by P. F. Ford
‘Right,’ I agreed.
‘And you’re assuming he found what he was looking for and took that piece of paper with him.’
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I’m with you so far.’
‘But what if that assumption is wrong? As Daphne said, information isn’t always a physical thing. What if he found the information he was looking for, and wrote it down on a piece of paper he brought with him.’
‘But why would he do that?’ asked Pete. ‘Why not just take what he wanted? We wouldn’t know what he’d taken.’
‘But what if he thinks you do know what’s in those folders?’ She paused for a moment to let this sink into our thick heads. ‘It would make sense for him to believe you know what’s in them. Don’t forget – you were working with DB so, as far as Nash is concerned, it’s possible, even probable, that you know exactly what’s in them. So, rather than risk taking something you might notice has gone, he just copies what he wants. That way he doesn’t show you what he was looking for.’
She sat back looking pleased with herself.
‘But if we knew what was in them,’ persisted Pete, ‘what would he gain?’
‘Because you might know what’s in them,’ explained Daphne, ‘without necessarily recognising their significance.’
Of course! I was making all these assumptions without ever challenging them. It had taken Sophia just a few minutes to see the hole in my theory and lead us through to the other side. She just kept getting better and better as far as I was concerned.
I leaned towards her.
‘You’re brilliant, do you know that?’ I said, quietly.
‘Flattery,’ she said, leaning to within inches of me. ‘I like that.’
Then the gap between us disappeared as she rewarded me with a quick kiss on my lips. She seemed to taste even better than ever.
So my first job tomorrow was going to be going through those folders to see what I could find. But right now the night was still young.
‘Right, whose round is it?’
Chapter Ten
Positive Pete hadn’t worn pyjamas in a long while, preferring to sleep in the buff when he was at home on his own. He didn’t think it would be fair on Daphne, though, if she stumbled upon him in the altogether heading for the bathroom or whatever. The pyjamas she had found for him did fit quite well, he just wasn’t used to them.
He had to admit, he felt a little guilty about this whole situation. He had been about to drive home when Daphne had pointed out to him that he had consumed several pints and he must be way over the drink-drive limit. He hadn’t done it on purpose; he had been enjoying himself so much he just hadn’t realised how much he’d had to drink.
He hoped she didn’t think he had done it just so he could stay the night. Then he had another thought – she could have driven him home from the pub. It had been her idea to come straight back to her house. And why had she then refused to take him home from here? Maybe she had been trying to get him drunk.
‘Yeah, right,’ he muttered to himself, ‘Of course. You’re such a catch. How could she possibly resist?’
He should be so lucky. And anyway, if that was it, why had she put him in the guest room?
He lay in the bed and considered the situation in a bit more depth. He knew he liked her a lot, and he was immensely fond of her, but did he fancy her? He decided, rather guiltily, that yes, actually, he did. It’s true she might not be a candidate for Miss World, but she wasn’t bad looking at all. And what if she didn’t have the perfect figure? After all, he wasn’t exactly Brad Pitt, was he?
Anyway, there was a lot more to it than looks. She had a wonderful warmth about her, and when they’d had a cuddle the other day he had felt they seemed to sort of fit together rather well. He figured he’d be a very lucky man if she was prepared to even consider him as any sort of partner.
But suppose she was like his ex-wife Marie and just wanted a good seeing-to? He thought it was unlikely, but if that was indeed the case, she was going to be very disappointed. He wasn’t the unbridled lust, I’ll shag anything type. He considered himself more of a romantic, take-your-time sort of lover, not some wanton shagnasty.
There was also the fact that he hadn’t had sex in years to be taken into consideration. Would he be able to remember what to do? Surely it was like riding a bike, wasn’t it? He hoped it was. Then he remembered he couldn’t actually ride a bike.
This was ridiculous. If he carried on like this he’d never get to sleep. Let’s get real, he told himself. Nothing’s going to happen. You’ve just been offered a bed for the night from a generous friend who doesn’t want you to risk losing your driving licence. End of story. Now turn the light off and go to sleep.
He reached for the bedside lamp. Now, where was the switch? There didn’t seem to be one on the base, so it must be up under the bulb. His hand brushed the base and the lamp seemed to get brighter. Was that a power surge? Or his imagination? Maybe he’d had more to drink than he realised.
He reached across and slid his hand up under the shade, feeling up towards the bulb, expecting to find the familiar push switch under his fingers. It must be up here somewhere.
‘Ow, shit!’ he yelped as he touched the hot bulb. Daphne hadn’t changed over to eco-bulbs yet, and the old incandescent bulb in this lamp was seriously hot to the touch. As he snatched his hand out, he cracked his elbow against the bedside cabinet.
‘Bloody hell!’ He rubbed frantically at his elbow, wondering why some moron had decided years ago to call it the ‘funny bone’. He couldn’t see anything funny about the pain shooting up his arm. He realised he was making a lot of noise. Daphne’s room was just the other side of the wall. He had to be be careful not to disturb her.
Perhaps it was one of those lamps with a switch built into the cable. The cable ran down behind the cabinet but that shouldn’t be a problem. It should be easy enough to find. All he had to do was run his hand along the cable until he came to it. Except there wasn’t quite enough room to get his hand down the back of the cabinet. Bugger! He was going to have to move the cabinet forward an inch or two.
Pushing the quilt back, he slipped out of bed and eased the cabinet forward a couple of inches. He figured it would be easy to pull the cable up to find the switch, but it wouldn’t budge, so he leaned forward to peer down the gap between the cabinet and the wall. Only he completely misjudged the distance. There was a loud thud as his head smacked into the wall.
In the bedroom on the other side of the wall, Daphne was reading. Or at least she was trying to. The muffled voice and odd bangs from beyond the wall had been distracting, but the loud thud of something crashing into the wall was alarming. She wondered what on earth was going on. Perhaps she ought to go and see.
Pete clutched his head and stepped back. For some reason, he had left his shoes at the side of the bed. As he stepped on them, his ankle twisted awkwardly and he fell back towards the ornate kneehole dressing table in the corner of the room. With a loud crash, he landed on his back, head neatly placed dead centre, just missing the drawers on either side.
Daphne, clad in an elegant pink dressing gown, burst into the room, switching on the overhead light as she came in.
‘What on earth is going on?’ she cried. Then, realising Pete was lying on his back under the dressing table, she added, ‘Are you alright?’
‘I’m fine, I’m fine’ he assured her. Desperately trying to regain his composure, he sat up quickly.
Daphne’s hand shot to her mouth. ‘Mind your he-’
The loud crash of Pete’s head against the underside of the dressing table drowned out the end of her sentence.
‘Ooofff!’ Pete collapsed back onto the floor, his head swimming. ‘Jesus. My bloody head.’
Daphne rushed over and sank to her knees by his side, a look of concern on her face. She placed a hand on his chest.
‘Lie still a minute,’ she instructed. ‘Let your head clear.’
Pete clutched his throbbing head. ‘I’m ok, hone
stly.’
Slowly, he climbed to his feet, Daphne fussing around him. She led him, hobbling on his twisted ankle, back to his bed where she sat him down and then sat next to him.
‘Are you sure you’re alright?’
‘Damaged pride more than anything,’ he said, gingerly rubbing the tender lump that was swelling nicely on his forehead.
‘What on earth were you trying to do?’ she asked, trying hard not to laugh now she realised he was ok.
‘You’ll laugh at me.’
‘Don’t be silly, of course I won’t.’
‘You already are,’ he accused her.
She tried to wipe the smirk off her face and look serious. ‘Look, I’m not. Honestly, I’m not.’
But he knew, if the roles had been reversed, he would probably be laughing at her. Having first made sure she wasn’t hurt, of course.
‘I was trying to turn the lamp off,’ he mumbled, looking accusingly at the table lamp which had caused all the trouble.
‘I’m sorry?’
‘The bedside lamp.’ He nodded at the lamp. ‘I was looking for the switch.’
‘Oh,’ said Daphne, fighting the compulsion to grin like the proverbial Cheshire Cat. ‘I see.’
Silently, she leaned forward, reached across to the lamp and, with one finger, tapped the base. The light went out.
Pete’s mouth dropped open. He looked at the lamp and then at Daphne.
‘What?’
Daphne tapped the lamp again and it came on as a dim light. Another tap and it got brighter. A third tap and it reached its full brightness. Then she gave it a final tap to put it out.
‘Magic,’ she said, wiggling her fingers at it in best sorcerer fashion.
Pete watched her giggling in delight at his discomfort, and for a moment he had a glimpse of the beautiful young woman she must once have been. He began to laugh at his own discomfort too, and he found himself marvelling at how lucky he was to share this moment with her.
Finally, she stopped laughing and took his hand.
‘That’s made my mind up,’ she said decisively, staring at his hand.
He looked quizzically at her. ‘What? That I’m an idiot?’
‘Well, yes,’ she agreed, ‘there is that. But that’s not what I was talking about.’
She gave out an enormous sigh and squeezed his hand. The time had come to tell him.
‘I’ve been thinking,’ she said, ‘about me, and about you, and about life. We’ve both been unhappy for years one way or another, and we’re neither of us getting any younger.’
Pete sat perfectly still. There was nothing he could argue with so far.
‘We only live once,’ Daphne began. She stopped and turned to look into Pete’s eyes. For that brief moment it was as if she could see right into his soul. He knew what she was saying, but what if…?
‘I know what you’re thinking,’ she said. ‘I’m not sure either. But I do know I’m having a lot of fun being with you, and I don’t want to spend the rest of my life wondering what might have been, do you?’
‘But I don’t know if I can-’ he began.
‘Well there’s only one way to find out isn’t there? Just remember you’re supposed to be Positive Pete. Don’t go all negative on me now.’
He couldn’t argue with that either. But then he didn’t want to.
Silently, she stood, still holding his hand, and led him towards the door. She turned the overhead light off as she passed the switch and then they were heading into her room.
‘Anyway,’ she said, closing the door behind them, ‘I’m not sure I can leave you on your own all night. I don’t want some idiot smashing my house up every time he wants to switch a lamp off...’
Chapter Eleven
It was midday. As I had suspected, I seemed to have mixed up the contents of the folders when I had cleared the mess all those weeks ago. So the first thing I had done was go through every piece of paper in the two folders and sort them. It was easy enough – some of it related to Dry Biro personally and the rest appeared to be something he was researching about local planning matters. Or at least, that’s how I read it.
Now all I had to do was go through the two folders in greater depth and hopefully, if Sophia’s theory was right, I would find something that might be a clue. Quite how I would recognise it as such, I wasn’t sure, but I’d heard nothing from Dave Slater or from Nugent so it seemed my best hope right now. I felt uncomfortable prying into my old friend’s personal stuff, so I chose to go through the other folder first. You never know, maybe I wouldn’t have to pry.
My stomach grumbled to remind me I’d had no breakfast. As there was no one living here, there was no food in the place, but at least the electricity was on so I could have a cup of tea. Or at least, I could have had a cup of tea if only I had remembered to pick up some milk on the way here. I’d had to make do with black coffee so far – not my favourite choice. If only I’d brought some sandwiches or something. And some milk…
Just then, there was a gentle tap on the back door and it swung open. It was Sophia in jeans and a chunky sweater, with a scarf wound around her neck. Her nose glowed pink from the cold outside.
‘Can I come in?’ She lifted her hand to reveal a neat wicker picnic basket. ‘I thought you might need some lunch.’
This woman could read my mind. I jumped to my feet, taking the basket from her and closing the door as she passed through.
‘Oh boy, am I pleased to see you,’ I said, placing the basket on the side. ‘You didn’t tell me you could read my mind. Is there no end to your talents?’
‘More flattery.’ She smiled, walking over to stand in front of me. ‘For someone who claims to be useless with women, you certainly seem to know what to say to make me happy.’
‘Beginners luck,’ I said, with what I hoped was a winning smile. ‘I’m hoping I might get rewarded again.’
‘Oh. Are you now? Well, I suppose I’ve set a precedent now. And I do like compliments.’
Last night in the pub I’d been rewarded with a peck. Today, with no one else in the room, I was rewarded with a long, lingering kiss.
‘Your nose is cold,’ I said.
‘That’s because I’m cold,’ she said.
I held her tight against me and she didn’t resist. It had been a long time coming. Our relationship had grown very slowly in a sort of three steps forward, two steps back kind of way, but I felt that at last we were both beginning to relax into it. Maybe it was all going to work out just fine. How lucky was I?
Sophia eventually broke free and started bustling around finding plates and mugs and in no time, we were sat next to each other sharing a plate of sandwiches. And, best of all, we had a decent mug of tea each.
‘So, what have you found so far?’ she asked.
‘It’s taken me all this time to sort the two folders out. One’s personal stuff and the other one seems to be some sort of research into local planning. Perhaps he was preparing to reveal that the local planning department’s rife with corruption or something. I was just going to start reading through them, although I’m not too keen on poking around in his personal stuff.’
‘Would you like some help?’
‘I’d love you to help,’ I said, ‘but do you have time? What about Jelena and the shop?’
Sophia’s tea shop in town had become incredibly popular since her niece Jelena had arrived and begun to inject her ideas and personality into it. Business was booming and I didn’t want to get in the way of that.
‘It was Jelena’s idea that I come here. She can manage fine without me, and anyway she has help. I think she likes to show she can cope without me, so I can certainly stay for a couple of hours,’ she said, then added, ‘If you want me to.’
‘Of course I want you to stay. I’d love your help. You know how much I like being with you.’
‘Almost as much as I like being with you,’ she said, resting her head on my shoulder. ‘When I’m with you, everything is different. Do you know w
hat I mean?’
‘Yes,’ I agreed, quietly. ‘Yes. I think I know exactly what you mean.’
I took her hand and we sat like that for a couple of minutes until finally she spoke.
‘You are so patient. I’m so sorry-’
‘Now stop that,’ I said, giving her hand a squeeze. ‘You have nothing to apologise for. If anything it’s you who’s the patient one.’
‘What a pair we are.’ She sighed. ‘Both frightened because of the past.’
I sat up, put my hand gently on her chin, and carefully turned her head to face me. Looking into her eyes, I made her a promise.
‘We’ll get through it if we stick together and keep supporting each other, you’ll see.’
I gave her a quick peck on the lips, then jumped up to clear the table.
‘Right,’ I said, all business-like. ‘How are we going to do this?’
‘Why don’t I take the personal folder if you feel uncomfortable about it?’ she said. ‘It has to be done and it’ll be quicker if we do one folder each.’
She reached across for the folder and pulled it towards her.
‘Right,’ she said to no one in particular. ‘Let’s see what I can see.’
We’d hardly spoken for a couple of hours. Sophia had finished her folder before me and by the time I had caught up, there was another mug of tea in front of me.
‘Anything?’ she asked.
‘Not really,’ I said, gloomily. ‘To be honest I’m feeling pretty disappointed. I’m not sure what exactly I was hoping to find. I guess I thought something would jump out at me. There’s some interesting stuff about the planning department, and I know from talking to Nugent that these people can be manipulated, but I can’t see anything that would relate to Nash. What about you?’
‘I’m not sure,’ she began. ‘What are we looking for? Is it some facts that might be relevant or is it somewhere he might be holding this Billy Bumble?’