I let out a small breath of relief. James obviously hadn’t told Luke about the phone call, which was just as well. I’d had to work out a cover story rivalling The Da Vinci Code in its impenetrable complexities to prevent Luke from finding out exactly how much I knew about his activities, and I wasn’t one hundred percent sure of being able to remember it without cue cards.
Oooh, and that was a big, filthy lie there, Mr. Fry.
“Great. Anyway, I’ll always hold a share of the cars, as security. So I know you won’t rip me off, ha ha.” Ha bloody ha, indeed.
Luke and I finished dinner and I pretended annoyance at not being able to take up his offer of “going back to the flat for a bottle of champagne”. I told him to put it on ice for me. With any luck it would get frostbite and drop off.
“Goodnight then, Willow.” He dropped me at my front door, his attempted vigorous kiss being narrowly averted by my pretended interest in next-door’s cat on the wall. “See you in a couple of days?”
“Not tomorrow?” More pretended annoyance.
“Well, I’m a bit busy. Got some architect coming round with plans for the showroom interiors. Several companies are pitching for it, so I like to be there in person to see what they’re offering. Anyway, you’re off to the council tomorrow, aren’t you? And then it’s the weekend and I’m going to Wales to visit Da.”
“Maybe we should save ourselves for next weekend then. And,” I dropped my voice flirtatiously, “by then I should have the all clear from the doctor. I’m rather hoping to give you an absolutely unforgettable time.”
“Sounds good to me. I’ll pop in and see you, to make sure it’s all okay.” He revved the engine of the big black car (I wondered who it really belonged to) and set off.
I did a little pavement dance of glee and hopped into the Metro, which Luke had failed to notice parked at the end of the road. Cal was sitting inside reading Jasper Fforde and wearing a huge Panama hat as a disguise.
“He’s gone for it. Weekend after this. Will that give us long enough? How are the boys getting on?”
Cal pulled the hat off and shook his hair free. “Pretty bloody well, since you ask. I know how to pick a team and I think they’re impressed with you. Firstly, the deviousness of your mind, and secondly I told them about the thing with the melon.”
“It wasn’t a melon, it was a tangerine, and kindly don’t bandy details of my private life about with your mates.”
“Aw, go on.”
“Well, all right, but only the stuff that makes me sound good.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
I was kept waiting at the council office. One of the people concerned hadn’t turned up, so instead of being met in reception and taken to my destination, I found myself kicking my heels and engaging Vivienne Parry in conversation. Which wasn’t difficult. I had the feeling that the woman could chat equally well to a delegation of nuclear physicists or a round of tuna sandwiches. (Although what either of these would be doing hanging around the York Council Roads Department, I couldn’t imagine.)
I learned that she’d worked at the council for ten years, four of them in the Roads department, that Mr. Parry was a teacher of English, and that she’d been extremely overworked lately. “What with Nadine taking so long off sick and one of the other girls on maternity leave, it’s been busy, busy, busy.”
I took a sip of the coffee she’d made me. It was highly sugared and not really to my taste, but better than nothing. “I was at university with Nadine, you know.”
“Yes, she mentioned, when you were first here. That was about the last time she was at work, actually, now I come to think about it, poor girl. Practically had a nervous breakdown in the Ladies that day, sobbing her heart out, she was. I told her, no man’s worth putting yourself through that much pain, but she wouldn’t have it. Apparently he’s the love of her life, although quite why she thinks that of a man who’s treated her so appallingly, I don’t know.”
“It’s surprising what you’ll put up with when you’re in love,” I said, thinking of Luke. “Or, at least, when you imagine you’re in love.”
“I think”—Vivienne lowered her voice and I bent in close—“that he might have got her pregnant and that’s why she’s been off so long. Apparently, them upstairs have given her indefinite leave, which is what often happens when there’s an unfortunate event.” She threw a significant look at the ceiling. I supposed she meant the collective council bosses, rather than a pantheon of gods.
“Fancy getting pregnant by someone who’s that unreliable.” At least that was one mistake I hadn’t had to tick off in my Eye Spy Book of Terrible Misfortunes.
“Yes, from all accounts he’s a real smoothy. Had all the chat, took her to expensive restaurants, spent a fortune on her, and then gave her a real runaround.”
“They’re always the worst.”
“Yes.” Vivienne sighed wistfully, and I got the impression that Mr. Parry could never have been accused of being a real smoothy. “Poor Nadine.”
There was just something in her inflexion. Nadine. “What was his name, did you say?”
Vivienne shook her head. It took several moments for her chins to stop moving, but when they did, she said, “I’m sure she mentioned it, but I can’t say I was really paying attention. You know how things are. Although, hold on a moment.” A hatch in the desk opened and I was beckoned through, and ushered into an inner office. “There’s a photo, there, on her desk. She may have written his name on it.”
It had to be Nadine’s desk. No one else, outside of Barbie’s fan club, would have had such an arrangement of pink, fluffy items of dubious provenance. There was even a pink pony, for heaven’s sake. And a little troll. Had this woman no shame? The picture had been taken on a cheap camera, with the resulting grainy effect, and it didn’t look as though he’d even known she was taking it. Nevertheless, there he was, wearing the blue shirt I liked so much and those lovely chinos that hugged his bottom so tightly. “Luke.”
“You know him?” Vivienne shoved the picture back. Obviously a surge of loyalty to Nadine was wading its way to her surface. “Then, could you please ask him to sort things out with Nadine?”
“I’m not sure how I’d go about that,” I muttered to myself. “So, Nadine’s been having a bad time with him since I turned up here?”
“Oh, a little before that, I think it started. A couple of weeks or so. She was quite quiet about it at first, but then one day I found her in the kitchen in tears, and she told me that her boyfriend was seeing another woman. But apparently it was all right because this other woman was going to invest some money in his business. He’s a designer, clothes or some such, and he was sweet-talking around her, taking her out, wining and dining her until she handed over the money. But poor Nadine was convinced there was more to it than that, and you can’t reason with someone when they’re in that state, can you?”
A few more pieces of the puzzle slotted together. Nadine would have recognised my name from the letters she’d been asked to type. She must have mentioned to Luke that someone she knew stood to get a lot of money, maybe even shown him a copy of the letters, letters he’d then told her not to post. Therefore, letters I’d not known about until after Luke had picked me up in the bar. And Nadine would have been able to describe me to Luke, adding the details about what I’d been like at uni. He hadn’t remembered me at all.
He’d cooked this whole thing up. Nadine knew Katie, would have known that we all went drinking in the Grape and Sprout after work. He’d only have to hang around for a few days before bumping into me. Having groomed himself into looking almost exactly as he had ten years ago. My skin flushed an unsightly puce. She must have known I’d had an insane crush on him. After all most of the English department did. She’d had to stay working here until she could confirm to Luke that I’d found out about the inheritance, knowing all the time that she’d have to meet me face-to-face. Why had she done it? Well, that was a stupid question, Luke could have persuaded the Pope to fall
in love with him. Oh God, poor, poor Nadine. The cow.
“Oh, look, here’s John come to take you down to the test site.” Mrs. Parry was obviously relieved to be shot of me, although not as relieved as I was to be leaving. The final item had fallen into place. It really had all been about the money. Luke hadn’t accidentally met me, hadn’t recognised the woman he’d fancied at university—had, instead, scripted, staged and starred in the whole elaborate production.
It made me want to go out and get syphilis, just so I could give it to him.
Watching Ganda’s road surface being tested made watching paint dry look like a fun way to spend an afternoon. Various cars drove up and down a polytunnel, in various lighting conditions, braking, turning and generally doing what cars do. Eventually, the lights were lowered down to night-time level and John the tester sidled up to me.
“Everything’s fine at every stage, except this one.” He pulled his cap firmly around his ears as though worried I might be about to slap his head. “Tell us what you think about this.”
In almost absolute darkness, a yellow Mini started its engine. Sprinklers began to spit water, damping the road as the car accelerated along the track, its lights strobing on the glittering surface.
“Oh my God,” I said. “It’s like Come Dancing.”
Each individual sequin-spot of light gleamed but, magnified and prismed by the water droplets, the lights bled and merged. We are talking serious special effects here, ILM time. A fine, shimmering haze hung over the road surface wherever the lights shone. I could feel my vision flickering around the edges as my eyes tried to refocus, giving rise to a small, but insistent, headache.
“It’s even worse behind, in the tail lights,” John intoned gloomily. “One of the testers said it was like reversing over Liberace.”
“What happens if they switch their fog lights on?”
The Mini driver complied. I should have been warned by the way John shielded his eyes and turned his head away.
“Oh. I see,” I said, when my vision eventually settled down. “Oh dear.”
“So, I don’t think we’re going to be recommending commercial production. Sorry.”
“No, it’s fine. I mean, I can see why you can’t use it.” I’d still got glowing shapes burned on my retinas. “Would it have any kind of application at all?”
“We might be able to do something with it—toned down a bit, obviously, as regards markings at the edge of pavements, but we’re still thinking about that.”
My image of my future life, which had been shrinking lately, squeezing Luke out, shrank a little further and Cal’s white house fell off the edge. I mentally packed away the big straw hat and the floaty frock. “So you won’t be wanting to buy the design then?”
“Depends. If we can use it for something, you might get a few grand. For the use of the patent. But, as it stands, nope, sorry.”
Chapter Twenty-eight
“What, nothing at all?” Jazz coughed into his pint with shock. “Not a penny?”
“She’s already had fifty grand,” Katie pointed out. “So it’s not a bad return, really.”
“Of which she gave half to that wanker, Luke Fry. Why don’t you sue, Will? Take him to the cleaners.”
I refilled my wine glass. “Because, people.” I took a drink. Once again I was enjoying being the centre of attention. “There would be no case to answer. I’ve been through it with OC. Everything I gave him, I did of my own free will. He never coerced me or bullied me.”
“He did tie you to the bed though,” Jazz said, with his head down to avoid Katie clopping him around the ear.
“As I said”—I carefully ignored him—“of my own free will. And I bet all the other women he conned would say that he never directly asked for money. They were so terrified of losing him that they’d hand over whatever he told them he needed.”
“But if they could afford it, then it’s their lookout. Ow! Fuck, Kate, that hurt.”
“Good,” Katie said, tightly.
“It’s the way he did it, Jazz. Even if the women could afford it, even if they were fucking millionaires, no one deserves to be treated the way he treats women. Do you know, I don’t think he even likes women very much?”
“Gift to Ash then.” Jazz arched his eyebrows.
“Ash has got more sense. Anyway, I didn’t mean he prefers men. I just think he sees women as glorified cash-point machines.”
“Holes in the wall.” Jazz guffawed and then choked. His pint might have gone down the wrong way, or Katie might have grabbed him under the table. I couldn’t tell, but his face blanched and his voice was a little higher when he said, “Sorry.”
“You do know”—Katie laid a hand on my arm—“that it’s not your fault, don’t you?”
“What, Jazz being a tactless prick? Yeah, I know. Twenty-three years I’ve been trying to civilise him, but he’s still convinced that being diplomatic is having a qualification in watch repair.”
“Falling in love with Luke, you dipstick.”
“Oh. Do you know, I’m not sure that I really did?”
“But you were going to marry him.” Both Katie and Jazz looked shocked.
“Yeah, well, when I was twelve I was going to marry Simon Le Bon and look what happened there.” I sighed, remembering my adolescent fixations for any man in eyeliner.
“He had stupid hair. And he’s got fat,” Katie said as she collected her things together and picked up her bag.
“Yes, lucky escape for me.”
“Anyway, guys, much as I’d love to sit around and discuss Will’s appalling taste in men, I must be off. The boys have gone to the park with Dan, so I’d better go home and tame the mess while they’re out.” Katie got to her feet. “See you on Monday, Will. Later, Jazz.”
After she’d gone, Jazz and I stared into our respective drinks. “So, you’ll be up for singing on Sunday?” Jazz said, continuing a conversation we’d started when I’d first arrived at the Grape and Sprout, as though the last ten minutes had never happened. “It’s kind of a one-off. A special. Just the band and us, down by the river, near the Millennium bridge?”
“Oh, right. Open-air thing? For passersby?” I didn’t mind that so much. Singing outdoors made everything a bit less intense and the weather at the moment was fabulous. “Yeah, why not. Count me in.”
“Good.”
I sipped my wine and looked at him. Over the past few weeks, Jazz had changed enormously. Gone were the towering boots, the funereal clothing and the tatty goatee. Although his hair was still long, it had returned to its natural dirty blond colour. Jazz now wore smart casual clothes, jeans and T-shirts and trainers. From Goth to Gap in three months. “You really like OC, don’t you?” I asked. It was the only reason I could think of for the radical self-redesign.
He nodded, almost miserably. “When Grace was born and I was there, it was…” Horrifyingly, there were tears in his eyes. Jazz, who’d not even cried when he’d trodden on his signed Green Day album in stiletto-heeled boots. (It was a party and he’d not noticed, walked around with the CD spiked on his heel for three hours.)
I quickly looked around, in case I’d fallen into a parallel dimension. “I think she’s very fond of you, too. You’ve been terrific, helping out with the dogs and all that.”
“Yeah. Mr. Terrific, that’s me.” It really wasn’t like Jazz to look glum. He looked as uneasy with the expression, as Santa Claus would look with a machete. “Do you really think she likes me, Will? I mean, you know, like a proper bloke?”
Another crowd of people entered The Grape and the diverting noise prevented me from having to answer. There wasn’t much I could say, really. How should I know how OC felt about Jazz? Her husband had only just dumped her and now she’d got a new baby. I doubted that the lonely-heart pages were on the top of her reading list at present.
“Jazz.” I took his hand, charitably. “Even if OC isn’t interested, there’s a woman out there somewhere for you.”
Jazz looked me in the
eyes, searching my face. “But maybe not the one I want,” he said softly.
“Oh, Jazz.” My heart contorted a little and I squeezed his hand. “Honestly, everything will work out.”
Thwack.
My first thought was “gosh, exactly like in the comics”, as a fist shot out from behind my shoulder, catching Jazz a blow under his chin, in classic He-Man-punch style. My second thought, of course, was “what the hell?” and I whipped around to find Luke standing there, with a gleam in his eye.
“Was he trying to get you back?”
Would I be horribly shallow if I admitted to a moment’s quiet pride? No man had ever punched another guy for me. I was a fist-fight virgin! And now, here was Luke, defending my honour, or at least defending his woman from the predatory advances of her supposed ex-boyfriend.
“No, we were talking.”
“You were holding hands.”
Jazz began climbing to his feet, clutching his jaw. I made frantic keep-quiet signals with my eyebrows which he, perhaps understandably, chose to ignore. “What the fuck was that all about?” he muttered through clenched teeth.
“You, schmoozing your way around my girlfriend! Can’t you get it into your head that it’s all over? Mind you, Willow, I didn’t exactly see you shoving him away.”
“We were talking, Luke. That’s all. Jazz is going out with my sister.” Jazz’s eyes went big and round at this flagrant lie and he opened his mouth to contradict. I stood hard on his foot under the table. He winced, but at least closed his mouth. “Honestly.” I put a pacifying hand on Luke’s arm. “We came out for a quiet drink. Katie was with us too, until a minute ago, and Jazz asked about OC. She’s giving him a bit of a hard time at the moment.”
“I came to find out how it went at the council today.”
Jazz opened his mouth again, and I had to get brutal. I drew back my arm and slapped him firmly round the face. “How dare you grab my hand anyway. Were you trying to make Luke jealous? If so, it won’t work.” Then I turned my head to one side, pretending outrage, and mouthed “sorry” hidden from Luke by my hair. Jazz obviously now saw the value in being silent.
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