“Well, if that doesn’t draw a cheer from our secret admirer, I’ve no idea what will,” Spence stated with satisfaction after sending off her latest salvo. “With your no-show at the start of the reception tomorrow, our friend should be ripe for the kill.”
Pamela carefully marked her page and looked up. “Are you sure this will work?”
Spence shrugged, doing her best to hide her own doubts as she answered. “Sure? No, but it’s the best we can do in the time available. What I do know is that from what I’ve been able to deduce from the way our little friend has been beavering away at this, I’d be very surprised if they didn’t take the bait. Whoever it is comes across as being far too eager to embarrass Tracy.” Having done all she could for the moment, Spence closed down her laptop and settled down to watch an old Western with Italian subtitles with her friend.
The next day found Spence on tenterhooks as she arrived early for the reception after having done her best to make her appearance presentable, but inconspicuous. Once there, she settled into a quiet corner of the room where she could see everything before pulling out her iPad and Pamela’s mobile. As she did so a sudden grin lit up her face as she wondered if Andy had felt the way she did at the moment when he had been doing his sneaky beaky stuff in Ireland.
Ever so slowly the room started filling up as the in-crowd started to arrive, their excited chatter mingling with the chink of glasses, over-the-top compliments, and pretentious air kisses. Among the first to arrive had been Tracy Ireland, who busily circulated among the fashion world’s glitterati, pretending she didn’t have a care in the world.
Like a hound alerting to the scent of its quarry, Spence sat up as the first of her marks made her way into the room carrying nothing more than a notepad. This didn’t necessarily count her out, Spence told herself as she took to scanning the room, stopping only when she caught sight of her other target with an oversized handbag swinging from one elbow.
After taking a deep breath, Spence hit the send button on her iPad, dispatching a prepared tweet even as she was casting her gaze about the room, from left to right, then back again, trying to keep her prey in sight.
For long moments nothing happened.
“Keep calm,” Spence muttered to herself. “It takes time for the message to be posted, sent out, and noticed. Give it time to…”
Before she could finish her thought, Spence watched as Madelyn Christie, the head of Christie’s Agency, reached into her bag and pulled out an iPad mini, smiling broadly at what she was reading. With shaking fingers, Spence pulled out her own mobile and sent a one-word text to Tracy and Pamela: Christie.
Tracy Ireland felt her phone vibrate as she was in the midst of chatting with one of the few people in the room she considered to be a friend. Without interrupting their conversation, she pulled out her mobile and glanced casually at the screen before dropping it back into her bag. Then, after a few more pleasantries and a promise to get in touch later, she slipped quickly through the room to where Madelyn Christie was standing with her head still bowed over her iPad. She didn’t notice Ireland’s approach, not until the flash of a camera just behind her shoulder caught her attention. When she looked up, she found herself facing Tracy Ireland, who was sporting a barracuda smile. “You’re mine, you bitch!”
As she spoke, a round of applause erupted at the other end of the room, counterpointed by the firefly flickering of camera flashes.
“Darling, as always you English love to be so fashionably late!” Emmanuel Zspartov exclaimed as he rushed toward the star of his show, a striking blonde who was wearing one of his latest creations. Before he reached her, Pamela spotted Spence and flashed her a quick Mona Lisa smile. Then, with a poise that came naturally to Pamela, she struck a pose that would be splashed across the fashion pages of newspapers all over the world.
Spence didn’t tarry long bidding good-bye at the airport. It just wasn’t her style. Most of the young women belonging to Tracy Ireland’s troupe of tall, long-legged beauties were little more than passing acquaintances to her, names who had been part of a list in a file on her laptop that she still had difficulties matching to a face. Only Pamela slowed her pace as she drew near.
Stopping when they were but an arm’s distance away, the bright-eyed young woman Spence had come to see as something more than part of a case file dropped her chin a smidge. “I do hope you find the time to call,” she ventured hesitantly. “I mean the blog is still going strong and I hear a couple of online magazines might be interested.”
Spence grinned. “Oh, you can put money on that, although I still think it’s unfair they called you a geek!”
Fresh from the wilds of Northumberland, with his morning cup of coffee in hand, Andy found his mind already racing ahead of itself as he mulled over a revision of his own in-office policy and procedures guide, one Tommy never read. It took him far too long to realize something wasn’t quite right as he entered the office. Pausing, he took a quick look about as a faint, unfamiliar scent caused his nose to twitch. Lavender, he belatedly concluded as he scanned the room in search of its source. When they lit upon the girl with chestnut-color hair seated behind Spence’s desk, all thought of the policy and procedure guide went puff.
Slowing his pace as he made his way to his desk, he fought the urge to say something. He knew she was waiting for him to. Though he had never before attributed the silly little games women play on men to wind them up to Spence, perhaps for the first time he realized she just might be more female than he had given her credit for. Concluding it would not do to spoil her fun, he did his best to kept an eye on a young woman who struck him as being so very different from the one he’d left in charge of the office without letting on he was doing so.
Everything about her was so un-Spence. It was more than the color of her hair, a tasteful hint of makeup, and the fashionable pale yellow silk blouse with an open collar she was wearing. It was her entire demeanor, for rather than the harried, almost frantic manner with which she usually attacked the keyboard of her computer while sporting an expression people who didn’t know her mistook for either anxiety or some sort of gastrointestinal discomfort, the Spence he was looking at exuded a casual serenity that spoke of an inner confidence as she merrily tapped away at her keyboard as if she didn’t have a care in the world.
Having reached a point in the Milan case report she was writing where she could pause without derailing her train of thought, Spence peeked up at Andy sporting a shy, innocent little half smile. At the moment he was standing behind his desk, holding his cup of coffee, staring at her as if he didn’t know who she was. This, and not the cheerful mood she was in caused a smile to light up her face. “Well, welcome back to the twenty-first century. Meet any interesting Celts and Picts? Or are you still chasing that rebellious red-haired queen who doesn’t know her place?” she added as she allowed her voice to take on a playful tone.
It took a blinking of Andy’s eyes and a quick shake of his head to rein in the troubling thoughts running through his head before he was able to answer Spence’s question in a manner that did not betray his curiosity and, more unsettling for him, his response to Spence’s new look. “Nothing exciting to speak of,” he muttered distractedly as he averted his gaze and turned to easing himself into his chair. “Just the usual. Marching, drill, and swapping stories about the campfire at night while sipping wine and gnawing off the last morsels of meat from the bone. And you?” he quickly asked as he grasped at the opportunity her question had afforded him to look back up at her and find out what had brought about her sudden transformation without making it seem as if he was overly curious.