Quintin Jardine - Dead And Buried

She took some time over her makeup and her hair; it had been a few years since she had seen him and it was important to her that she made the right impression. She did not want to appear vulnerable; she did not want to appear weak; she did not want to appear a victim.

The bar was quiet when she stepped inside; she spotted him at once, sitting at a table facing the door, with a second chair pulled up, and a pint of lager and a tall glass of what looked like orange juice waiting. He stood as she approached, offering her a smile, but no handshake. She was shocked when she saw him, and hoped that it did not show on her face. Raymond was at least four years younger than her: when she had met him, and enjoyed their brief fling, he had been a teenager. The man she was looking at could have passed for thirty: he was pale, gaunt, and there were dark circles under his eyes. He was well dressed and well groomed, but still he looked to her like someone who had packed too many heartbeats into too short a time.

‘Hello,’ she said, as she sat, then pointed to the tall glass. ‘Is this for me?’

‘Yes. I thought you’d probably be driving so I got you an OJ. You can have something stronger if you like.’

‘No, that’s fine. A perfect choice in fact. So, how are you?’

‘I’m okay, thanks, and you’re wondering why I’ve turned up like this.’

‘True.’

‘Well, first, I want to apologise for that message I left on your phone on Friday. It was inconsiderate, it was crude, and it was unforgivable. I’m sorry.’

‘Apology accepted. In turn, please accept mine for suspecting you in the first place.’ She raised an eyebrow. ‘So what you said about me wasn’t true?’

A flash of the younger Raymond shone in his eyes as he grinned. ‘Oh, that’s still true,’ he exclaimed. ‘It shouldn’t have been told to an answering-machine; that was all.’

‘Well, thank you, sir. We’re not going back there, but for the record you were more than adequate yourself.’

‘I’ll cherish the compliment. The other thing I wanted to ask is, are you all right?’

There was something in the way he put his question that made her hand go to the scarf around her neck to check that it was covering the marks: they had darkened, and foundation cream no longer did the job. ‘I’m fine,’ she replied. ‘Why shouldn’t I be?’

‘I went to see you on Saturday morning, Alex. I was going to drop by and apologise then. I admit I was pissed off at first that you should suspect me, but when I thought longer about it, I could see why you might have. I could see as well what sort of an effect calls like that can have on a person. So I thought I’d just turn up at your place with a box of chocolates and make amends. I was nearly there when this police car went crashing past, blues and twos, pulled up at your door, then hit the buzzer to get inside. I stood there for a while at the end of the street, watching, until they brought this bloke out, in handcuffs and with his face all bloody, chucked him in the back and drove him away. Then more cars arrived, and all I could think of was you and those fucking phone calls. Finally you came out with another guy, not looking your best, I have to say, and he drove you away. I did my head in all day, wondering, and then I read in yesterday’s Express about the guy they’ve arrested, the serial killer from England.’ His eyes widened a little. ‘Was that him?’

She looked at him, then removed her scarf.

‘God!’ he whispered.

‘Have you told anyone about this?’ she asked.

‘No.’

‘Then do me a favour and keep it that way: the press don’t know about my involvement, and I don’t want them to find out.’

‘Not even Gina?’

‘Not even her. I’ll tell her myself if I feel the need.’

‘Okay, I promise. I’m glad you are all right; you didn’t look it on Saturday, that’s for sure.’

‘I didn’t feel it either.’

‘I’ll bet.’ He watched her as she drank, noting the tiny pain lines from her still swollen throat that suddenly appeared on her face. ‘Take care of yourself, Alex,’ he murmured. ‘Having to be strong all the time can get you down.’

She replaced the scarf before anyone else in the pub noticed her. ‘You too, Raymond. Gina tells me you’ve been making a mess of your life lately.’

‘That’s what the family believe, but it hasn’t been all bad; my business side has been okay. Still, I admit that I’ve spent the last few years being a general fuck-up, hurting people without giving a damn about it. I’m going to change, though, I swear: I have to, or it’ll be terminal.’

‘If there’s anything I can do to help you, I will.’ She sipped some more orange juice. ‘You’ve got my number, so keep in touch. Now, I’ve got to go: I promised my young brothers I’d let them annihilate me at some video game or other.’

She rose from the table. ‘Before I do, though, there’s something I just have to ask you. Why the hell are you wearing that mitten on your right hand?’

‘I’m looking forward to spending Christmas in Italy with your mum,’ said Paula Viareggio. ‘Not just because I enjoy it there, but because it means she’s accepted the way things are between you and me. I know she liked Maggie: she blamed me for the break-up for a while.’

‘You’re imagining that,’ Mario protested. ‘Mum’s always had a soft spot for you.’

‘It didn’t stop her from giving me a few frosty looks when it all happened.’

‘Babe, that’s nothing to what she gave me at first. We can both thank Maggie for going to see her and telling her that our marriage had run its course, on both sides. She even told her that I’ll never be one of nature’s husbands, and that you and I are carved from the same stone.’

‘How is Maggie?’

‘Happier than I ever thought she’d be. I’m dead chuffed for her.’ He headed the discussion in another direction. ‘What do you want to do tonight? Movies?’

‘Sure, there’s a new Hugh Grant film on along at Ocean Terminal.’

‘Will it be much different from any other Hugh Grant movie?’

‘Probably not, but they’re funny, as a rule.’

‘Okay, let’s try it. Pizza first?’

She laughed. ‘You and your bloody pizzas; you don’t have to prove to me that you’re Italian.’

‘I have to prove myself to you every day.’

She slid herself along the couch and pressed herself against him. ‘Forget about the days,’ she murmured. ‘Concentrate on the nights.’

He grinned. ‘I do. . as hard as I can.’ He kissed her softly, tenderly, feeling her flick his teeth with her tongue.

‘Beats old Hugh any day,’ she whispered, as they broke off. ‘Maybe we’ll just watch a DVD.’

‘That’s not a bad. .’ The phone rang, insistently. ‘Fuck!’ he swore, as Paula picked it up. ‘That is one of nature’s bloody laws.’

‘And another,’ she said, holding it out, ‘is that it’s always for you. It’s Neil.’

‘Hi,’ Mario grunted into the mouthpiece.

‘Bad time?’

‘Almost.’

‘Sorry, but it’s important.’

‘Everything’s important these days.’

‘This is interesting too. I’ve just had a call from Alex Skinner: she wants to meet the two of us tonight, soon as possible, in a police office.’

‘Why?’

‘She didn’t go into detail, but she said that it has a bearing on a live investigation.’

‘I thought we’d sorted all her problems.’

‘So did I, but this didn’t sound like one of them. She told me that she was calling as a solicitor, not a pal. I’ve told her to be at Fettes in half an hour. Can you make it?’

‘I’m afraid so. See you there.’ He made his best ‘sorry’ face for Paula, as he handed the phone back.