Quintin Jardine - Fatal Last Words

‘One politician to another?’

‘I suppose you might say so. From what I could make out, although I wasn’t close enough to hear specifics, but judging by their rising voices, and by the expression on Bruce’s face, they seemed to be having something of a debate, and it was becoming heated.’

‘I thought you said that Mr Glover was an amiable man.’

‘Oh, he was, absolutely, but he never shrank from speaking his mind. From what I’ve been told, Bruce’s politics have been broadly confrontational since he came back into public life, whereas Ainsley was a single-issue man who was out to create a consensus against nuclear weapons.’

‘How did their discussion end?’

‘I have no idea what was said, but I know that it ended acrimoniously. The last time I saw Ainsley he wasn’t with Bruce, but with another journo, a guy called Ryan McCool, who has a column in the Glasgow evening paper.’

‘They were still in the Speigeltent?’

‘No. The party was starting to break up by then. Ainsley and McCool were heading towards the yurt.’

‘It was still generally open to authors?’

‘Not for business or refreshments, no. But some people had left things there; that’s why it couldn’t be locked at that point.’

‘So you saw Mr Glover and this man McCool heading towards it, and the next time you saw Mr Glover was next morning, and he was inside and he was dead.’

‘That’s it.’ She looked at him. ‘Sums it up perfectly, in fact.’

‘I don’t suppose you have a contact number for McCool,’ said Pye, poker-faced.

Mosley smiled. ‘Oh yes, Detective Inspector. I have contact numbers for just about everyone.’

She drew her brush through her thick unruly hair, still damp from the shower, drawing it behind her head and gathering it in her free hand until she was able to slip a band over it and secure it in a ponytail. It was a style she never wore outdoors, but it was a part of her ritual as she prepared for the day.

Turning, she took her blue floral kimono from the hook on the bathroom door and slipped it on, tying it in a bow. On another day she might not have bothered; her apartment building sat right on the bank of the Water of Leith, Edinburgh’s river, and was not overlooked by any nearby buildings, and so she often stayed naked, or in her underwear, until she was ready to commit to a choice of clothing for the day. But not that Sunday; not that morning.

She stepped out of the en-suite and walked through her bedroom, without pausing to shake out the tangled summer-weight duvet, then out into the living area and through to the kitchen. He was there, his back to her as he took two mugs from a stand on the work surface and opened the cupboards above, searching. He wore blue jeans, but no shirt, and he was barefoot. In the light of day, his waist seemed thicker than she remembered it, and his blond hair seemed to have acquired silver streaks. . unless she had never noticed before.

‘Far right,’ she said. ‘Open the furthest door on the right; that’s where I keep the coffee. . or the tea bags, in case your breakfast habits have changed.’

‘No,’ he told her. ‘I still need a shot of caffeine to kick-start my day.’

‘Make a pot for two, in that case; you’ll find some ground Italian in the fridge, and a filter machine in the cupboard at your feet.’

‘Black?’

‘Did I ever take black coffee?’

‘No, but it’s been a while.’

‘You can say that again, Andy Martin,’ she concurred. ‘You know, I really do find it strange that you’re here, but thanks for coming nonetheless. Was my spare bed OK?’

‘Yes, it was fine, thanks,’ he replied, perhaps a shade too casually. ‘I’m sorry, Alex; I should have gone back to my hotel last night.’

‘Sure you should, and been remembered by the taxi driver, or the night porter when he let you in. You’re still a pretty recognisable face in Edinburgh. Maybe I shouldn’t have suggested that you come here. Christ, maybe I shouldn’t have called you in the first place! I don’t know what the hell got into me.’

He turned, and she saw to her surprise that he was wearing glasses, rather than his customary contact lenses. ‘Unresolved issues,’ he reminded her quietly, ‘that was how you put it. After we met up at your dad’s a couple of months ago, you felt that there were things left unsaid between us. I’d have met this morning for breakfast, but it was you who didn’t want the two of us to be seen in public. That’s how it went, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ she agreed, ‘and too bloody right I didn’t want us to be seen. I went out with the guy next door a couple of times, and the next thing I knew I was getting nudges and winks at work. If you and I were spotted together in a Stockbridge café I’d be getting more than that, and your wife would be getting phone calls.’

‘Karen would handle them, especially if I told her the truth.’

‘What, that your ex-fiancée wanted to prove to herself that she could discuss the circumstances of our break-up without running off in floods of tears?’

‘Is that how it was?’ he asked, as he found the coffee-maker and filled it with water from the sink’s single tap. ‘You wanted to repeat all those things you yelled at me in Bob’s garden a few weeks back, but in a quieter voice?’

She smiled at his jibe. ‘No. And be fair, last night I didn’t; I behaved much better. No, it went deeper than that. I wanted to see whether you and I can ever have a normal relationship in the future, as two old friends.’

‘And can we?’

Alex opened another cupboard and retrieved a brown paper bag containing four croissants. She twisted the control knob of her eye-level oven, setting the temperature to a hundred and fifty Celsius, then placed the curved French rolls on the centre grid.

‘Honestly?’ she asked, her back to him.

‘There’s no other way, kid.’

She turned and gazed at him; he had taken off the spectacles and hung them on his gold neck chain. She held his green eyes for a few seconds, then looked away. ‘I don’t know yet,’ she confessed. ‘We got a lot of stuff off our chests last night, that’s for sure. I’m sorry I did what I did, Andy. I dumped all the blame for me getting pregnant on to you, and that wasn’t fair. When I had the termination, I was angry with you. As I said last night, as I saw it you’d nagged me about starting a family as soon as we could, nagged me into coming off the pill.’

‘As I suppose I did,’ he conceded. ‘Not constantly, but yes, I suggested that you put your career on hold to have kids. And that was selfish of me. Alex, I’m sorry about my reaction when I found out about it all. I hope that was the last immature thing I’ll ever do in my life. You hurt me, so I had to hurt you. If I had taken just a few minutes to try to see your point of view. . But I didn’t.’

‘No, you didn’t.’

‘And that’s why you’re not sure we can ever be friends again?’

‘No, that’s not why. We’re square on what happened. We were both responsible for it, and we both handled it badly. That’s behind us, I hope.’

‘So what’s your problem?’

‘My problem is that every time I see you I’m confronted by the truth about the true level of my moral integrity, and by my lack of proper self-discipline. And isn’t that a fancy phrase for a Sunday morning?’

‘Yes. So what does it mean?’

‘It means that. . that, no, I don’t think we can ever be “just friends”. Because if I’m honest with myself, I have to admit that there’s an obstacle in the way.’

‘A big obstacle?’ he murmured.

‘The biggest, I’m afraid. I still love you.’ She was aware that the sash of her kimono had worked loose. It was accidental, unplanned, but she did nothing about it as the ends slipped apart and the garment fell open. ‘You know, Andy, I’m seen as this strong modern woman, but in some ways I’m just plain weak.’ She looked at him again, and this time she held his gaze. ‘You see how weak I am?’