by Lynn Watson
Did Vicky know already, about what was really in the truffles? It fitted with all that she had said before and with her clear lack of surprise now. Fran realised that the loss of Vicky’s friendship, their intimacy, would mean more to her than anything else if she had to leave Junoco, if she got thrown out for her disloyalty and breach of trust. And it was true that the truffles themselves were affecting her life in many ways, all of them positive.
‘Please don’t say anything to Daniela, will you? I’ve made a terrible mistake, but it won’t go any further. I’ll put it right, Vicky, honest I will.’
Vicky remained grim-faced and wasn’t going to let her off that lightly. She took out a notebook and noted the details of Alice’s name, job title, university and connection with Professor Henson-Morris. Thankfully, she didn’t ask the probing questions that could have compromised Fran’s promise to Alice that she wouldn’t pass on any information about the government project or their joint plan to investigate ‘both dilemmas’: Bright Minds and Junoco. Despite Vicky’s angry reaction, Fran wasn’t in the mood to drop that commitment.
Vicky closed her notebook and clipped the pen back onto it. ‘It’s a matter of damage limitation now, I’m afraid. I’ll handle it from here – and I won’t say anything to Daniela, this time. You’re too valuable to lose and anyway, you’re still my friend. Just don’t take it any further, okay? What you haven’t taken on board, or not enough, is that there are seriously ruthless people out there and we can’t afford to trust anyone.’
She saw the dismay on Fran’s face and her expression suddenly softened. ‘Hey, come over here, silly old thing.’
They stood up and had an extended hug until Vicky slowly pulled away and said she had to go home. By this time it was late, and Fran wandered into the living room to switch off the lights and say goodnight to Guacamole.
‘I’ve been a blundering idiot, Mr Mole, but hopefully all is not lost. Does she know more than she’s letting on, do you think? Is she protecting me or fooling me, or what?’
Guacamole raised his right eyebrow as a sign of his scepticism, but exactly what aspect he was sceptical about was wide open to interpretation.
‘I wish you would talk to me, Guacamole, rather than giving me all these hints and cryptic signs. You’re wise and I think you want to help, underneath it all. I can’t walk away from Junoco, can I? There’s too much to lose. I’m like that poor little Christmas mouse. My curiosity has got the better of me.’
She had intended to go straight up to bed, but this one-sided conversation made her want to have her next Junoco chocolates now, rather than wait until the following evening, as she had planned. She had mouse-proofed her supply by moving all the packets from the kitchen to the top drawer of the chest. She took out the first truffle, unwrapped it, held it between her finger and thumb, shut one eye and squinted at it before popping it into her mouth and drawing in her cheeks until it began to dissolve.
That night, she woke around four into a typically seductive Junoco dream. She was kneeling on the floor in a kind of gallery. The floor tiles were elaborately patterned with a design of pink swirls intertwined with blue, gold and black petal shapes, and the paintings on the walls appeared to be alive. Her sketches were laid out across the floor: the wild animals, the set of Marina, the set of Judi as a child, and the three she had managed to produce of her father. She reached forward to pick up one of her favourites, the close-up of the tiger, and as she held the paper out in front of her to study it, the animal moved into a crouching position. She sat transfixed as the background started to move too. The grasses in front of the tiger swayed as it crept forward, and a bird hopped about on an overhanging branch.
She heard the sound of footsteps entering the room and dragged her gaze away to see Ned leaning against the wall, in his fedora and stone-coloured trench coat. He smiled, raised his hat in a mock-traditional greeting and strolled out the door, while Marcus walked in and looked around with satisfaction, as if he were the curator or owned the gallery.
As she floated to the surface, she had a strong impulse to follow this up; work out what kind of message it was giving her. She went to the bottom drawer of the chest, where she kept her sketches, and took out the now-bulging folder with the wild animal drawings. She found the tiger and held the sheet between her hands, half-anticipating that the Junoco effect would stretch to animating the actual picture. The tiger remained still, its head lifted to the sky as she had drawn it, while the bird sat motionless on the branch above.
***
She was right about Ned’s response to the lab test results. It was in that brief, usually silent interlude between lovemaking and cooking dinner. She lay with her head on his chest while he stroked her arm with his fingertips, varying the length and pressure of each stroke.
‘I’m not surprised, and I’m not bothered in the slightest. If it turns out to be a “legal smart”-type drug and people enjoy it, it’s good enough for me. Come on now, we have to make hay while the sun shines. The online customers are giving it fantastic reviews and that side of the business is growing steadily, as we hoped, while at the upmarket end it’s progressing even faster, if anything, after the select little launch party I filled you in on. I’ve introduced Daniela to several new contacts and she has real skills in forging relationships and closing deals. I don’t know if her cousin Osvaldo even exists or what parts of the story are true, but I’m judging her on her performance as a business associate and I have to say it’s first-rate.’
Fran was running her hand through his chest hairs, wondering if this might be the evening they would break with tradition and make love twice. She could see from the lifting duvet that he was becoming aroused and she slid her hand underneath it, following the contour of his right hip. It was about prolonging the anticipation towards a slow-paced and, in her wider experience, often more inventive second round. Ned hadn’t finished talking and he playfully took her hand away and put it back on his chest, so it had to start its journey down his body again.
‘I still think you and I would make a first-class team and we should consider breaking away at some point. I’ve kept back some of the best prospects, in case we decide to pursue it once Junoco is established. We’ve focused on luxury hotels and restaurants and haven’t touched any of the top property developers or high-end dating sites and escort agencies yet. It mixes so well: mega-rich chocolate truffles and transgression, secrets and sex. The market in London must be almost infinite, and I can’t wait to see you in those serious, black-rimmed specs.’
‘I’ll wear the specs when you parade your collection of hats, Ned. Can we please do another bit of business first?’
Her hand was curled lightly over his cock, which lay hard and straight up the line of his taut stomach, waiting.
‘Okay, you win.’
They moved simultaneously to dive under the covers, banging heads and making Ned fall back on the pillow, mimicking pain while she released her hand and rolled on top of him.
Chapter 13
The drum and sax sessions in her back bedroom were growing longer and increasingly lively, as Marcus and Kwesi tuned into each other’s skills and the music that inspired them. They listened to a new tune and chose their moment to join in, quietly at first and then with more volume and confidence as the piece progressed and they took up the repetition and rhythm. Some of their individual favourites worked beautifully as a two-piece, while others were abandoned as not right for their combination. There was plenty of improvisation too; their distinct brand of world music with an African beat and strands of reggae, soul and jazz.
Fran expected the session to last over two hours, but on this Saturday night all went quiet after the first hour. She stayed in her curled position on the sofa, waiting for them to pick up again or to come down and join her for a drink and chat around the kitchen table. Nothing happened and after twenty minutes she went upstairs to investigate. Kwesi was still sitting with a drum between his knees and Marcus was holding the sax, but they we
re deep in conversation, which they continued while acknowledging her presence in the doorway.
Kwesi had been evicted from the library, not because of the planned changes to the building as he had feared, but because someone had informed the head librarian and she said she had no choice. A relative or contact of one of his asylum-seeker workmates at the packaging warehouse had offered him a room, but it was in Leeds and he wasn’t keen to leave London.
‘My friends are here, you are here, and I am making a little money for food and what I need, although it is not legal and I could lose my jobs tomorrow. Also, I know it is better in London, quicker for me to have my appeal considered. If I move, it will take longer.’
‘Could you stay with one of your friends in London again, just until—?’
‘You can stay with me,’ interrupted Marcus. ‘I’m on my own with two spare rooms. You can stay for a few months if you need to, rent-free, and cook us some of those dishes you’ve been talking about. Then we’ll see if your food is as good as your music. What do you think, Fran, good idea?’
‘It’s great, perfect. The drums can stay here, of course. I’ve got the space and we seem to be getting away with it, not aggravating the neighbours from hell, no names mentioned.’
Kwesi looked astonished, and then his face broke into a wide grin. He raised his arms and brought the drumsticks down to produce a dramatic roll and boom. Then, serious again, he stood up as if to address an appreciative audience.
‘My friends, I am deeply thankful. I cannot express it. I will repay you for your kindness.’
‘We know you will, Kwesi, one way or another. And now, let’s all go down and have a celebratory drink.’
Kwesi moved in with Marcus the next day, bringing the same friend with the van and the pair of them carrying his worldly goods in two big suitcases, one of which Fran knew contained the gifts. Watching this operation, she wondered if Marcus would receive a similar wood carving to her own, and she thought back to their conversation about the uncanny similarity between her Junoco-inspired drawing and the antelope Kwesi had given her. Marcus had admired her work and said she should take up painting, breathe colour and spirit into it, in his words. One day, she might feel comfortable enough to tell him that she seemed to have the power to breathe life and motion into inanimate creatures too.
***
She was making her usual Friday café stop before going into the shop when she spied Delia and Eric walking by. She quickly averted her gaze as they looked in the window, stopped, came to a mutual decision and walked in. She wasn’t sure if they had spied her sitting there, but sensed she was their target. She had never seen them in the café before and it was clear they didn’t know Jean-Claude, as they rudely ignored his welcoming ‘Bonjour, Madame, Monsieur’ from behind the counter.
They didn’t approach her straight away, but Delia smiled and Eric nodded almost genially as they passed her table. Fran considered making a quick escape but felt mildly intrigued, not to mention disinclined to have her pleasant Friday routine disturbed by them. She would wait, enjoy her coffee and baguette and go on to Frocks and Chocs at her normal time.
It was Delia who came over to her first, while Eric fussed around gathering up their shopping bags.
‘Excuse me, it’s Fran, isn’t it, from Number 26? I’m Delia, from Number 30, and that’s my husband, Eric. We spoke briefly when you moved in.’
Fran gave her a weak smile. Yes, and instead of being neighbourly, you welcomed me by telling me off about the removal van being parked outside your house. It’s not something you forget, don’t you realise?
Both of them were standing beside her table now, inspecting her while doing their best to appear friendly. It would be safer to have them on her level, so she gestured for them to sit down. They didn’t waste time asking how she was settling in or any such small talk but went directly to the issue they were perturbed about – or two issues, as it turned out.
They had registered Kwesi’s arrival at Marcus’ house with his luggage and then his comings and goings over the following couple of weeks, although they didn’t know, or didn’t admit to knowing, that he had also been a visitor to Fran’s house for the past while. Did Fran know who he was? Was he a relative of ‘the occupant’ at Number 28? It was clear they had been suspicious of Marcus since he moved in, and their doorstep encounter with Kirsty, the ‘fracas’ as they called it, had confirmed him to be a highly dubious character. This latest development had made them ‘concerned for all our safety’. The phrase was given great emphasis by Delia and accompanied by a ferocious glare from Eric, who had forgotten he was meant to be in friendly mode and had gone off-message.
Fran thought fast and decided she had two options: either claim ignorance or invent a story to put them off the scent. Invention seemed the wiser choice, given that Kwesi was working illegally and was in a precarious position with regard to his asylum appeal.
Passing over the idiotic question about whether the two men were related, she said that Kwesi was a student lodger who was training to be a doctor and had won a top scholarship to come to the UK. This was quite close to his actual history from some time ago, so he should be able to talk about if he were put on the spot. Eric looked unconvinced, however, and wrinkled his nose in a kind of sneer. Clearly, being nice in public couldn’t be sustained for very long. It was a shame really, a waste; without his set of invariably sour expressions, he might have been considered quite attractive.
‘That’s what he told you, is it, a student? He looks too old to be a student.’
‘Well, you can’t tell very easily, can you, with them? How old they are, I mean.’
This was Delia’s attempt at a conciliatory intervention, as she had seen Fran tensing up in response to Eric’s comment. She wanted to move on to the other issue, which was about Lily and her mission to find the missing cats.
‘We’ve noticed that odd little girl next door going into your house, or waiting for you outside, and you’ve got one of those Missing posters in your window. We find it hurtful because we lost our cat last year, she died of cancer and we don’t want to be constantly reminded of it. Cats go astray, they get run over or they move in somewhere else, that’s it. Can you talk to her, please?’
‘Well, she’s passionate about it and I have already made those arguments, but I’m happy to try again, if it’s upsetting you. I’ll speak to her.’
Fran was well into the game now, trying to keep them on side while finding the notion that they were grieving for a pet cat somewhat laughable. Although, maybe it was indicative of the kind of people they were: devoted to a cat and horrible to their neighbours and the rest of the world. Looked at that way, there could be some truth in it, although she was fairly sure they had told Lily they hated cats.
She ran through the encounter in her mind during her afternoon shift at the shop. Eric and Delia were observing her more closely than she had imagined. Given the various activities she was involved in, she would have to take more care and watch her back.
Lily was sitting on her front wall when she arrived home, her legs swinging and heels bumping on the worn bricks. The weather was mild for early February, but it still seemed too cold to be wearing shorts and a light T-shirt. She was holding Sahara on her lap, looking down to talk to her and lifting her back each time the restless hamster made an effort to edge forwards. On the wall beside her was a pile of new Missing posters held down by a chunky grey pebble. Fran saw that there were now three full-colour photos, of Marmalade, Sooty and – what was the other one called? – Leonie. Lily scooped Sahara into her arms and jumped down to the pavement.
‘Hi, Fran, I’ve got something to tell you, an important development. And look at this – I’ve done new posters, got them properly printed and paid for it myself.’
‘Come on in, then. They look great, well done.’ Eric and Delia might want Lily to be diverted from her mission and detective work, but they had no inkling what a strong-minded, intelligent and spirited child she was.
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br /> The new development was startling. Lily had heard about it at school, in response to being allowed to put up a poster on the student noticeboard. A family living in the next street, running parallel to theirs, had moved out a few days previously. After the removal lorry had left, they had loaded their most precious belongings into their car, including a Siamese cat and a rabbit in travel cages. Both the animals and their cages had vanished. They had been taken from the back of the car in the space of a few minutes, while the family were in the house. They had searched in every direction and driven repeatedly around the local area, but there was no sign of the stolen pets and no one claimed to have witnessed the snatch.
Here was the evidence, as far as Lily was concerned, that all the lost animals were victims of crime and hadn’t wandered off by choice or been run over. She had got her mum to call the police and they were expecting to be interviewed, as Lily had what she referred to as ‘important information about other crimes’.
‘Yes, they may want to talk to you and I’m sure the family will have reported it, but they might just write down what your mum has told them over the phone. It’s even possible there is no connection between the cases. This could have been opportunistic, you know, a spur-of-the-moment thing, and we don’t know what exactly happened in your other cases, just that the cats went out in the evening and didn’t come back.’
Lily stared incredulously at her, while Sahara stopped nibbling her carrot, puffed out her cheeks and joined in, fixing Fran in that meaningful way that certain animals seemed to have now, since she started with Junoco.
‘You don’t really believe that. You’re just saying it; I don’t understand why.’
Fran hesitated. She wanted to protect Lily from any risk, danger even, and the possibility of actual danger had been heightened by this latest news. She also had to take account of Eric and Delia, who were both thoroughly wound up and had the potential to be extremely vindictive if crossed. And yet, here was Lily, adopting a cause she believed in and doing the planning, the painstaking investigation, the publicity, the analysis, doing it all brilliantly. She was eleven, the same age as Fran and Judi in the last childhood summer they had spent together. Lily was completely different from Judi, much shyer and less prettily confident, but wow, didn’t she have her own brand of boldness and an unwavering will to succeed.