by Lynn Watson
He fingered his phone, ready to make a call, while Delia took over.
‘Aren’t you ashamed of yourself? He’s finished with you; don’t you understand that? In my day, we accepted these things and had to pull ourselves together, get on with it.’
Fran couldn’t help feeling a grudging admiration for their willingness to confront a torrid and potentially violent situation. Or, more likely, they just thrived on conflict. Marcus was hiding behind her, showing no inclination to go out and join in, so she took her own decision.
‘I’m going to talk to her, Marcus. Don’t worry, I won’t let on that you’re here.’
She opened the front door and Kirsty fixed on her immediately.
‘Look, it’s the prima-fucking-donna, thinks she knows everything. Where is he then, you old slapper?’
Eric rode in again, with a vestige of old-fashioned chivalry. ‘How dare you speak to the lady like that? Apologise at once.’
‘You’re not my fucking dad, you know. You’re just a pair of old tossers.’
‘Come on, Eric. We’re not putting up with any more of this, it’s disgraceful. Call the police and let’s go home.’
The couple moved away while Eric keyed in the number and held his phone to his ear, both of them walking half-backwards so they could monitor Kirsty’s movements. Fran tried to keep her voice soft and authentic.
‘Kirsty, listen to me. You are just making things worse for yourself. It won’t help. You can’t win someone back like this, and sometimes not at all, believe me.’
‘Believe you – why should I? You’re old. What do you know about it?’
Her tone had changed, however, and Kirsty put the half-brick down on the wall. She looked about to burst into tears, and her final words were in a low mumble directed to no one in particular.
‘I hate people. They don’t fucking get it and they never will.’
Fran walked back into the house and Marcus came through to the hall, anxious as ever.
‘It’s okay now, Marcus. She’s run off. If they’re quick, the police will catch up with her. Are you happy to talk to them this time, if they turn up?’
‘I’ll think about it. Thank you for defusing the situation. I always manage to reignite her fury, but maybe that’s just my excuse for keeping out of the way.’
The police didn’t arrive, and Fran wondered if Eric had actually called them. She opened a bottle of wine and was soon telling Marcus what she had found out from Cerise and Eleanor about Marina. Then she showed him her sketches of Marina, which she hadn’t unveiled to anyone before. Marcus was intrigued at her imagining of her sister and the poignancy of the drawings.
‘They would make a beautiful series in an exhibition – not that you would want to exhibit them publicly, but you’re extremely gifted, that’s what I’m saying.’
‘I don’t know, maybe one day I might exhibit them.’
It was early evening now and getting dark. As usual, Marcus showed no sign of wanting to leave. As they pored over the drawings, Fran eyed his slim, muscled thighs in his tight black jeans and felt a definite stirring. Bad idea – it would be madness to dive down on the sofa with him right now, complete and utter madness. She was still thinking this when he turned towards her and gave her shoulder a firm but playful push, his inconceivably dark eyes lit up with desire.
Chapter 15
When she had arrived home on Sunday, resigning from everything had seemed the only self-respecting option. Daniela was in league with Professor Fred, although how or why was still unclear, and what Vicky had done was too painfully awful to think about. Vicky and Andy, Fran reminded herself, but the thrust of her anger was directed at Vicky, who had been destined to be her new best friend and clearly didn’t have a clue what that signified or how much of a privilege it would have been to sit alongside Judi in Fran’s affections. And at a more primitive level, the pangs of jealousy and the flash visions of their lovemaking were gut-wrenching. The impromptu Sunday sex on the sofa with Marcus had stemmed her feelings temporarily, she had to admit, but that had created another difficult issue with its own potential fallout.
Here she was, trying to work out whether to stay with Junoco and her job at the shop and allowing herself to be taken over by such negative emotions. Surely as a seasoned Junoco consumer, not to mention a mature woman who should have known better in the first place, she should override this tosh and focus instead on enjoying the memories of the wild times that she and Andy had enjoyed and, more importantly, on their shared love for Judi?
Luckily, Monday was her day off so she could put her hundred favourite songs on shuffle, turn the music up to full volume and throw herself into a flurry of housework. It wasn’t a calculated decision, but it fell in with what she now knew about the workings of the brain: that carrying out routine tasks while allowing the mind to meander was an effective way to promote insight and come up with useful ideas.
By lunchtime, when the shelves, tables and mirrors were gleaming and the carpets thoroughly hoovered, she had reached the conclusion that resigning would be defeatist and unjust to herself. It was what Vicky wanted her to do, she had said as much, so why give in and let her have the satisfaction? She would face up to her instead, act calm and dignified in any further exchange about her treachery and, if it came to the crunch, put Vicky in a position where it was she, not Fran, who was compelled to walk away from Junoco.
On top of that, now was the wrong time to leave, when she felt on the brink of discovering the truth about what was going on. No, she would turn up at the shop as normal and play it by ear when Vicky came in for her usual Wednesday afternoon shift.
This train of thought led her to revise her first plan for handling the aftershock of her fling with Marcus. They were still high on it when he had left by the back door and she pushed his bum and dangling legs up over the fence. However, she fully expected him to be cringing with embarrassment by the morning and she had resolved to avoid him for a few days, to let it settle. Now she realised the best action was to talk to him and acknowledge their frivolous bit of fun.
This was how she happened to open the front door just as he arrived home from work. She was right, he was highly embarrassed, but as he began his apology, she waved it away and whispered to him across the low dividing wall.
‘It was lovely, Marcus, thank you. It was just a sweet moment and we were free to do it. I don’t want it to change anything in our friendship.’
‘I’m sorry, I thought you might—’
‘No, Marcus, that’s not me at all. I think it was me who started it anyway, but there’s no need to have an argument about that. The important thing is not to let it prevent us from remaining friends – and not to give any hint to Kirsty or she’ll have my guts. She thinks I’m way past it anyway.’
‘Please don’t remind me – it’s excruciating. I’m trying to avoid Eric and Delia but I’m bound to bump into them soon; they’ll make sure of it so they can put in their latest complaint about Kirsty. It’s a relief, anyway, knowing I don’t have to avoid both my neighbours!’
‘No, you certainly don’t, and I hope you and Kwesi will keep coming round for our music sessions. I listened to all my favourite tracks today and I’d love to have a request session and be the lead singer.’
It seemed to have done the trick, got them over the hump. Fran chuckled at her unwitting thought-pun as she closed the door. There was still the Lily hump to smooth over, but that shouldn’t be too difficult.
***
The next day, she began to sort through the new spring collection in between attending to customers. Neither Vicky nor Daniela showed up. After closing the shop, she popped into the café to buy two of her favourite little cakes, now her regular habit on a Tuesday. The waitress called to Jean-Claude as she boxed up the cakes and he came out from the kitchen, wiping his floury hands down his long apron.
‘Bonjour, Fran. How are you? I have a message for you. A man came in and asked when you were coming to the café next time. I s
aid I don’t know and he wrote you this message.’
‘A man, that’s mysterious. What did he look like, Jean-Claude?’ She was fiddling with the white envelope he had handed to her, but she didn’t want to open it until she was out on the pavement. The possibilities flashed through her mind. She had met various people here and introduced several to the café. Then there was Professor Fred, he had spied her near here; and the man from the dance class that Daniela had warned them about…
‘He was Indian, maybe – a young man.’
‘Did he ask for me by name?’
‘Yes, he said your name, Fran, and he said you worked in the boutique.’
‘All right, thank you so much, Jean-Claude. See you soon.’
She picked up the paper bag holding her box of cakes and left. It had to be the journalist, the one Daniela had described last week when she threatened them with dire consequences if they double-crossed her. She had said he was poking around, and something else about him suggesting the police were shadowing them, Fran couldn’t remember exactly.
The note was typewritten in red:
Fran, you don’t know me but I would like to talk to you. I have information that you may be interested in and could be important to you. Please keep this communication confidential until we have spoken. Meet me at 7.30pm tonight at the Green Duck pub or, if you can’t be there, please call…
Then there was a phone number, but no name or signature.
She walked home by the pond route, feeling bemused. How did he know she would come into the café today – had he been tracking her? Why did he bother to contact her, a very small cog in the Junoco wheel? And what could be important to her, in particular? What would he expect in return? It was unnerving, but at the same time, she couldn’t resist it. She had to know what it was about, at the least.
***
She dressed casually in jeans and a long sweater and arrived at the Green Duck at seven, so she could choose her position and watch him coming in. In fact, he was already there, sitting at a corner table some distance from the bar, and he stood up to announce his presence with a subtle wave. It felt a little like a first date, but with less of the eagerness to make a scintillating initial impression. They shook hands and he introduced himself as Ravi, thanking her for coming and adding that he had ordered some snacks.
As they settled down, she half-expected him to lean forward and glance to both sides, in true spy style. Instead of which, he assumed an upright pose with both hands folded over the edge of the table, his elegant fingers flat on the surface so that she could see he wore a wedding ring and a signet ring on the opposite little finger. She fought the impulse to fiddle with her wine glass and kept her gaze on his face, as she had planned. It was up to him to open the conversation and she wasn’t going to make any attempt at small talk.
They stayed silent for what seemed like an age, while Ravi scanned her once, helped himself from the bowls of snacks and contemplated her again, nodding his head with what seemed like confirmation or approval. If this was a deliberate tactic to unsettle her, it wasn’t going to succeed. She had come here freely and she could leave at any time, as she had abruptly done on more than one misfiring first date.
Finally, he was ready. ‘So, let’s start. You were curious enough to come tonight, which I fully expected. That’s a compliment, as I’m sure you’ll appreciate. I’m a freelance reporter and I am researching a story about mind-altering drugs, and specifically drugs that claim to increase intelligence. It’s for a review article initially but it could turn into a book, if there’s enough material. I don’t have an angle as yet. I’m looking into who is involved, the suppliers and customers, the size and operation of the market, and the effects of course, individual experiences. Your Junoco website is in the lead in terms of feedback from users.’
She mustn’t let down her guard. He might genuinely be a journalist, but even if he was, and perhaps especially if he was, she had to tread carefully and only reveal publicly available information.
‘It’s not my website; you have to understand that, Ravi. I work on the promotion and social media side. It’s our director you need to talk to and I’m not at liberty to say who that is. And as for the effects, the Junoco chocolate contains a wholly natural element that enhances the imagination, uniquely we believe.’
‘I know – I’ve seen that on your website. What I haven’t seen or read about is the other kind of drug, the manufactured one. I know how this is being done and who is behind it.’
His fingers had loosened and were drumming almost soundlessly on the table. Fran did her best to look inscrutable, knowing that a true poker face was next to impossible for her. He had her attention now and she couldn’t walk off.
‘So, your director Daniela is in league with a supposed business adversary, a rival operating in the same market. In fact, they were adversaries to begin with but it suited both of them to come to an accommodation and work in a complementary way. Effectively, he has access to her natural secret ingredient in return for Junoco’s use of his synthetic drug, which is more refined than the one Daniela was purchasing previously. It’s a mutually advantageous arrangement that improves their products and offers more cover and flexibility if things go wrong. There’s still some mistrust, but they are close associates.’
An avalanche of questions cascaded through Fran’s mind as she tried and dismally failed to show no hint of surprise. She had to ask for more, although it seemed as if she were caving in to an unwanted seduction. It was crucial to choose her words with care and not to reveal anything Ravi hadn’t yet discovered.
‘How do you know all this? Who is it, then, this associate character, Mr Big?’
‘Within your inner circle, I believe you refer to him as Infrared. However, Infrared is only a bogeyman and you should be informed of his real identity. You won’t like me for this, but I want to show you some photos.’
He pulled a tablet computer out of the bag lying beside him, set it up and turned it round so that the screen faced Fran. The photo was close-up and clear, showing Daniela, Vicky and Fred Henson-Morris at an outdoor café table, engrossed in conversation. Ravi watched her expression.
‘There are another four pictures – here, look at them.’
Fran swiped her finger across the screen, sitting back to distance herself from the evidence in front of her. The first two photographs were of the three of them at the outdoor café and the other two, clearly taken at a different time as they wore different clothes, showed Daniela and Fred together in a park, smiling and chatting on a bench in relaxed fashion. Fran pushed the tablet away from her and turned it round so that it faced her companion once more.
‘I don’t get this – I don’t get it at all. It doesn’t make any sense.’
‘I know – and I’m sorry.’ For the first time, he seemed a bit sympathetic. ‘They’re misleading you, Daniela and Vicky. This man here, he’s the famous Infrared.’
He turned the tablet again and touched the screen to point at Professor Fred. Fran winced with revulsion. As before, Ravi was observing her reactions closely.
‘You’re upset, Fran, naturally, but you mustn’t forget, you are going behind their backs too, making your own private contacts at the university and in the government, and investigating the constituents of the chocolate.’
So Marcus had been warned off at work and told not to ask any more questions about the Bright Minds research, as she suspected. Or else he had picked up on a certain atmosphere around it and made his own decision to shut up. And she hadn’t heard back from Alice, her other ‘contact’, who had wanted to arrange an analysis of the vitamins, nutrients and brain supplements to be used in the new research, Fred’s ground-breaking study. Fran felt a cold shiver and pulled her jacket tightly around her. It was awful to believe what this stranger was saying, about Vicky especially, but clearly she now had a track record when it came to betrayal. Ravi had offered plausible motives for Daniela and Fred, but what did Vicky get out of it?
; ‘Why are you telling me this, Ravi? You don’t know me from Eve and have no reason to trust me. What do you want?’
‘I’m a journalist and we feed on useful and interesting information, it’s our lifeblood. I’d like you to give me some inside intelligence about Junoco over the next few weeks or months. Granted, I am taking a risk with you but you’re perfect for the part and something tells me you’d relish it as well. Also, you would be involved with my venture after that, helping me write the book, if you fancy it. I’m offering to pay you an advance fee and something for the information too. We can negotiate the details later.’
On the surface, this was presented as a straight business offer, fees and all, but implicitly he was threatening to expose her involvement in Junoco if she didn’t go along with it. At least she had come some way since getting tied up in all this and gained a more sophisticated understanding of the scheming and manipulation.
They left the pub soon afterwards and parted with another handshake. He gave her a small white card with Ravi and a mobile number printed across it; no indication of his occupation or location. It was important to stay cool and businesslike, make him wait for an answer.
‘Thank you, Ravi. I’ll let you know by the end of the week. I need time to think about it. You can trust me not to say anything to anyone, whatever I decide.’
It was satisfying to tell such a blatant lie, in response to the mounting layers of deception piling up around her.
As she walked home and sat up late with Guacamole, she tried to fit the pieces together and identify what was missing. If Daniela and Infrared were working together, then who had carried out the latest vandalism, the breakin and the hacking? Had it perhaps been staged or not happened at all? And if Professor Fred doubled as Infrared and his covert enterprise was friendly to Junoco, did it mean that Junoco was also linked to his university research project and the Bright Minds programme? And was it credible that Ravi, an investigative reporter, hadn’t yet tumbled to the fact that Fred Henson-Morris and Infrared were one and the same – or was he keeping it from her for a reason?