He scribbled: Skinny. Insubordinate! ‘Look — remove your hat, will you?’
She took off her hat and placed it on her lap.
Joe stared at her hair in surprise. ‘Always interesting to see what you’re hiding under those domes. Glad to see it’s just a dolly-mop of hair and not a bomb.’ He glanced again at her thick bob and scribbled a note on a pad. ‘Tell me — again for the record — how would you describe the colour of your hair? Blonde?’
‘Say straw, sir. If it could possibly be of any interest to anyone.’
Joe thought Miss Wentworth’s shining flaxen hair would interest any man. He busied himself for an annoying moment or two, unconvincingly jotting a further note: Hair — fair, fashionably cut. Brows and lashes darker. Green? eyes. V. pretty … and cut himself short.
He was making a pig’s ear of this.
Should he have delegated the unwelcome task to his super? To his Branch man? Joe reassured himself by remembering both men’s lack of experience with the fair sex and their declared antagonism to the Working Woman. No, neither officer could have gone one round with this sample. He was becoming increasingly certain his choice was a good one. He just had to make the right approaches.
He settled back in his chair, trying for friendly and approachable. ‘Now, before I tell you why you’re here …’ he indicated the file with her number on the cover, ‘I’d like to congratulate you on your prompt and decisive action at the station. I’ve entered a commendation on your file. Would you like me to read it out for you?’
‘Thank you. Very good of you, sir. I’ll take it as read.’ And, sweetly: ‘I’m sure my commanding officer could have passed that on and saved you the trouble.’
And, of course, she was right. A man of his rank didn’t concern himself with the actions, however creditable, of a lowly policewoman.