Dhesi's desire to buy the man out. 'But what can I do?' he had shrugged, his upturned hands expressing his helplessness. 'I don't have the sum of money needed to send the rascal packing and the banks are simply unwilling to lend at this time of recession.'
By the end of that hour, Amit and Dhesi had not just clasped their hands together in recognition of their joint past, but had shaken on a deal that would mean much to them both. Amit would buy out the other partner and invest in this business (once he had examined the books. Of murve, Dhesi had said hurriedly, that was understood.) And for Amit it had signalled a new beginning. He had a place of business now, a partnership in a thriving restaurant and a friend upon whom he could rely.
Money had not been a problem. The Hundi, the fixer, had arranged everything just as he had promised. Trust of a different sort had been all important, of course, but Amit had been in a situation where even had he been robbed blind by the go-between, he would have given the man his hefty commission. Nonetheless his funds had been transferred to an account in a Glasgow bank and to his surprise they had not been reduced by more than the agreed fee. Honour was still intact, even in this cold, Western land.
His rental flat was comfortable but it was time now to make another sort of investment. A place of his own, here in Glasgow's West End.
Amit thought of the woman with the long red hair. Marianne. If he could run his fingers through those silken tresses… touch her in a way that brought a smile to her lips…
He dismissed the sudden fantasy. She had been useful to him, wasn't that all? And Amit knew the time was approaching when his friends would expect him to be rid of her for good.
CHAPTER 11
Dinner'll be ready in a minute,' Maggie called out, hearing her husband closing the front door behind him. 'Salad again.' She turned and made a face. 'I've tried to go easy on the avocados but there's plenty of chicken and bacon. Okay?'
Lorimer sidestepped the ginger cat that was attempting to wind itself around his trouser leg and walked across the room to where his wife was putting the finishing touches to a dressing.
The scent of oranges wafted from the breakfast bar where she was standing and he sniffed the air appreciatively.
'Smells good. New recipe?'
Maggie smiled and shook her dark curls. 'No. Just made it up as I went along. Inspired by what was in the fridge.' She looked up at the tall man who was leaning against the counter. He was, Maggie Lorimer thought, the sort of person who filled a room just by being there.
She was suddenly reminded of the first time she had seen him.
A crowd of her pals had been gossiping in the students' union, a few weeks into the beginning of term, when this tall young man had wandered in, his eyes fixed on somebody at the far end of the room. He had walked past Maggie and her girlfriends, and as he passed she had turned to follow him with her gaze. His loping stride atracted her.what had it been? A quality of stillness within, perhaps? So different from the clowning, posturing of so many of the lads trying to impress.
Maggie had gone out of her way after that to look for this one.
He told the story his own way, of course: she had been sitting alone in the crowded cafeteria and he'd given her that crooked smile of his. 'Is it all right…?' he'd asked and she'd gestured for him to sit down beside her. He'd been watching her for weeks, he said, waiting for a chance to say hello.
That same crooked smile made Maggie's heart turn over now as he put out his hand and touched her hair.
'Good to be home,' was all he said but those few words and that blue gaze spoke far more to Maggie than any earnest proclamations of love. Scotsmen didn't go in for flowery speeches and this one was no exception.
'Just as well it's salad,' was all she said, opening the refrigerator door and sliding the bowl back in.
Later, as she watched him pull on his jeans, Maggie wondered at the chemistry that had brought them together and the bond that held them now. Okay they'd had their ups and downs but each storm had been weathered: the nights of sobbing into her pillow after each miscarriage, the bereavements as sharp as if these poor half-formed babies had been family members already; the endless weeks when she hardly saw him during a difficult murder case; the months of separation when she had left him to work in America. Somehow each of these things had made their marriage more secure. Or was it that their need for one another was deeper than mere desire?
A lift of his eyebrows as he turned to look at her made Maggie's cheeks glow.
'How about some food now? Dragging a poor man off to bed before he has a chance to eat his dinner!' He gave a little laugh then, fastening his jeans, came over and bent to kiss her gently.
'Thanks for starters,' he murmured in a tone that had Maggie wanting to pull him back into bed again.
'Ow!' she exclaimed, sitting up abruptly. 'Cramp in my toes!' she added.
'Come on, stand up and it'll be better.'
He lifted her out of bed, his hands warm against her naked flesh, holding her against him for a long moment.
'Right,' he slapped her bottom gently. Now I really need some food. See you downstairs.' Then, releasing her, he picked up a discarded T-shirt from the floor and was gone.
Maggie flexed her foot, willing her toes to uncurl again. She hobbled across the room, pulled her cotton dressing gown from the back of the door and slipped into the shower room, glad of the cool shower tray beneath her feet.
Minutes later she was dressed and heading back down to the kitchen, her hair wrapped in a towel. There was no sign of Bill but the open door suggested that they were eating out of doors this evening. She yanked off the towel, draping it on the back of a chair to dry then pulled her fingers through her long, dark curls. It would dry in minutes out in the garden.
'How was your day?' she asked. Her husband made a face, his mouth still full of food. `Elm, good as that, eh? Or was it murder?' she joked.
'Had a call from Solly,' Lorimer began, then, as Maggie shot him a look, he began to relate what the psychologist had told him.
'That's peculiar, surely,' Maggie said at last. 'With Solly's track record the force should be letting him know he's a part of any investigation into multiple murders. Come on,' she reasoned, 'he's been feted by the media up here, so why should another man's mistake affect our Solly?'
Lorimer shrugged and made a face. Not fair, is it? But I can't see what I can do about it other than have a wee word with Joyce Rogers. It'll have been decided at a policy meeting. Still,' he went on, 'it would have been nice to have had some prior warning. A memo from on high, at least. Solly seemed really hurt.'
'Is it true what the papers are saying, then?' Maggie wondered aloud. 'Do they really think that psychological profiling has had its day?'
'I hope not,' Lorimer replied. He ran his fingers through his dark hair. `Och, I can remember when I was completely against it myself. Thought it was interference from outside.'
'But that was before you saw the great Doctor Brightman in action,' Maggie laughed.
'Aye, so it was. Though I wouldn't really say Solly had been guilty of a lot of running around. It's more the way he sits back and views a case from different sorts of angles. Working with statistics and maps and things. Almost scientific,' he added in a mumble.
Maggie gave a hoot of laughter. Now that is an admission, Detective Chief Inspector. Almost scientific.'
'Anyway, he's not likely to be involved in the murder case we're investigating just now. Unless there's a mad gunman about to hit the Glasgow streets.'
The hit man tried again to turn the key in the lock but it was no use. Whoever had been responsible for breaking into Brogan's pad had done a damned good job of wasting the front door. Chucking the key behind him into the mess of stuff lying on the floor, he pushed the door back and forwards, testing it. He considered the security of the place. A pair of bolts had been nailed to the inside, top and bottom, but neither was flush with its original hasp any more and a thorough search of the flat had failed to turn up any decent tools to fix them. It was typical of Brogan. Always had been a lazy, careless sod. He cursed him as he stepped onto the landing.