Enigma

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  ‘It seems like hours.’

  ‘What does?’

  ‘Cheers, partner.’ Stuart gratefully took the balloon-shaped glass of brandy. He put the glass to his mouth, took a large sip. The smooth dark amber-coloured liquid trickled down his throat spreading a quality fire into every fibre of his body. He leant his head back on the sofa. Exhausted. Spent. ‘Since we were last here. It seems like hours.’

  Love glanced at his Timex. ‘It’s only been about fifty-five minutes,’ he said. He stood in front of Stuart. His legs slightly apart. Like he was still full of energy, action and ready to jump into whatever situation would come next. ‘Right!’ He clapped his hands and rubbed them together. ‘Whilst you’re enjoying that Hennessy point me in the direction of your painkillers.’

  Stuart nodded towards the kitchen. ‘In there first cupboard on the left. Top shelf.’

  ‘Okay, I’ll be back in a couple of minutes.’ He strode off towards the kitchen crossing the yellow rug. ‘Don’t go anywhere,’ he tossed back over his shoulder.

  Stuart smiled. ‘As if.’

  Love filled the kettle, lit the gas, placed it on top of the blue flame, grabbed their two mugs from earlier, rinsed them under the hot tap, opened a cupboard and closed it again. Wrong one. Opened the cupboard next to it, retrieved a new box of teabags, opened the box, took out two teabags dropped one in each mug and waited.

  He thought of Jill Pfeiffer. He wondered if he should go round there but it wasn’t his place. Besides, she’d be on her way to the hospital by now. He glanced again at his watch. It was coming up to twenty past five. Heinrich could already be in theatre. He needed to talk to the young man. He had to know how he’d done it and why.

  And Stuart needed to know. Especially Stuart. It looked like Emma had been targeted as number three after all. That was a potentially dangerous game they’d played, dangerous but controlled. Emma had been in no real personal danger, she’d been safe.

  Stuart wouldn’t have engineered it otherwise.

  But sometimes, just sometimes, they had to take that extra step. It was part of the job. If you can’t stand the heat - get out of the kitchen? Isn’t that what they say? If they weren’t prepared to go that extra mile then it was time to get out. Emma knew the risks when she’d married Stuart.

  She was intelligent, she knew how it worked. Her father had been high up in the police force. It ran in the family.

  She was used to it.

  Still, Love sure was glad it was all over. All it needed now was to dot the things and cross the others, however that saying went. The kettle started to whistle sounding like a little bird shrilling hence its fledgling whistle top. The steam started to collect under the ceiling making hot, damp little clouds. Love leant over, turned off the gas, grabbed the kettle and poured water into the two mugs. He turned to the other side of the kitchen opened the cupboard and retrieved a box of Disprin from the top shelf, next to which he spied a small glass bottle containing mandarin, green organic oil. He grabbed it, closed the cupboard.

  He dunked the tea bags, squeezed them hard against the side of the spoon, added the sugar and stevia, a drop of rice milk in the blue mug, regular organic lactose-free in the yellow, grabbed the red-coloured Unikko matching tray and walked back into the lounge.

  Stuart had moved from the couch. He was standing in front of the door that led to the terrace outside. He was staring through the glass. He turned when Love walked back into the room. Love glanced over at him as he placed the tray down on the coffee table.

  ‘All right, mate?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Stuart said. ‘Feeling a lot better, thanks, just a bit sore.’

  Love picked up the little bottle he’d taken from the kitchen cupboard. ‘What’s this for?’

  Stuart glanced over and squinted. ‘Oh, that! Yes, very good stuff, we get it from Scotland,’ he explained. ‘It’s a natural aid for digestion, calms the intestines, and nerves too especially from shock or grief.’ He held out his hand. ‘I should take a drop now.’

  Love handed him the bottle. ‘Does it work?’

  ‘Certainly,’ he said. ‘One time I had the most awful diarrhoea, I mean, you could have ploughed half of Hertfordshire with what I was producing,’ he said, and chuckled. ‘Who needs cows.’

  Love stared at Stuart with a wry expression on his face. ‘Really?’

  ‘Love, you should have been there.’

  ‘No, I don’t think so, and mate, too much information.’

  Stuart grinned. ‘Anyway, yeah, this stuff from… who is it?’ He paused as he read the label. ‘Aromantic, it helped, it did.’

  Love picked up the blue mug, took a couple of steps towards Stuart and placed it on an occasional table to the side of him. His face had lost its deathly white pallor and some colour had crept back into his cheeks. Probably courtesy of the brandy, Love grinned to himself, but if it did the job.

  ‘Here,’ he said, handing him the Disprins. ‘These should help too.’

  Stuart smiled as he took the box, opened it, and extracted a sheet of silver foil. He tore it open. According to the instructions you were supposed to push the tablet through the foil and out the other side. Not that it ever worked, at least where Stuart was concerned. Sticking to his tried and trusted method he extracted two tablets, put one in his mouth, blew on his tea, took a swig, shook his head as the liquid carried the tablet down his throat.

  Love grabbed his tea from the tray and sat down on one of the armchairs. He took a sip. It hit the spot.

  ‘You want any help packing an overnight bag?’

  Stuart shook his head. ‘Not bothering to take anything,’ he said.

  ‘Not even a toothbrush?’ Love smiled.

  ‘Maybe just a toothbrush,’ Stuart said, and grinned. He took the second tablet and another swig of tea. ‘I’ll be like Jack Reacher,’ he quipped.

  ‘Really!’ Love said, and laughed. ‘Sure, mate, you could pass for twins.’

  ‘I’ll get anything I need from the hotel shop or get something sent in.’ Stuart strolled over to the couch and sat down. ‘But right now all I need is Emma.’

  ‘Right!’ Love drained his mug, got up, held his free hand towards Stuart. ‘Finished?’ Stuart lifted the mug to his mouth and emptied it. ‘Thanks, Love, that was good.’

  ‘Welcome, mate.’ He took the mug and placed them both on the tray. He walked back to the kitchen, turned on the hot tap, squirted some grapefruit & green tea Ecover washing-up liquid on to a sponge, washed the two mugs set them upside down on the draining board, washed the spoon, dried his hands, walked back to the lounge.

  ‘Grab your toothbrush and let’s go.’

  Ten minutes later, the two men were ready to leave. Stuart was carrying a small black leather toilet bag inside of which was literally just his toothbrush until at the last minute he grabbed the box of Disprin from the coffee table and chucked it inside.

  Love had to help him out of his jumper and baseball shirt and into a soft white cotton T-shirt of which he had half a dozen to use as nightwear bought for half price at £19.95 from Charles Tyrwhitt.

  On top of that he chose something easy to wear something he could manage by himself, which he did. A pure lambswool zipped cardigan in charcoal marl from La Redoute with a high collar and ribbed-edging.

  The two men walked back downstairs, Love grabbed his tie from the back of the sofa from earlier, shrugged into his Donegal, rolled up the tie put it in his pocket and they were ready to leave.

  Love locked the front door behind them, kept hold of the keys. The cold slapped them in the face. Stuart staggered a little and grinned. ‘Feel good, Love.’

  ‘I bet you do, mate, nothing to do with the brandy of course.’

  ‘Of course,’ he said.

  Love grinned in return, walked into the garage, and slipped inside the car just as Stuart eased himself down on to his seat. The two doors shut with a bang echoing somewhat in the small confines of the garage.
Love put the key in the ignition, fired her up, flicked on the lights, pushed the gear into reverse, let the handbrake off and drove out of the garage in a perfect straight line. He pushed the gear into first turned right and they were off.

  Maybe there is something to driving a small car after all, he determined, and said, ‘Which hotel, mate?’

  ‘The Savoy, please, James,’ Stuart replied, pointing straight ahead with his good arm.

  Love drove to the end of the road, indicated right and right again into Kensington Church Street. The traffic lights were green and he turned right into Notting Hill Gate. ‘Is this the right way?’

  Stuart who had been resting his eyes sat upright took a look round him, and said, ‘No, turn right here into Kensington Palace Gardens.’

  ‘Where we just came out of?’

  ‘That’s about it,’ he said, and laughed. ‘It would appear it’s the day for going round in circles.’

  Love checked over his shoulder, got in lane, indicated right, waited behind a green TR7, the road became clear, he went, Love went.

  ‘Okay, mate, now where?’

  ‘Go with the road and then bear left back into Kensington Church Street, keep going, until we hit Kensington High Street and I’ll tell you from there.’

  Twenty-two minutes later, following a couple of slight detours due to Stuart nodding off and Love taking a wrong turn in Piccadilly, Love zoomed into the forecourt of the Savoy and pulled up outside the main entrance.

  He turned to face Stuart. ‘I’ll take the car back if I can find my way, pick up my Volvo, come back here and drop the keys off.’

  Stuart smiled. ‘Love, you are a number one bloke.’

  Love grinned. ‘Is that good?’

  ‘Yeah, mate, it’s not bad.’ Stuart opened the door, leather toilet bag in hand, walked up to the revolving doors, was met by a porter, thanked him and waved him away. I mean, all he had was a toilet bag and that he could manage even with an iffy arm. He turned round, and called out, ‘I’ll see you tomorrow round lunchtime.’

  ‘Go to Emma and have a good night,’ Love replied. He shoved the gear into first, hit the accelerator, and was gone.

  Considering the Mini had been driven like the clappers, it had been revved, pushed and something approaching abuse all within an inch of its life, it looked remarkably in good shape.

  Not a scratch on it.

  Although the engine and gears might want an overhaul after today, Love determined, good car, it had done well.

  He closed the garage doors, locked them, and walked to his own vehicle parked just round the corner. He pointed his key, the car beeped, the Volvo clunked its familiar sound. He pulled open the door and got in.

  Lots of room, Love remembered that.

  He fired her up, pushed the gear into first, everything familiar and where it should be ready to drive back to the Savoy to drop off Stuart’s keys. Familiar maybe and extremely thankful for it, yet, he mused, not quite so exciting.

  But he could live with that.