Shaping the Ripples by Paul Wallington Page A

about more cheerful things,” she suggested.
    Perhaps the wine was helping the process, but we seemed to naturally fall into relaxed conversation. It was soon clear that Katie was a dangerous combination of qualities – not just beautiful but also intelligent, witty and kind. Most refreshingly she seemed to savour life, laughing out loud when something amused her. I couldn’t remember an evening when I’d enjoyed someone’s company so much.
    The desserts came and went and suddenly Ian Jacobs was banging on the table to bring the room to a hush. “Ladies and gentlemen, I trust you’ve all enjoyed your meal.” There was a general buzz of approval around the room. Ian continued,
    “The tradition is that you now have to pay for the meal by listening to me making a speech. Just to warn you I’ll be starting in about ten minutes. The bar is open in the room next door, so if you need something to fortify yourselves before the speeches, this is your chance.”
    He sat down, so I turned back to Katie and asked if she wanted anything.
    “I’d probably better start sobering up,” she mused. “A glass of mineral water would be nice.”
    I made my way out of the room and towards the bar where a scrum was already forming. Waiting for my turn, I heard a voice behind me. “Enjoying your evening, Mr. Bailey?”
    I knew who it was at once and, with a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach, turned to face Michael Palmer.
    “I hadn’t realised that you were a member of the Executive Club, Detective Inspector.”
    His face wore an amused look. “Thought us dumb policemen too lowly to be invited, did you? In fact I’ve been a member for a few years. I don’t often get to the meetings, but when I heard you were going to be speaking to us, I couldn’t wait to see you in action.”
    Fortunately just then I reached the front of the queue and so was spared from having to come up with a suitable reply. When I took the drinks back to our place, Katie sensed a change in my mood, but seemed to think it was just nerves about the coming speeches, and encouraged me not to worry.
    Ian Jacobs soon banged on the table again, and the room fell silent.
    “Ladies and gentlemen, you will be pleased to hear that my speech tonight will be brief.”
    He paused while there was some cheering and applause, before going on. The first part of his speech reviewed the work of the club, and paid tribute to those who had helped to run the thing. There were a lot of jokes, many of them clearly referring to people or incidents that neither Katie or I had heard of but, judging by the loud guffaws around the room, they were much appreciated by the rest of the audience. After about ten minutes, Ian’s face turned serious.
    “Of course, it’s a great privilege to be a member of the Executive Club. You are all here because you are at the very top of York society. All of you have succeeded in your chosen professions to the extent that you have a major influence on the society around you. That’s why a key part of what we do is to try and give something back to the city and area in which we have prospered. Whatever our religious beliefs, or lack of them, as we approach Christmas, it seems an especially apposite time to think of those in our community who aren’t faring so well. Some weeks ago, I became aware of a remarkable institution that works at the very heart of our city. So impressed was I by what they do, that I’ve invited some of them along this evening to share their experiences with you.”
    He paused, and slowly gazed around the room. There was no doubt that he was an outstanding communicator; every eye was fixed on him.
    “To begin their presentation, I would like to introduce to you Mr. George Bantry of the York Domestic Crisis Centre.”
    As Ian sat down and George took his feet, there was polite applause. He gave them a quick overview of the history of the Crisis Centre, the work we did, and a summary of our current difficult financial