“Exactly how posh is this thing?” I called her to ask. “Can I get away with Monsoon or do I need to nick something again?”
“Nick something?” she asked, alarmed.
“Well, borrow without permission. You remember my friend Ella, her boss has a whole wardrobe of tasteless designer things…”
“Oh. Yes. Well, you can if you like, but I’m sure I told you it’s a costume party?”
I stared at my wardrobe. God, she had, and I’d completely forgotten. “Right. Right. Is there a theme?”
“Not really. Just make sure it’s a proper costume, no putting some hay in your pocket and saying you’re the Last Straw or anything.”
Dammit. “No. Okay. I’ll see you later. I’m setting off in a bit.”
Which was a complete lie, because I had to find something to wear first. I looked through my wardrobe and nothing presented itself immediately, so I made a snap decision and took the Vanquish off into town for some last-minute shopping. I always feel more inspired when I’ve been shopping. Plus, I needed a new watch. I was tired of it always being three-fifteen.
The idea came to me as I was parking up. I spotted a black Defender in the car park, all decked out with Halogen lights and stuff like the one in
Tomb Raider
, and I knew what I could do. I raced round the shops and eventually found what I was looking for: a green leotard. I already had khaki shorts and Doc Martens, so all I needed was a little rucksack and some brown hair dye. Sorted. My hairdresser would kill me, but I was sorted.
Harvey was very impressed when I came out in my outfit, and I was pretty cheered up, too. The leotard made my boobs look bigger (as if they needed it) which made my waist look smaller, and my legs weren’t looking too bad after a bit of fake tan had been thrown in their direction. I even had thigh holsters to put my guns in, and they were real guns, too.
I called Karen to see if she’d got anything from Docherty, and she said that he’d been sullen and uncommunicative all morning. He’d asked for me, but I wasn’t likely to go in. I’d let him cool down first.
I called the hospital in Tralee again, but there was no news on either of the Kennedys. I got the Interflora number from the phone book and arranged to have some flowers sent over. Then I turned and looked at Harvey, who was watching Kilroy with an expression of disbelief.
“Does he always talk like that?”
“Yes. And don’t adjust the contrast, he always looks that colour, too. Harvey, about Janulevic…”
“He’s a pawn for Docherty?”
“Well, I think so. Remind me what he looks like?”
Harvey shrugged. “Forgettable. Average.”
“Brown hair, mid-forties maybe, good bone structure but skin like leather from too much sun?”
“Spent a long time digging in China,” Harvey said. “How do you know all this?”
“I think he ran over Tammy.”
“Tammy?”
“My cat.” I said it almost without blinking.
“Then he knows where you live?”
“Docherty must have told him. I took his phone off him and everything,” I said, gesturing to the carrier bag that held Docherty’s wallet and phone and the various high-tech and illegal artefacts I'd found in his pockets. “So he must have told Janulevic before I got him.” I drummed my fingers on the kitchen counter. “Luke thinks my car’s bugged.”
“But now he has your car.”
“Yeah. Now he does.” There was something bugging me, and I couldn’t think what it was. It wasn’t until I took my bag out to the car that I realised. There were spatters of petrol on the tarmac, and then a trail leading out from my parking space, in a three-point turn across the car park, and then out onto the road. I’d fired a shot at Ted’s wheel and missed. I must have hit the fuselage.
I raced back in and grabbed my spare keys. “I’m going after my car,” I said.
“How do you know—”
“Trail of breadcrumbs,” I said, grinning, and started up the Vanquish.
I rumbled up the hill and through the village, following the spots of fuel. They led out towards Ugley in a clear trail, followed through the village, and then turned left onto a field and vanished. Damn.
Briefly I thought about dropping a match and seeing if I could set the trail alight, but I figured I might get into a little bit of trouble with the farmer. Not to mention I’d probably blow myself up. I’d have to go on foot and see if I could follow the tyre tracks.
I parked the Vanquish on the verge and set the alarm. I’m not having that nicked, especially when I’m not entirely sure where it came from. Then I set off across the fields, wishing I was wearing my boots, but I’d changed out of the Lara outfit into normal clothes to drive to Cornwall in. The ground was dry and crumbly, and my sandaled feet were soon coated with dust. There weren’t any tracks to see.
Damn, when I wanted mud, did I get it?
I was just about to give up when I saw something glinting behind some trees. I got out one of Docherty’s pistols, figuring now was as good a time as any to figure out how to use it, and crept towards the little coppice.
And there was Ted, looking like the feral car in
Harry Potter 2
, dented and smashed and scratched, but whole and lovely and magnificent.
I ran over and hugged his fender, and maybe it was my imagination, but he looked slightly pleased to see me.
Aw.
I told him I’d be back soon to pick him up, then I trekked back across to the Vanquish while I tried to figure out how to drive two cars home. Harvey couldn’t drive, not with his ankle, and I wasn’t about to call Luke—who also, I remembered was not supposed to be driving. Stupid bugger. Although those few minutes he gave me might have helped Tammy a lot.
I drove home, thinking, and was just about to conclude that I’d have to call a cab or someone to tow Ted home for me, when I spotted Petr’s bike in my courtyard.
Hello.
“Harvey,” I said when I went in, finding him engrossed in a travel programme, “do you know how to ride a bike? I mean, like a scooter?”
He frowned. “Like that one outside? Sure.”
“Show me.”
It was simple, really, with the controls on the handles instead of on pedals, and after a couple of minor accidents and much amusement on Harvey’s part I got the hang of riding around the car park.
“I thought you were going after Angel?” Harvey said, leaning on his crutch and watching me.
“Yeah, I am. I just need to get Ted first.”
I made a fast stop at Total to get a can of petrol for poor leaking Ted, then rode up to the field and the coppice, stowed the scooter in the back of the car, and drove home, happy to have Ted back. For a brief second, I thought about taking him down to Cornwall—he deserved a nice long run after all he’d been through, and he was a Defender, and therefore subzero—but in the end the Vanquish won out. I tried to tell Ted that he had a hole in his fuel tank, but he didn’t look convinced, and we both knew I was going for looks, not personality.
“I do love you more,” I told him. “It’s just that the Vanquish is better for this job.”
Harvey was standing watching me. “You seriously talk to your car?”
“He’s feeling unloved.” I patted Ted’s flank and went over to the Vanquish. While I was in town, I’d bought a carphone kit for both my phones, and I plugged in the Nokia. “Right, if my mother calls then
do not
pick up the phone. If she comes over, then tell her you’re a plumber or something.”
“With a broken arm?”
“Oh. Well, tell her—tell her anything, actually. Harvey, I’m all-out on this. If the vet rings then for fuck’s sake call me, whatever the news is. Don’t tell anyone I’ve left town, not even the postman. If there’s a real emergency, Karen will know where I am. Do you have the office number?”
He nodded.
“Okay. Thanks for house-sitting for me.” I went over and hugged him, and he put his free arm around me.
“Thanks for letting me stay. Say hi to Angel for me,” he added wistfully, and I smiled. “In actual fact, will you pass on a message?”
I nodded. “Sure.”
Harvey tilted my face up, and then he kissed me, very softly. “Give her that.”
I blinked at him. “You want me to kiss her?”
“Yeah. And get someone to take a picture as well, if you can.”
I opened my mouth to say—well, I don’t know, really—but then I saw Harvey smile, his lovely hazel eyes sparkling, and I laughed.
“Okay. I’ll see if I can get a pillow-fight out of her, too. How’s that?”
He looked very excited. “It just might make my day.”
I smiled and got into the car. “Bye, Harvey.”
“Bye.”
I pulled over at the services on the motorway roundabout so I could figure out how to work the CD player and hands-free phone kit, and once I had Garbage thrashing away on the speakers, I felt quite a bit better. Actually, I was feeling pretty good. Luke was still a misogynist bastard and Tammy was still horribly hurt, but I had faith she’d pull through. And who needed Luke, anyway? I had a vibrator in my bag and the car was like Viagra.
For the first time since I started driving, I wasn’t afraid of the motorway. I sailed around the M25, other cars getting out of my way pretty sharpish, but they weren’t as sharp as the Vanquish. I was queen of the road. I was a bloody superstar. Little children pointed at the car, boys in their tarted up Citroen Saxos gaped as I sped past in the fast lane. Lorries actually scooted out of my way.
I flew down the M4 and M5, and then it was A roads all the way to Falmouth. I got stuck at Indian Queens, where the traffic goes from four lanes right down to one in a very short space of time, but I was expecting it, and used the lull to call Angel and tell her I was on my way. I was a veteran of this route: ever since my brother acquired his loopy blonde dog, Norma Jean, we’d been taking dog-friendly family holidays in Cornwall. This was the first time I’d driven it, however, and I expected to be hell. But the car made it wonderful.
My phone rang several times with Luke’s number displayed, but I ignored it. I even managed to resist the desperate urge to check my voice mail. See,
that’s
self control!
I was about half an hour away from Tregilly Bay, the village closest to Pela Orso, when I got lost, having forgotten which tiny Cornish town to aim for, and had to pull over to look at the map. And while I was there I braced myself and listened to the voice mails Luke had left.
They were not pretty.
Basically he wanted to know when I was leaving for Cornwall so we could share a lift. He started off being cordial. He even asked about Tammy. But after a while he started to get mad and yelled at me a lot, telling me I was being unprofessional and a fucking stupid cow.
I put the phone down, took a deep breath and only just—with the help of a large chocolate injection and Garbage’s “Supervixen”—managed not to send him a stuck-out tongue in reply.
I found my way to Tregilly Bay and parked up. The island of Pela Orso rose up from the sea, looking majestic. It was late afternoon, evening really, and the sky was just beginning to look dark. I got out my phone and used it to snap a picture of the castle, standing proud on the brow of the hill. Then I used it to call Angel.
“I’m looking at the house,” I said. “How do I get across?”
“The tide’ll be out for another half hour,” she said, “so drive across.” She gave me directions down to the quay, and I found a causeway going across the bay to the island. “Come right up to the house. You can put Ted in the garage.”
I couldn’t resist it. “I’m not driving Ted.”
“What are you driving?”
“Wait and see.”
I purred across the causeway, a million tourists staring at me, feeling very smug, then wound up the streets of the tiny little hamlet on the island, right up to the top where Macbeth stood at the gate, wearing black, looking forbidding.
“Holy shit.” He pulled off his bouncer sunglasses to stare at the late sun bouncing off the Aston’s gorgeous flanks. “Where’d you get that?”
“I talked very nicely to an Irishman.”
“The one in the cell?”
“That’s the bunny.”
“Did you talk him nicely into going into the cell?”
“Well, maybe I shot him once or twice.”
He shook his head. “You are a scary lady.”
Tell me about it.
I looked him over. He was wearing a lot of gold chains—not his usual style. “Who are you supposed to be?”
“Mr. T.”
I grinned. “Of course. Great outfit.”
He handed me an electronic pass with a photo on it—the same awful digital photo that’s on my gun licence, my red BAA pass, my military ID and my warrant card—and waved me through.
I pulled up at the front door of the house—a big Elizabethan affair with lots of crenellations and millions of wings—and waited for Angel to come skipping down the steps. She did, and her perfect little jaw dropped.
I gave a queenly wave and stepped out in best finishing school fashion.
“That’s Docherty’s car!”
“Yep.”
“How’d you get it?”
I explained briefly about catching him—omitting the part where I bawled my eyes out—and losing Ted.
“Plus, I thought, big A-list party, I’ll take the Aston.” It gave me a little thrill to say it.
I’d
driven an Aston Martin. I’d
driven
an Aston Martin. I’d driven an
Aston Martin
.
Sometimes, I really loved this job.
“Well, I’m impressed,” Angel said. “You look good in it.”
I preened.
“Do you have your costume?”
“Yes, and I look good in that too.”
“Glad to see you’re feeling better.”
“Driving that car is like getting laid.”
“Speaking of which, Luke called. Boy, is he mad at you.”
We started up the steps. “Well, I’m mad at him.”
“He’ll be here in about an hour. He called me to ask if I knew where you were and I told him you were probably on the M4. I’m not going to repeat his response to that.”
“Oh, well. Traffic’s bad at Indian Queens,” I said cheerfully. “Probably that’ll hold him up another hour or so. He might even miss the party.”
“It’s a ball, Sophie, not a party,” Angel said severely, then grimaced. “Sorry. Had to put up with Livvy all day. I mean, I adore her and everything, but she does drive me mildly mad when she— Livvy! Have you met my friend Sophie?”
Livvy came gliding down the steps from the castle, looking airbrushed. She was tall and blonde, but not in the way I am. I have bad hair days and fat days and spot days. Livvy has only perfect, polished days. Every day. Even now, when her expression said “harassed” her makeup, hair and clothes said “personal stylist”.
Cow.
“I think we met at Angel’s birthday last year,” I said, smiling bravely. Livvy gave me a swift up-and-down and turned to Angel with a “whatever” expression.
“Where the fuck is this crack security team of yours?”
Angel grinned. “Well, Mr. T’s on the gate, and Luke will be here in a couple of hours—”
“A couple—” Livvy began, her perfect nostrils flaring.
“He’ll be here,” I said, grimacing.
“And Sophie is standing right here,” Angel finished.
Livvy looked me over again. “You’re in security?”
“Well, actually, I’m a government agent,” I said, and she laughed.
“What, is that your character?”
Angel stifled a giggle.
“No, that’s my job. My ‘character’ is being a PSA. I have military ID, if you want to see it?”
I wasn’t that pissed off. I mean, when you think of government agents you generally think of people slightly more suave than me. Actually, Norma Jean would be more suave than me, and she wears a flea collar. When I told Harvey who I was, he laughed at me.
“Well, okay,” Livvy said sulkily. “Do you know what you’re doing? We have security people all over. Your…friend has been talking to them all afternoon.”
I glanced over at Macbeth, who was indeed talking to someone in a parka that had the name of a security firm emblazoned on the back.
“Yeah,” I said, “he’s in charge of that. I’m more sort of surveillance. Undercover.”
“Do you have your pass?”
I nodded and reached in my bag for it. Red BAA pass, green BAA pass, passport (you never know), driving licence, gun licence, warrant card, military ID card. Party pass.
Livvy and Angel stared at all the crap I’d piled into Angel’s hands.
“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Livvy said faintly, and clattered off to talk to Macbeth.
Angel grinned at me and we started up the steps into the house. “So how was Harvey?”
I blushed as I remembered his message. “He’s okay.” I nudged her. “I think he misses you.”
She smiled shyly. “I think I miss him too. God, Sophie, I only met him five days ago.”
I shivered. I nearly slept with Luke three days after I found out his real name. I actually did sleep with him two days later. And look how that turned out.
“Well, he’s a good bloke,” I said. “He was very sweet about Tammy.”
“What about Tammy?”
She didn’t know, and I really didn’t want to tell her, but she looked so sweet and anxious with her big blue eyes, that I sighed and started to tell her about the day I’d been having. But then we walked through the door into the main hall and sirens started bleeping all over, and people in security outfits rushed over.
“What’d I do?” I looked around in panic and realised I’d walked through a scanner. There was a belt beside it, just like at the airport, for scanning baggage, and my bag was taken off me and sent through, and I was pushed and pulled through the scanner again.
“We’ll have to search your bag,” I was told, as a woman started body searching me. I sighed and held out my arms. I set off the airport scanners on a daily basis. I reckon I have a magnetic personality, haha.
I watched them stare at the scanner monitor, then haul my bag out and go through the contents in disbelief. Revolver, illegal stun gun, matching pistols, Kevlar…
“Wow,” Angel said, impressed. “You proper Stephanie Plum.”
“I know,” I said smugly. “Aren’t I cool?”
“I’m afraid you can’t bring any of this inside,” the security woman said, and I shook my head.
“I’m afraid I can.” I rummaged through the bag for my military ID, making her look nervous. “I’m a government agent.” I turned to Angel. “You know, this is not very good for the undercover image.”
“I won’t tell anyone,” Angel reassured me.
The security woman was on her radio: “Front door to party coordinator?”
Livvy’s voice crackled over the radio. “It’s a ball, not a bloody party.”
The security woman rolled her eyes. “I have someone here by the name of Sophie Green, wants to bring firearms into the building. Claims she’s Government.”
“Let her,” Livvy said. “Let her do whatever she wants.” Ooh. Cheers, Livvy. “There’s another one coming soon, er, I can’t remember his name…”
“Luke Sharpe,” Angel said, and I scowled.
“Don’t let him bring guns in,” I said. “In fact, don’t let him in at all.”
“What’s he done now?”
“What hasn’t he done?” I muttered darkly, as the security woman handed me back my bag and waved me off.
I followed Angel up to the guest quarters, where she showed me the massive room she’d be sleeping in, flanked by rooms for me and Luke, with interconnecting doors. I was quite glad Angel was sleeping in the room between us. Otherwise God knows what I might be doing in the middle of the night. As we walked I told her about the conversation Maria had had with Luke, about the fantastic night we’d had, and then the awful truth when Maria called me.
Angel made appropriate faces of sympathy and shock, she cheered when I told her about shooting Docherty and taking all his cool stuff, and she nearly cried when I told her about Tammy.
“She will be okay though, right?”
I shrugged as bravely as I could, which was to say not very. “Course she will. She’s a fighter.” But I didn’t sound convinced, and I knew she knew that.
“Why don’t you call Harvey to see if there’s been any news from the vet?” she asked, a little too eagerly. “And then maybe you could ask him if he misses me, and then just casually drop into the conversation that I quite miss him too, and then you could say…”
“Why don’t you call him?”
She looked shocked. “No. Far too soon for that.”
I rolled my eyes. Since when were there all these rules about “too soon”? Or is that where I went wrong?
“I’m going to take a shower,” I said, “and get all this travel dirt off me—”
“Does the Aston allow dirt in?” Angel asked.
“Well, not really. I think it sort of repels it. But it does tend to suck up chunks of the road as it goes along, like fuel I think. I could do with getting rid of the tarmac.”
“So it’s Aston Martins that are responsible for all those roadworks, is it?”
I left her to go to my own room—which was huge, opulent, plush, everything I’ve ever thought about stately homes multiplied by a lot—and had a massive claw-foot bathtub in the adjoining bathroom. I showered and shampooed, made myself smell all nice, carefully reapplied my fake tan (My shoulders and arms tan okay, but the backs of my legs don’t. My mother has a theory that’s the Irish part of me), and got dressed in my Lara outfit, with Pink on the stereo for added attitude. I did some makeup, spending about half an hour putting on some very complex two-coat mascara that was supposed to make me look like Catherine Zeta Jones, if the advert was to be believed, added some shades and plaited my hair high on my head.
I made a Lara pose for the mirror, gun in hand. Damn, I looked good.
I was dancing along to “Get The Party Started” when the door opened and Angel came in, phone in hand, wearing a black rubber wetsuit that was unzipped low enough for killer cleavage and made it quite impossible to wear any underwear. Her hair was tousled like she’d just risen up from the sea, her skin was bronzed, her eyes thickly mascara’d.
She looked just like her mother had in
Seakiss
, forty-five years ago, the film that made her career.
“Jesus,” I said when she walked in. “God, Angel, I almost fancy you in that.”
She grinned. “Likewise. Harvey said you had a hot outfit.”
“Oh, he did, did he?” I said, looking pointedly at the phone.
“Well, you wouldn’t call him, so I thought I would.”
“Did he say anything about Tammy?”
“He said there’s been nothing so far.”
My shoulders slumped.
“No news is good news,” Angel said, coming over and putting her arms around me—stretching up quite a way, because she really is tiny. “And patience is a virtue.”
“Have either of those ever been true?” I asked, sniffing, determined not to smudge my mascara.
“I’m sure once or twice they must have been.”
I sat down on the bed, and Angel came with me, still looking at the phone in her hand.