He could hear his mother's voice. She seemed to be always in the kitchen, or always at the dinner table, planning or hosting dinners. She would say, "Soup should always be spooned away from you dear, " or "...fork in the left hand, knife in the right!" You could hear her exclaim at the table, "Thomas, do NOT scrape your plate!" or "That spoon is not for the desert Thomas, the soup dear, the soup!"
Bishop's brother always had a hard time with formal eating etiquette. Bishop on the other hand understood things like, men and women should be alternately seated, and the wine glass closest to you is for sherry and the the one farthest is for water and you should always bring a gift for the host and hostess. But this particular dinner would prove difficult.
Elizabeth had returned to Bishop's quarters to find Bishop and a seemingly drunk older man who was in the middle of a diatribe, something about unnecessary procedures and his men's morale. Bishop was clearly not listening and seemed to have been waiting for Elizabeth to arrive for some time. She began to equivocate regarding her whereabouts. Why was she holding back? Bishop thought. Who could she be protecting? The thoughts of a detective to be sure, but Bishop didn't just view Elizabeth as an asset with information, he had walked quickly back to his apartment to make sure she was alright. Her safety was what he told himself was important. Her health, he repeated in his mind. That's what made him rush back, he felt certain, her health.
"Are you sure you are feeling better? He asked after her ambiguous story about meeting an old friend.
"Yes, yes...I'm fine." She said, eyeing Harry.
Bishop had introduced Harry to Elizabeth. Harry, after looking Elizabeth up and down, went to the bar.
"You found enough in my fridge?" Bishop asked, putting his arm on Elizabeth's shoulder. Elizabeth wasn't sure what to make of this Harry. Exactly how much did he know about their...condition?
"Yes" she said quickly, moving away from Bishop's hand. She moved across the room, she wanted to tell Bishop everything, she was even planning to on her walk back, what words to say, how to explain everything, but now there was this human, this cop. Bishop could sense her unease.
"Harry, I'll need clearance with your boys to look over her apartment and I want a car this time. Be a good kid and do what you do best, go order people around." Harry smiled and finished off his drink. "I shall take leave of you both." With an exaggerated bow and a chuckle, he opened the door. But before he stepped out, he looked over his shoulder and said,
"You better be careful you two, the sun is almost up."
Elizabeth would have looked more surprised if she wasn't so tired. "How...?" She began. But Bishop ignored her. "Who is this old friend, and what possessed you to visit her in the middle of the night? Is she...?"
"Human?" Elizabeth finished. "Barely." She went on. "Mary Redgrave was married to Charles Redgrave, he was...how shall I put this, a fixer, in the Government Communications Headquarters. He worked closely with MI5 during the war. It's where I met him. He knew Lesie Lanchester, you've heard right? Mary always thought they were having an affair. I thought she might know something. I though I could..."
"Did she?" Bishop interrupted, a little amazed at the coincidence. His run in with Elizabeth seemed desultory, but perhaps their chance encounter was something else. He had explained his work to Elizabeth, but failed to mentioned that she had begun his investigation and had a suspect before he had even changed his tie.
"Ms. Redgrave, though loquacious, was brief on the subject."
"Ms" Bishop repeated, pouring himself and Elizabeth a glass. He was drawing the drapes on his windows as Elizabeth said, "Charlie died during the war...She invited us to dinner."
"Us?" Bishop repeated while finishing covering the windows. He made the gesture to take off his jacket but hesitated. Pieces of manners that seemed to have no use in this world still lingered in his muscles. He would of blushed at his faux pas if he had had a heartbeat...but more importantly it was 1946, men could remove their jackets without a lady's approval. Sometimes it was hard to remember.
"Yes, tomorrow. Mary will have some kind of trickery planned for us. Nothing dangerous, just socially uncomfortable. Like Harry, she can spot us easily."
"Do you think she killed Lesie?" Bishop asked, lighting his cigarette, staining the end red with the blood that still lingered on his tongue. "I can see you hate this Ms. Redgrave, but do you really think she is capable of murd-"
"Murder. Yes." Elizabeth sad down, twirling her hair with her fingers. "I think she's capable of anything."
"Well then." Bishop sighed. " I guess we will have to give her a gift. Wine or chocolate?"
Elizabeth smiled. She could get to the bottom of this. Bishop was on her side. She took off her coat and laid down on the couch. The sun was rising and she would need some rest before dinner at eight with Ms. Redgrave.
