, Mr Johnson.’
    ‘You stuck up for him. That’s more than nothing. Who’s your friend?’
    ‘Geordie Keating,’ the inspector replied.
    ‘I’m pleased to meet you, Geordie. You keeping this clergyman out of trouble?’
    ‘I’m doing my best. Sometimes trouble finds him.’
    ‘Well, I’m sure there won’t be any of that malarkey tonight. The singer’s a corker and the band are great. You both relax and, if there’s anything you need, just come and find me, all right? No one messes with me.’
    ‘I can’t imagine they do,’ Sidney observed.
    ‘They wouldn’t dare!’
    The room began to fill with more people and more smoke, so much so that Sidney worried whether he would actually be able to see Gloria Dee when she came on stage; but, as soon as she emerged from the darkness, his anxiety melted away.
    The first chord sounded on the piano, followed by a walking bass and light drum accompaniment. Sidney did not think he had ever been so exhilarated. Gloria smiled at the audience, shook her body to the rhythm, and began to sing ‘All of Me’.
    She stood at a microphone, only yards in front of him. Her white satin dress accentuated her dark skin and she wore ribbons in her hair. Her voice was like honey, like molasses, like Guinness, like whisky, like wine. She stretched out the vowels of the lyrics, each one a different piece of elastic, and sang little pieces of scat in between the lines, so that it sounded as if she was singing in a language Sidney had never heard before. She was unpredictable, flirtatious, sensual and sad. She sang ‘That Ole Devil Called Love’, ‘T’Aint Nobody’s Business if I Do’, ‘You’re My Thrill’, and the daring number: ‘Judge, Judge, Lordy Mr Judge, Send Me to th’Electric Chair.’
    Inspector Keating leaned over. ‘She’s quite a girl.’
    Sidney thought that this, truly, was heaven. Gloria then sang a song that she said she had composed when the band was on tour in Paris. It was after the explosions at Bikini Atoll in March and she had been thinking about the atomic bomb.
     
    ‘Four minutes
    Just four minutes to Midnight
    Four minutes
    I just want four more minutes with you
    ‘If the world ends
    Then the