Mark Billingham: From the Dead

'Sorry?' He looked round at her in mock-surprise, as though he had forgotten she was there.

Anna wasn't fooled for a second. She had been aware for the last ten minutes that he had finished eating. She'd seen the pile of empty plates next to him, watched him eke out a cup of green tea, and known very well that he was waiting for her to finish.

She leaned in close to him. 'We could go to a hotel.'

Now the surprise was genuine. He had not been expecting her to make the first move. He opened his mouth and closed it again.

'Seeing as you can sneak more than an hour.'

He nodded, but could not make eye contact with her.

'Why don't we find out how much you really like eating sushi?' It was deliberately crude, and she felt herself redden as she said it, but she could see straight away that it had done the trick.

He muttered, 'Christ!' as the crinkly smile became a stupid grin. He waved the waiter across, pointing to Anna's empty plates as well as his own to indicate that he would be paying for both of them.

The hotel was a five-minute walk away. Tucked behind Kingsway and within conveniently easy reach of Holborn Tube Station and a well-stocked chemist. A notch or two up from a Travelodge without being silly money.

He took out his wallet as they approached the reception desk.

'I'm not a hooker,' Anna said.

'I know that.'

'I'm perfectly happy to pay my share of the room.'

'Look, it's not a problem,' he said. 'You said you were temping, so…'

'Fine, whatever.' She caught the eye of the young man behind the desk. He nodded politely, then looked away, sensing he should not show any sign that he had seen her before. 'If you want to be flash, you can order us a bottle of something,' Anna said, then turned and walked across the lobby.

In the lift, he finally asked her name.

She shook her head. 'Ingrid… Angelina… Michelle. Whatever turns you on the most. It's more exciting that way.' She closed her eyes and moaned softly as his hand moved to stroke her backside.

As the lift juddered to a halt at the first floor, he said, 'My name's Kevin.'

The room was larger than she had been expecting – a decent-sized double – and she guessed that he had splashed out, which made her feel oddly sorry for him.

'Nice,' he said, slipping off his jacket.

She headed straight for the bathroom. 'Give me a minute,' she said.

She sent the text while she was using the toilet, then stood in front of the mirror and wiped away the excess make-up. She could hear him moving around on the other side of the door, heard the bedsprings creak and imagined him pushing down on the mattress, testing it out like some sitcom gigolo, with that grin still plastered to his face.

When she came out, he was sitting on the edge of the bed in his boxer shorts, his hands in his lap.

'Where's that sushi, then?' he asked.

'Aren't we going to have a drink first?'

As if on cue, there was a knock at the door and he nodded towards it. 'They didn't have champagne,' he said. 'So I got some sparkling wine. It's more or less the same price, actually…'

Anna moved quickly to the door and opened it, then turned and saw Kevin's face whiten and fall when his wife stepped into the room.

'Oh, shit,' he said, one hand still covering the rapidly dwindling erection, while the other scrabbled for shirt and trousers.

The woman watched him from the doorway, clutched her handbag to her stomach. Said, 'You sad wanker.'

'She picked me up, for heaven's sake.' He jabbed a finger in Anna's direction. 'I was just having my bloody lunch, and this… tart…'

'I know,' his wife said. 'And she had to drag you here kicking and screaming, right?'

'I can't believe you did this. That you set this up.'

'What, you can't believe I didn't trust you?'

Anna tried to squeeze past the man's wife towards the door. 'I'd better get out of your way.'

The woman nodded quickly and stood aside. 'The money's already gone into your firm's account,' she said.

'Right, thanks…'

'You bitch,' Kevin shouted. He was still struggling to yank his trousers on and almost tumbled, bracing himself against a chest of drawers.

Anna opened the door.

'And don't flatter yourself either, love. It was only because it was on offer.'

The wife had tears in her eyes, but still managed a look that was somewhere between pity and rage. It seemed to Anna that both were aimed as much at her as at the woman's husband.

'I'll leave you to it,' Anna said.

She stepped quickly into the corridor as Kevin began shouting again, and winced as the door slammed shut behind her. She walked quickly past the lift and took the stairs down to the lobby two at a time.

Tried not to think of his face and his pale, hairless body and the things he must have thought they were going to do.

The words he'd shouted after her.

'You're kidding yourself, love,' he'd said. 'If you think you're not a hooker.'

On the tube back to Victoria, Anna picked up a tattered Metro and tried to read. Did her best not to think about her afternoon's work.

You're kidding yourself…

She knew that the man whose marriage she had probably screwed up was bang on the money in more ways than one; that almost everything about what she was doing was wrong. She'd seen some of the flashier websites and knew how the bigger and better agencies handled the more radical end of 'specialist matrimonial investigations'. There were always at least two investigators involved in any honey-trap operation. The well-being and safety of the investigator were always put first. There were hidden cameras and microphones and pre-arranged secret signals.

Yeah, right.

She could see the sneer on Frank's face; hear his gravelly voice thick with sarcasm.

'So, why don't you sod off and work for one of the bigger and better agencies, then?'

She imagined herself calmly dishing it right back. Blithely announcing that one of these days she just might do exactly that. The truth was, though, even if she had walked into that sushi restaurant with armed back-up, a concealed tape-recorder and a pen that squirted acid hidden in her knickers, she would not have felt any better about what she was doing.

The direction her life was taking.

Money might have helped a little, might have eased her discomfort, but there was not a great deal of that, either. In one of those rare moments when Frank Anderson had not been angry or pissed or unreasonably vituperative, he had sat Anna down and tried to explain the financial situation.

'I'd love to pay you a bit more,' he had said, sounding almost, just for a second or two, as though he meant it. 'I'd love to, but look around. Everything's gone tits up in specialist services like ours and this credit crunch is biting us all in the arse. You understand?'

Anna had considered reminding Frank that she had a good economics degree, but guessed where the conversation would end.

'So, why don't you sod off back to that flashy bank, then?'

That was a tricky question to answer.

Because you promised me things. Because I thought this would be a challenge. Because I was bored stupid playing with other people's money and you told me that if there was one job that was never predictable, that was always interesting, it was this one.

Because going back means giving up.

Anna thought back to the day she'd phoned F.A. Investigations, excited about the ad she'd seen in the local paper; keen as mustard and green as grass. Eighteen months and a lifetime ago. What the hell had she thought she was doing, walking out on a well-paid job, on friends and colleagues, for… this?

Ten pounds an hour to make tea and keep Frank's accounts in order. To answer the phone and come on to men who couldn't keep it in their pants.