Licensed to Spy

by Barbara Davies

  “Hungry?” The pale blue eyes that Jemma couldn’t get enough of regarded her.

  “Yes. Who would have thought staying in bed all day could use up so much energy?”

  Ash winked. “It’s what you do in bed that counts.”

  Jemma laughed. “No wonder I’m starving.”

  Her stomach had decided that, nice though bread and honey was, it needed something more substantial. Given the choice between ordering a takeaway or being driven to a restaurant just over the Hertfordshire border, which did great pub grub according to Ash, she had opted for the latter. The exotic food of the Canaries and Brazil had been delicious, but now she had a hankering for plain English fare.

  In the distance was a level crossing. Its red-and-white poles were in the vertical position, the flashing lights dark. They roared towards it without slowing, and Jemma’s guts tightened.

  “If you want me to slow down, just say so,” said Ash.

  Must’ve seen the white knuckles. “You do seem to like going fast.”

  Ash grinned. “With a car like this, it would be a waste not to.”

  Jemma was reluctant to deprive Ash of her fun. “I’m fine. Go ahead.”

  “Thanks.” At the last minute possible, Ash braked. The tyres bumped over the railway tracks, then they were across and picking up speed once more. Unclenching her fists, Jemma gazed at the passing scenery, now tinged with sunset pink.

  Small villages with picturesque greens and duck ponds flashed past, and, in one case, a set of public stocks that could have come straight out of an episode of The Avengers. Outside a pub, locals sat on benches, enjoying a pint. Heads turned as they zoomed past, and one man raised his pint in salute. Ash grinned and waved in return, and the last Jemma saw in the rear view mirror his friends were pounding him on the back.

  What was this restaurant they were going to? The something Hart? She turned to ask Ash, but just then the Mercedes slowed, and Ash changed down a gear.

  “Not far now.” Ash took the next turnoff left.

  High hedges just bursting into leaf obscured the view on either side as Ash took the lane at a fast clip. Jemma bit her lip and tried not to think about cars coming the other way.

  “How did you find this restaurant in the first place?” she asked. “I haven’t seen any signs.”

  Ash tapped the side of her nose with one finger and grinned.

  Up ahead a fork in the road appeared, and she took the right branch. The hedges were a little lower along this stretch, and beyond them Jemma saw rolling fields and copses. A hundred yards further along was a drive bracketed by two pillars topped with stone urns. Its iron gates stood open, and Ash turned in, her tyres sending up a spray of gravel.

  At the far end of the long, winding drive, surrounded by trees—and was that a lake in the distance?—lay a massive Georgian country house. Ignoring the imposing main entrance, Ash drove round to the side, where a strip of gravel awaited them, almost full of parked vehicles. A signpost sporting the words The White Hart and a silhouette of a stag and a huntress—with those breasts it was definitely a huntress—pointed to what must once have been the tradesmen’s entrance.

  “I thought you said they did pub grub,” said Jemma. “This looks more like a Country House Hotel.”

  Ash parked next to a green Range Rover. “The restaurant’s in the basement. The rest of the house is private.” She got out, came round to Jemma’s side, and held open the door for her. “Shall we?”

  Jemma undid her seatbelt. “Thanks.”

  Hooking her arm through Ash’s elbow, she allowed herself to be led across crunching gravel. As they drew near to the restaurant entrance, music and laughter and delicious cooking smells wafted towards them, and her stomach gave an appreciative gurgle. They descended a few steps and went in, the low lintel of the doorway forcing Ash to duck her head. Inside, the room was surprisingly large. One end was taken up by a bar and the doors to what must be the kitchens, the rest was given over to tables, most of which seemed to be occupied by same-sex couples.

  The waitress saw Ash and arrowed towards her with a broad smile. “Nice to see you again, Miss Blade. Your table’s waiting.”

  She led them towards a table by the window, with two place settings. Ash pulled out Jemma’s chair and waited for her to take it, then took her own seat. Then the waitress lit the candle in the centre of the table with a lighter, and gave them two menus. While Jemma studied hers, Ash ordered a half bottle of the house red for Jemma and water for herself.

  “The roast beef’s good,” suggested the waitress. “And the Welsh lamb.” She glanced at Jemma in apology. “Sorry. I should have asked if you’re a vegetarian.”

  Jemma grinned. “No chance. Roast beef and Yorkshire pudding sounds great. I’ll have that.” And Banoffi Pie for afters?

  The waitress made a note.

  “Lamb, please. Rare.” Ash closed up the menu and handed it back. Jemma did the same. While the waitress bustled off, Ash glanced at her surroundings then back to Jemma. “So. What do you think?”

  “Nice.” Jemma leaned forward and lowered her voice. “But is everyone here gay?”

  Ash’s mouth quirked. “Well, it’s not compulsory.”

  “I know that. But what are the odds?”

  Ash shrugged. “Gay people feel comfortable here. Word gets around.”

  “Ah.” Jemma took a sip of her wine and listened to the tasteful background plink of guitar music. The White Hart didn’t believe in making its customers shout above the din, thank God.

  “The view’s not quite up to El Hierro, is it?” said Ash.

  Jemma followed her gaze. Twilight had blanketed the grounds—the restaurant could have been situated next to a gasworks for all Jemma could tell—so she returned her gaze to Ash and saw that her eyes were reflecting the flickering candle flame.

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Jemma smiled. “From here the view looks gorgeous.” She raised her glass in salute.

  Ash smiled. “Sweet talker.” She clinked her water glass against Jemma’s wineglass and took a sip. Then she cocked her head. “I’ve been thinking. All your friends call you JJ, don’t they? Should I do that too?”

  Jemma chewed her lower lip and considered. “No,” she said at last. “You’re much more than a friend.” Ash raised an eyebrow, and Jemma blushed as a memory of their recent lovemaking surfaced. “Besides. I like the way you say my name.”

  “Jemma,” said Ash with a smile.

  As usual, a thrill skittered down her spine. “Yes. Like that.”

  “Jemma it is then.” Ash clasped Jemma’s hand.

  A shadow loomed over them, and they looked up to see the server with their order. For the next ten minutes, conversation took second place to eating. The beef was indeed good. And the Yorkshire Pudding rivalled anything Jemma’s mother could have cooked.

  She eyed Ash’s nearly empty plate. “Good?”

  Ash nodded and raised the last forkful of lamb to her mouth.

  One of the two diners at the next table, a Stevie Nicks clone in an off-the-shoulder, green-and-pink dress, had been staring at Ash since they sat down. Jemma couldn’t blame her—even on an off day, Ash was striking—but it was getting tiresome. And God only knew what the woman’s companion, a jean-clad older woman with a close-cropped cap of grey cap, thought of such rude behaviour.

  “What is it?” Ash followed Jemma’s gaze.

  “Another admirer.” Jemma speared a roast potato on her fork and pretended it was the woman in green and pink.

  “Of you? She’s got good taste.” Aware of Ash’s gaze on her, the Stevie Nicks clone batted her eyelashes.

  Jemma’s patience snapped. “For God’s sake. She’s been making sheep’s eyes at you. Are you telling me you didn’t even notice?”

  “I sensed she was staring our way a lot. But it’s a free country.” Ash shrugged. “Anyway, she’s not my type.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean? If she was your type, you’d invite her over?”

  Ash
gave Jemma a quizzical look. “Of course not.”

  “Sorry,” she muttered, blushing. What was wrong with her?

  “I’m not.” Ash leaned towards her. “In fact I’m flattered.”

  “Flattered that I’m acting like a jealous idiot?”

  Ash smiled and nodded. “You’re going to have to learn to trust me more, though.”

  Is that what this is about? I’m feeling insecure? “I know.” Jemma sighed and hoped she got her equilibrium back soon, or she was going to be a fat lot of use to Ash on a mission.

  “I may have had my wicked way with you,” continued Ash, “but that doesn’t mean you’re going to wake up tomorrow and find me gone.”

  “Doesn’t it?” asked Jemma, in spite of herself.

  Ash rolled her eyes. “Of course not. And I’ll prove it to you again when we get home,” she said, her tone and expression turning sultry.

  Jemma felt a delicious tingle of anticipation. “Ooh.” But she felt a lot better and gave Ash a grateful smile.

  “As for her,” Ash jerked her thumb at the woman still ogling her, “I have a hunch she’s going to get her comeuppance any minu—”

  A loud slap interrupted Ash, and the woman’s grey-haired dinner companion stood up and marched towards the exit, leaving her gaping. For a moment longer she sat stunned, one hand pressed to her cheek, then she rose and hurried out.

  “Told you,” said Ash with a chuckle.

  “Serves her right,” muttered Jemma. She topped up her glass from the carafe of red wine. “I was thinking of ordering the Banoffi Pie for afters.”

  Ash blinked at the subject change but went along with it. “Have you got room? I can just about manage a sorbet, but that’s all.”

  “My family say I have hollow legs.”

  “Then go for it. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Ash signalled the waitress, who hurried over to clear away their plates and take their orders.

  When their desserts came, Jemma set to with gusto, but the portion size was enormous, and even she was soon flagging. “Oh dear.”

  Ash had picked at her lemon sorbet before setting it aside. She watched Jemma’s progress with wide-eyes. “Leave it. Or we’ll have to hire a forklift truck to get you out of here.”

  Jemma pouted. “But it’s much too delicious to waste.” She paused. “Do you think they could get a forklift in the door?”

  “No,” said Ash. “But there’s always the window.”

  JEMMA WAS GLAD Ash had decided to leave the hardtop retracted. It was fine April night, though a cold one, and the sky seemed even more full of stars than usual. Maybe that was just the effect romance had on her. She turned up her collar and glanced at Ash, who grinned back at her. Though she still felt embarrassed about her emotional wobble, Ash had apparently dismissed it from her thoughts. Jemma tried to do the same.

  “Tomorrow, I must pop back to Bethnal Green,” she said. “There’s probably a stack of bills waiting for me, and I need to do some laundry and make a few phone calls. Then I’ll come back to your place.” She hesitated. “If that’s okay?”

  Ash nodded. “I’ve got laundry and shopping to do too. And the fridge to defrost.” She changed up a gear.

  Jemma recognised the houses they were passing. It couldn’t be long now until the level crossing. A thought struck her. She had been meaning to ask Ash something—now was as good a time as any.

  “Remember I said I wanted to introduce you to my parents?” she asked, pleased her voice didn’t betray her edginess.

  “Yes,” said Ash, sounding wary.

  “Well, how about we go over there the day after tomorrow?”

  “If that’s what you want.”

  “I do.” Jemma heard a faint popping noise. It was probably just a car backfiring somewhere. It was hard to tell where it had come from, though, as the wind was gusting, sometimes whipping Ash’s words away.

  “That’s what we’ll do then,” said Ash.

  Up ahead, the level crossing came into view. This time the red-and-white striped poles were horizontal, the red lights flashing—a train must be due. Jemma waited for the Mercedes to slow.

  “Damn!”

  At Ash’s exclamation, Jemma turned her head. Ash was stamping on the brake, but the Mercedes continued on its way unchecked. “What’s happened?”

  “No brakes.” Ash changed down a gear, and Jemma braced herself for a grinding noise. None came. It was the same with the handbrake. Ash gave the steering wheel an experimental twitch from side to side—no effect. “Controls are screwed,” she said, without expression.

  Penknife in hand (where had that come from, wondered Jemma?) Ash ducked and fiddled beneath the dashboard. Seconds later, a panel popped free and she yanked at wires. Heart racing, Jemma reached over to take the steering wheel then realised there was no point. Oh God!

  A train had started over the crossing, and from its bright interior, bored faces gazed out into the night.

  “The train!” said Jemma.

  “We’re going to have to jump,” came Ash’s muffled voice—she was still bent double.

  “What?”

  Ash twisted her head to look at Jemma. “Jump.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t argue with me. We haven’t got time.”

  It was the grimness of Ash’s expression that decided her. Releasing her seat belt, which for a tense moment she thought had jammed, Jemma calculated the odds of a safe landing. The Mercedes was low slung, which would help, but at this speed they’d be lucky not to break any bones.

  The clanging of the crossing alarm was audible now, as was the thundering of the wheels on the track. Aboard the train, eyes widened as passengers registered the sports car racing towards them.

  “Ash? What are you doing?” said Jemma. “Come on!”

  Ash was still fiddling with the wires under the dashboard. “Right behind you.”

  Jemma eased herself up until she was standing, half crouching, on the passenger seat. The slipstream threatened to bowl her over, but she hung on to the headrest and slitted her eyes against stinging particles of pollen and dust.

  “Aim for somewhere soft,” shouted Ash. “And remember to tuck and roll.”

  Soft? Jemma regarded the kerb and pavement whizzing past with despair then took herself to task. Just do it.

  With one last glance at Ash and a prayer to the Almighty, she sucked in her breath and jumped.

  MORE BY LUCK than judgement, Jemma landed on hands and knees, but her momentum sent her rolling over and over, and she ended up dazed, nauseous, and breathless in someone’s garden hedge. For a timeless moment she lay stunned, then she scrambled to her feet.

  Where is she?

  The driverless Mercedes had almost reached the level crossing, she saw. Then a dark head bobbed up behind the steering wheel, and Jemma’s breath caught in her throat. You bloody idiot! You said you were right behind me. As she watched, the car swerved to the right. Has she got the steering back? Her fingernails dug into her palms, and she realised she was clenching her fists.

  With a little luck the car might miss the rear of the train, but first there was the level crossing’s half barrier to deal with. The bonnet slid under it with no trouble, but the windscreen wasn’t so lucky. An explosion of steel and glass made Jemma flinch, and, aboard the train, passengers gawped.

  Oh God oh God oh God oh God. Her hand went to her mouth. Then Ash’s head bobbed up again and her heart restarted, only to stop again as the left wing of the Mercedes clipped the rear of the train’s final carriage. The impact slewed the car sideways and sent it careering towards the half-barrier on the far side of the crossing.

  “Watch out!” she shrieked, just as Ash ducked back down and narrowly avoided being decapitated.

  On into the night racketed the London-bound train, its passengers pressing their noses to the windows, and as its clickety clack faded into the distance, Jemma ran after the Mercedes, which had spun out of sight. She was halfway over the crossing when the night b
reeze brought a loud crump to her ears. Heart in her mouth, she slowed and shaded her eyes against the fluorescent glare of a lamppost.

  A hundred yards down the road, in the middle of what had once been someone’s garden wall but was now a tumble of bricks, the car had come to a rest. From its crumpled bonnet smoke curled, and as she watched, flames flickered into life. Frantic, she started towards it, but she had gone barely three steps when movement in a garden to her right made her halt.

  A large clump of marram grass was shivering, its movements too irregular, too jerky to be caused by the night breeze. As she regarded it in puzzlement, the fronds parted, and a dishevelled figure emerged. Jemma gaped in utter relief.

  “Ash!” She flung herself forward.

  “Oof!” Ash staggered under the impact of Jemma’s embrace and sat down. If the clump of grass hadn’t been damaged before, it was now.

  All along the road, lights were going on and windows and doors opening as the residents came out to see what all the uproar was about. By now the Mercedes was burning fiercely, and Jemma could hear sirens in the distance.

  With all her strength she hugged Ash. “You’re all right. I can’t believe it. You’re all right.”

  “Yeah. Tore my jacket though.” Ash fingered a rip in the soft black leather of one sleeve and frowned. “What is it with me and jackets?” Her expression softened as she turned to regard Jemma. “What about you?”

  “Me?” Adrenaline was a wonderful thing, reflected Jemma. Only now were the heels of her hands beginning to sting. As for her knees, the thick denim of her jeans had taken the brunt of the impact. “Just grazes. Getting the wind knocked out of me was the worst.”

  Ash smiled and hugged her. “Must have been our lucky night. Though we won’t think so tomorrow when we wake up feeling like a couple of old crocks.”

  A fire engine arrived, and Jemma watched the crew tumble out and start to deal with the burning car. “Looks like it’s a write-off.”

  “Damn.” Ash sighed. “I loved that car.”

  “Buy yourself another one.”