‘It’s so unlike you,’ Lucinda replied, ‘to engineer this situation. To put me in such an uncomfortable position.’
‘I accept full responsibility. It’s my own fault. I should have made it clear to DCI Capes that we needed separate rooms. He assumed, because you were my guest, that we would be sharing.’
‘And now you say the hotel is completely booked up?’
‘Completely.’
‘Well, this is most … distressing. I can think of no other word.’
‘Lucinda, we can get through this, if you will just be brave. Look how large the bed is …’
She turned to him, horrified. ‘You’re not suggesting that we share it?’
‘Or look at this sofa. Easily big enough for a man my size to have a comfortable night’s sleep.’
She looked at it appraisingly, and for the first time seemed to be mollified. ‘It’s true. It does look quite substantial. And it’s at least two yards from the end of the bed.’
‘And I’ve brought my sleeping mask with me. I won’t see a thing.’
‘Do you mean that, Nathan? Can I trust you?’
She gazed at him in anxious appeal, and once again he felt that a lifetime spent contemplating the depth and blueness of her eyes would be a lifetime well spent.
‘Of course, Lucinda. Of course.’
For a moment she looked so relieved and grateful that he thought that he might be gifted a hug. But this was wildly over-optimistic. She merely nodded her approval and said: ‘All right, then.’
‘And now,’ he said, doing his best to conceal his disappointment, ‘I’m needed over at the library, so I must change into my tux, if I can use the bathroom first.’
‘Of course.’
She stood aside to let him pass, and, within a few minutes, Nathan had changed into his dinner suit and was on his way to rendezvous with DCI Capes at the library entrance.
*
‘For God’s sake where are the fucking menus?’ said Sir Peter Eaves, looking at his watch. ‘We’ve been sitting here for twenty minutes now and nobody has a fucking clue what we’re going to be eating.’
Helke Winshaw glanced across at him sharply. Her cousin irritated her. Come to that, he was barely her cousin: second cousin by marriage, or something like that. She was annoyed that they had been put at the same table just because of this distant relationship. He was always complaining. Complaining and, therefore, drawing attention to himself, which in her view was a strategic error when you belonged to this particular family. As for his drip of a daughter … well, it looked like they were going to have to sit next to each other all evening, and that was going to make this dreary occasion even more dreary. They had nothing in common. Nothing at all.
In fairness to Josephine, there were not many people in the world who would find Helke Winshaw an easy dining companion. She regarded her words, like everything else she possessed, as valuable commodities which were not simply to be spilled out in order to lubricate the gears of social discourse. On top of which, as Chief Executive Officer of Winshaw Clearance plc, she had a keen (though scarcely inflated) sense of her own importance. She had founded the company herself, twenty years ago, in memory of her husband Mark, who had died in the same massacre that had claimed the lives of Roderick Winshaw and Hilary, Josephine’s mother. Mark had made a fortune from selling weapons. As a result of his efforts, many parts of the world were now contaminated with unexploded ordnance (or Explosive Remnants of War). It was seen as touching — if somewhat ironic — that after he died, his widow should set up an organization devoted to clearing former conflict zones of the lethal detritus which Mark’s activities had left behind. However, she had not done it for humanitarian reasons. It made perfect business sense to assume that, if there was money to be made from facilitating wars, there was money to be made from clearing up after them as well. Helke understood all too well that ERW clearance was a ruthlessly competitive business just like any other, and she approached it in that spirit. She fought aggressively to secure long-term contracts in major war zones such as Iraq and Afghanistan, since this was where the big money was to be made. At the same time, she kept a keen eye on smaller, independent NGOs which specialized in ERW clearance, since these outfits were often run by young and idealistic people who would energetically seek out less obvious territories which were also in need of decontamination: once a smaller company had found one of these areas and commenced operations there, Winshaw Clearance would then pile in like a juggernaut, put them out of action and hoover up the rest of the business themselves. Now, after two decades of expansion, acquisition and asset-stripping, they were established as the undisputed world leaders in their field, with an annual turnover in the tens of millions. And Helke Winshaw continued to sit discreetly at the helm.
‘Have a bit of patience,’ she said to her cousin. ‘What does it matter? It’s only food.’
‘Rude bitch,’ Sir Peter said, leaning in close to Josephine, and whispering in her ear, ‘Looks like you’ve drawn the short straw tonight. Try to ignore her.’ He noticed that his daughter’s eyes seemed troubled. She was staring across at the adjacent table. ‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.
‘See that man over there? The fat one with the piggy eyes.’
‘What about him?’
‘He’s that comedian who slagged me off on his show.’
‘Really?’ her father said. ‘Right. Later on, I’ll have a word with him.’ There was a grim note of menace to these last five words, which bled into his next muttered question, a repeat of: ‘Where are these fucking menus?’ Looking around, he caught the eye of a waitress with the name ‘Selena’ on her name tag, and beckoned her over to make his feelings known.
*
Lucinda left it until literally the last minute to make her appearance at table number 11. She arrived at 7.29 precisely. For Nathan, however, who had been sitting there in a state of heightened alertness for a quarter of an hour or more, scanning the room for signs of villainy, it was worth the wait. For a moment, all thoughts of detective work flew out of his head. As for any attempt to conceal his feelings, this was in vain. His jaw slackened and he let out a clearly audible gasp. Lucinda was wearing a plain black cocktail dress and she looked — there was no other word for it — ravishing.
She had arms. She had real, human, female, bare arms, complete with elbows and wrists, suspended from a pair of lovely pale bare shoulders. She had legs, complete with calves, shins, and knees deliciously sheathed in black nylon. She had a figure: a gorgeous, womanly figure at which none of her other clothes had even hinted before. He had already known that he was in love with her: but that love was instantly magnified and intensified a million-fold, and supplemented by a surging, overwhelming wave of desire which made him feel so weak that when he rose totteringly to his feet to give her a peck on the cheek, he was sure that his legs were going to give way.
‘Nathan,’ she said, and unless he was imagining it, her voice was not quite as prim as usual; there was something almost coquettish in it, as though she was fully aware of the effect her appearance must be having on him, and was quietly relishing it.
‘Lucinda,’ he replied. ‘You look … amazing.’ He prolonged the kiss for as long as he dared, relishing the cushiony softness of her cheek, and breathing in the scent of her tantalizing perfume, the fragrance of jasmine with a hint of rose petal.
‘Please,’ he said, drawing back her chair and sighing with admiration as she sank gracefully into it. She brushed back a rogue strand of hair and smiled shyly at the famous TV chat show host sitting next to her on the left, and at Ryan Quirky, sitting across from her on the other side of the circular table. She didn’t recognize either of them. Nathan took his place beside her on the right, and poured her a glass of sparkling water.