by Hannah Howe
Chapter Thirty
It was early evening and I was standing in my office. Marlowe had brought in another dead mouse. Anymore and I’ll swing for that cat, I promise you. I went through my usual routine of squeezing my nose, picking up the mouse by its tail and depositing the poor creature into the pedal bin before sitting at my desk.
At my desk, I tapped my calculator and deducted the bills from Milton’s cheque. Halfway through, I realised that I didn’t have enough money for a pair of curtains, and three-quarters of the way through I acknowledged that the office carpet would have to wait for another month. But I’d cleared all my debts. I was solvent.
Then Alan knocked on my office door. “Can I come in?”
I sat upright, tidied the items within easy reach and smiled in a businesslike manner. “Do you want to hire me?”
“In fact, I do. I’m spending a long weekend in the country; I have a little place there, a retreat where Alis and I go to relax. I’m a bit worried about the bats in a nearby cave and I feel that I need protection. Are you up for the assignment?”
“What about Alis?”
“She’s spending the long weekend with a girlfriend and her family.”
As Alan sat in my client’s chair, I stared at my desk, averting my gaze. I was really happy that Alan had called on me, but a little voice in the back of my head urged caution.
“You’re serious about me, aren’t you?”
He nodded, decisively, “Yes, I am.”
“Even though I said that horrible thing to you.”
“You were provoked.”
“What if I say something like that again?”
“You won’t.” He shook his head, another decisive gesture. “To put it bluntly, Dan’s dead and the main stressor in your life has been removed.”
I continued to stare at my desk. My thoughts went to Dan and the events at the quarry. Those events were still tangled in my mind and I realised that it would take time before I could come to terms with them.
“I shot someone this morning.”
Alan pursed his lips. He placed his right ankle over his left knee, crossing his legs, then nodded slowly. “That is an extreme action, I grant you. But from what I hear, she deserved it and you shot her in self-defence.”
“I did.”
“How do you feel about the shooting?”
“Not good.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not now.”
Alan glanced around my office. He placed his hands to the back of his head. Then his handsome features relaxed and he gave me his familiar, easy smile. “You become a different person when you do this job, don’t you, Sam.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, the job allows you to express your true self. It gives you a sense of satisfaction, fulfilment and the knowledge that this is something you’re good at, which feeds your self-respect.”
“And helps to hide my inadequacies when it comes to relationships, is that what you’re saying.” I allowed my hair to fall over my face. I could feel the heat on my cheeks, my embarrassment rising.
“You’re not inadequate. You just need to learn how to trust.”
“Trust you?” I peered at Alan through my auburn strands.
“Yes. But mainly you need to learn how to trust yourself. If you don’t like me, tell me to go away. If you do like me, trust that emotion.”
I swept my hair from my face. Earnestly, I leaned forward. “I do like you, I like you a lot.”
He smiled. “The feeling is mutual.”
“But why me? You must have dozens of friends and know lots of women who would love to enter your life.”
“There are one or two who seem keen on me,” he conceded. “But they are not like you, Sam, no one is like you. You’re different to my friends, different to anyone I’ve met, different to Elin, and those differences are important to me.” He leaned forward, and I realised that he was earnest too. “When you walked into my office I was captivated by your beauty. I lost myself in your beauty for a while. Then I heard your story about how you’ve put together your agency, gained the respect of your peers and I thought, this woman is remarkable, I must get to know her better. Of course, my psychological training alerted me to the fact that you have emotional scars and that those scars can become tender at times. But my training also told me that those scars, like the scratches on your face, can heal. I could settle for a mundane, contented life with an attractive girlfriend, doing the round of dinner parties and social events and have a very pleasant time. In fact, the past two years have been something like that. But I want more. I want to be with someone extra-special. I want to be with you, Sam.”
“But what about Alis? What will Alis think of me if I walk into your life?”
“If any woman takes a permanent place in my life, Alis will be jealous at first, that’s only natural. After all, it’s been just the two of us for the past seven years. But she’ll adjust. She’s at an age where boyfriends are on the horizon, she knows that I need someone.”
Let it be me, my little angel whispered. You’re not good enough for him, my devil chided.
“But does Alis think that you need a crazy pistol-packing mama like me?”
Alan laughed. “I’ve told her a little about you. She thinks it’s cool that I’ve had a romantic dinner with a private eye.”
I frowned. “Is that what we had, a romantic dinner?”
“How did you see it?”
My frown intensified. “I’ve never thought in terms of romance. I just go from A to B trying to survive.”
“Then maybe it’s time you moved beyond survival into living. My God, Sam, you deserve that. So, what about it, a long weekend in the countryside. You can have Alis’ room. No agenda. We go, we walk, we chat, or we stare at the walls if you prefer. I cook you delicious meals. We read. We see what develops.”
“And if I end up wanting to kill you?”
He shook his head at my suggestion, his dark brown eyes sparkling as they mirrored the lamp on my desk. “I’m a loveable guy, you won’t.”
“And if you end up wanting to kill me?”
Alan leaned forward. He reached across my desk and took hold of my left hand. He squeezed my fingers, lightly. “I love you, Samantha. I know those words have been said to you before with negative effects, but trust me – you won’t get hurt this time.”
At that point, Marlowe jumped in through my office window and landed on my lap. He rubbed his head against my right hand and purred loudly, clearly content with his lot.
I stared at the cat. “What do you think, Marlowe? Do you think we can trust him?”
Marlowe rubbed his head against my chin. He squealed, “Meow.”
While gazing into Alan’s eyes, I smiled. I squeezed his fingers in hope and optimism. “I think that means ‘yes’.”
Web Links
For details about Hannah Howe and her books, please visit https://hannah-howe.com
For more details about Sam the Private Eye, please visit https://sam-private-eye.com