“Your Russian accent is rubbish, love.” He twisted to smile up at her to show the criticism was good-humoured.
“I'm just glad you're alive.” She leaned froward to kiss the top of his head again. “It's not like I don't get the reference, is it? We've been watching the same telly programs for almost years.” She resumed walking, crossing the concourse with its clutch of outpatients and accident victims.
“Wait!” White pointed to a couple sporting makeshift bandages with a female police officer standing next to them with a cup of tea from the cafeteria. “Take me over there.”
“You heard the doctor. Bed rest for three days followed by a week of light activities. He said nothing about interfering with uniform over what looks to be a domestic ABH case.”
“But that's DC Akins. The one we were talking about. I'd like your to meet her.”
“Why? I don't need to meet your officers. Apart from Simon. I like him.”
“It's more the point I want her to meet you. If you have a quiet word it'll nip any complaints about me in the bud.”
“Ooh, I should have known there was an ulterior motive.” She parked him at the end of a row of screwed-to-the-floor plastic chairs and beckoned at DC Atkins who seemed to be in a world of her own.
“You'll have to go over and give the dozy cow a nudge.”
“It's saying things like that that's kept you as a DI for the last fifteen years.” Beryl gave him a sharp nudge. “That brand of casual sexism went out with The Sweeney.”
“Oh, not to worry. The vic's spotted you signalling.”
Sure enough, the female of the couple caught DC Atkins' attention and pointed across to White and Beryl, whereupon she pulled out an earphone, spoke sharply to the couple and strode across the concourse toward them.