I didn’t wait for him to reply but strode straight back across the road to follow Sophie and Alice through the front door. This time, he didn’t follow me.
“Who’s that man?” asked Sophie, turning in the doorway and looking back.
“Just a bookmaking friend. He’s come to collect something.”
“Aren’t you going to ask him in?” she said.
“I did,” I replied, “but he’s in a hurry to get home. He said he’d wait while I fetched it.”
“What is it?” she said.
“Just a TV remote that Luca has been fixing.” I went to the cupboard under the stairs and took out the microcoder. “This,” I said, holding it up to her.
She lost interest. “Fancy some tea?” she asked.
“Love some,” I said. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
Sophie went into the kitchen with Alice to put the kettle on, and I waited a while in the hall, studying my watch, until its hands had moved slowly around a full five minutes. I didn’t want to give Mr. Smith, or whoever he was, the pleasure of having me come running at his command.
He was still standing where I’d left him. I held out the microcoder to him, and he took it.
“Thank you, Mr. Talbot,” he said. “And the chips?”
“You didn’t ask for the chips,” I said.
“Well, I am now.”
“Wait here.”
I went back across the road, collected the little bag of glass grains from the cupboard and went out to hand them to him. He studied the bag.
“Where are the rest of them?” he said.
“That’s all I have,” I said. “That’s all there ever were.”
“There should be twelve of them.”
“And how many are there now?” I asked innocently.
“Eight.”
“Sorry, that’s all I have,” I said.
He didn’t seem very happy. “Are you sure?” he demanded.
“Yes, I’m certain,” I said. “If I had any more, I’d give them to you. They’re no good to me, are they?” That might be true, I thought, but it hadn’t stopped me keeping a couple of them back: one complete chip and the one I had broken with the knife, just in case.
But there had definitely been only ten chips in the bag when I had found it in my father’s rucksack. So if there really had been twelve originally, two of them were indeed unaccounted for. Perhaps Paddy Murphy could enlighten me as to their whereabouts.
“It will have to do,” he said, as if to himself. Then he looked up at me. “Mr. Talbot, I won’t say I’ve enjoyed our little business together”-he held up his still-plastered right wrist-“but thank you nevertheless for returning the microcoder.”
He turned, walked over to the dark blue Ford, climbed in and was driven swiftly away by his unidentified chauffeur.
He might not still be thanking me, I thought, when he found out that his precious microcoder now wouldn’t work.
I hadn’t been lying when I told Sophie that Luca had fixed it. He’d fixed it, good and proper, by scratching right through the minute connectors on the printed circuit boards using a box cutter.
Sophie’s first night home was not quite an unbridled success, nor was it a disaster either. In fact, far from it.
There was the expected little spat between the sisters when Alice refused point-blank to allow Sophie to help prepare our supper.
“It’s my house,” Sophie complained to me. “And she won’t let me do anything in my own damn kitchen.”
“Let her do it,” I replied soothingly. “You know that she means well.” I stroked Sophie’s hand, and she slowly relaxed. “Come and sit down. Enjoy having someone cook for you.”
“I’ve done enough of that over the past five months, thank you very much,” she said. However, she still came and sat next to me on the sofa to watch the television.
I knew why Alice was so determined to do it all and why she was so worried. The memory of Sophie’s manic cleaning in that kitchen was fresh in both our minds.
“It’s good to be home,” Sophie said, snuggling into me.
“It’s good to have you home, my darling.”
We cuddled closer together on the sofa while watching experts on antiques trying to appear interested about dusty old junk salvaged from people’s attics while the junk’s owners tried to look surprised, and not too disappointed, by the meagerness of the valuations.
“It’s ready,” said Alice, putting her head around the living-room door.
The three of us sat at the kitchen table eating grilled salmon fillets, with penne pasta and peas.
“That was lovely,” I said, laying down my knife and fork.
“Mmm,” said Sophie, agreeing. “And much better than hospital food. Thank you, darling Alice.” Sophie smiled at her sister and winked at me. I positively beamed back at her.
My Sophie of old was back. But for how long? How I wished it was forever.
Needless to say, Sophie was not allowed to help with the washing up either, which amused her no end. I couldn’t remember a time when she had come home from a stay in the hospital so aware and with such an acute sense of humor.
But coming home had tired her, and we all turned in early, me taking Sophie up to our bed almost as I had done on our wedding night, and to do again the same things that all newlywed couples do.
For the first time in almost a week, due to having my mind on other matters, I went to sleep without wedging Sophie’s dressing-table chair under the bedroom door handle.
17
The creak of someone walking over the third step brought me instantly from deep sleep to sharp awareness. It was already light. I lay there in bed, holding my breath and trying hard to listen for any movement on the stairs. I turned my head and looked at the door. Sophie still slept soundly beside me.
How could I have put her in such danger? I thought. What a fool I was.
The door handle slowly depressed and the door began to open. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest. What was I to do?
“I made you some tea,” said Alice, coming into the room, carrying a tray with two mugs of steaming liquid.
“Oh, Alice,” I said with such relief in my voice that I almost cried. “Thank you.”
“It’s a beautiful morning,” she said in a whisper, looking at Sophie.
“Yes,” I replied in the same manner. “I’ll leave her to sleep.”
Alice put the tray down on my bedside table and, with a wave, she departed. I heard step three creak twice, as usual, as she went down.
What was I doing? I thought.
Was it time to go to the police and hold my hands up for my failings and ask for their help and protection?
It was all well and good for me to perform the James Bond, secret-agent act when it was only my life and my future on the line. But what would Sophie do without me, especially now that she was home and getting better? Maybe her recovery wouldn’t last forever, but surely I had an obligation to her in the meantime.
Shifty-eyes was still out there somewhere, and he surely would still be searching for his money. I was actually quite surprised that he hadn’t already found me. Mr. John Smith had seemingly had no problem in turning up in my home in the dead of night. Perhaps it was not as easy as I thought to get records from a Coroner’s Court. Or perhaps Shifty-eyes would have had to give his name to get them, and I suspected he might have been reluctant to do that. Maybe he still didn’t know that I existed, but I thought it unlikely.
Thinking about the Coroner’s Court reminded me that today was when I should call their office to see if an order had been signed to allow for my father’s funeral to take place. I wondered if my sisters knew yet that their father was dead, or whether they even cared.
Sophie slept in until nine-thirty, while the mug of tea cooled to room temperature on her bedside table. I took her up a fresh one and sat on the bed with her as she drank it.
“What a wonderful night,” she said, stretching her arms high above her head. “This bed is just so comfortable.” She snuggled down again under the covers.