Angel on the Inside (17 page)

Randy's eyes cut her through a pair of rimless octagonal glasses. ‘Certainly, miss. Will there be anything else, miss? What did your last slave die of, miss?'

‘Oh, shut up, you old tart,' said Stella with a grin.

‘Slag.'

‘Slipper.'

‘Hag.'

‘Bitch.'

‘Minger.'

‘Er ... it's supposed to be served warm,' I said.

‘Then tell Michael to stick it in the microwave,' said Stella.

‘I don't think he's got a microwave,' said Randy, blowing cigarette smoke as us.

‘Then stick it down the front of his trousers for five minutes,' said Stella, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Randy cheered up at that, took the bottle and headed for the bar.

‘You just can't get the staff these days,' Stella said, moving closer in to me than was strictly necessary.

I took a pull on my beer and reached for the pack of cigarettes Stella had left on the table. It meant I had to lean in to her, but she didn't seem to mind.

‘Randy is staff?' I said, fumbling with the cigarette packet and trying to ignore Stella's left knee as it nudged its way between my legs. I was in danger of being assaulted in front of witnesses twice in one day. That would be a record even for me.

‘We have lots of staff now; we've expanded,' Stella said, so close to me now she didn't have to shout.

The pressure of her knee increased, and I drew heavily on the cigarette I had finally managed to light. Stella caught my hand and directed the cigarette to her own lips, tilting her head to do so, but her eyes never leaving my face. If she got any closer she'd be behind me. I had to break the spell.

‘Is Veronica here?'

‘No, she's on a job on a cruise ship in the Baltic, trying to spot which of the crew are diddling the passengers.'

Her knee moved back a fraction and suddenly I felt a lot cooler. Talking about Veronica obviously had the same damper effect on both of us.

‘So she'll be missing the wedding?'

‘Yes,' Stella smiled. ‘But then, she's not really a wedding person.'

‘I didn't think you were.'

‘I was sure
you
weren't, but, hey, what do I know?'

‘You must know something. You called me.'

She edged backwards, leaving enough room for cigarette smoke to drift between us, and then came to a decision.

‘Yes, you're right, I did. We need to talk before I get totally trollied. Come on.'

She grabbed my hand and began to push through the crowd, smiling, talking, air-kissing as she went, ignoring the suggestions and nudge-nudge, wink-wink accusations thrown at her from virtually everyone in the room. At one point she responded with ‘It's my party; I can do who I like,' and she also managed to liberate an almost full bottle of champagne from someone. I had just time to grab her cigarettes and lighter from the table before she dragged me in her wake.

The pianist had started a very slow version of ‘I Wish I Knew How It Felt To Be Free'. She was good, even if, with my back to her now, I couldn't see what the dolphin tattoo was doing. Some of the guests were swaying (as much as was possible) and humming along, and I caught snippets of conversation as they tried to remember which TV show it had been used as a theme for, which film it had featured in and who had done the previous year's grim cover version. None of them would have ever heard of Nina Simone, but the pianist probably had. She was good.

‘Back in a few minutes. You enjoy yourselves. Get more drink. Call of nature, that's all,' Stella was saying to all and sundry.

As we came level with the end of the bar, I saw Michael tangling with Randy, who had managed to get behind the bar and was tugging at the belt of his trousers, waving the small bottle of rice wine in front of his face. He caught my eye at the same time he realised what Randy was suggesting, shrugged his shoulders and, with a smile, let her work the bottle down the front of his trousers, making lots of over the top faces and giving me the thumbs up sign with his right hand.

I realised that Stella was dragging me towards the toilets, and when Michael saw that, his grin broadened, and he put both thumbs up in the air.

 

 

 

 

 

There were catcalls and wolf-whistles loud enough to drown out the pianist as Stella dragged me through the door to the toilets. There would have been more if they'd seen her carry straight on into the Gents, slam the door behind us and then lean on it.

‘Tobacco me,' she commanded, crossing her legs so that the skirt fell open again and putting the champagne bottle to her lips. When I had lit a cigarette from the stub of the one I had, we swapped.

‘You're really getting married tomorrow?' I asked between sips.

‘‘Fraid so. Missed your chance there.'

‘Just naturally lucky, I guess. You going to be in any fit state?'

‘Fuck it, I'm not going into that church sober!' she laughed. ‘But don't worry about me, Angel, I've planned ahead. Everybody gets shit-faced here, then we move round to the Rasa Sayang for some Malaysian nibbles about 7.00, then I disappear in a pre-ordered limo. Anyone still standing gets to go on to a club – whatever. I'm on my way to a five star hotel near Gatwick where my future mother-in-law is imposing maximum security.'

‘Hey, dropping out of your own hen night, that's impressive. You must be serious about the guy.'

‘Not as serious as he is about me.'

As she said it, she licked a finger and drew it up her left leg from the knee to the stocking top, making a ‘sssss' noise as if quenching a flame.

I handed back the champagne.

‘Down, girl, down. Exactly how rich is this guy?'

She licked her finger and made the hissing noise again.

‘I get the picture,' I said. I handed the champagne back to her and lit myself another cigarette. For some strange reason I needed one. I was sure it was absolutely nothing to do with the way she was leaning against the door.

‘We'll be going on our honeymoon tomorrow night,' Stella was saying, ‘so we'll be away for a couple of months.'

‘As you do,' I said casually.

‘So when I found out what was going on, which was, like, just this morning, I swear it, I had to get hold of you.' At that point she giggled, then said: ‘Well, you know what I mean.'

‘You've been following me,' I prompted.

‘Not personally!' she protested.

‘Of course not.' I reached out and stroked her cheek slowly with the back of my hand, then relieved her of the champagne bottle. ‘I would have noticed
you
.'

When she opened her eyes she said: ‘You don't fancy a quickie, do you? I mean, they all think that's what we're doing anyway.'

‘You were saying?'

God, I could be strict.

‘Okay, I really did only find out this morning, right?' I nodded and had another drink. ‘Good, because if I'd known it was you, I would have told you, you know I would have ...'

‘Get on with it.'

‘Right. I was away from the office and Veronica was setting up the cruise ship job I told you about, when a client registered with us wanting some info on a guy called Keith Flowers.' She paused, did some serious smoking for a minute, then narrowed her eyes. ‘You don't seem surprised by any of this so far.'

I took off my Ray-Bans and for the first time she saw (and I saw in the mirror above the sink) the mottled bruising above my nose.

‘I'm ahead of you, I think,' I said. ‘But carry on.'

‘Okay, but just remember I wasn't there. I only found out about this this morning when I saw the weekly timesheets.'

She held out a hand for the bottle and took a long swig.

‘I didn't know we'd agreed to do a background check on this Keith Flowers. Honestly, I didn't. It was one of the new girls – I said we'd taken on new staff, didn't I? Anyway, it all seemed above board, and I had other things on my mind. Whatever, it wasn't until one of our operatives started to ask about Amy May – just casually like, around the coffee machine, nothing formal – and I mentioned you and how I knew you – had known you – before, like ... and even then, I didn't put two and two together until I saw a copy of her initial report and I realised she'd been dogging you.

‘Now, I don't know what's going on,' she said between slurps on the bottle, ‘but what I read about this guy Flowers didn't sound like he should get my vote in a Citizen of the Year poll. And when I realised that he was your Amy's ex, I thought, o-oh, maybe I should give you the heads-up that somebody was interested in your sordid little life. For old times' sake, if nothing else.'

‘Pity you didn't do it sooner,' I said.

‘Give me a break. I only saw the report this morning.'

‘When did the client see it?'

‘Yesterday, maybe,' she said quietly. ‘Is that important?'

‘Not now,' I said, moving over to the mirror above the sink and making a point of examining my bruises. ‘But I don't think your client was completely satisfied with the report he got. Had to come and ask a few more in-depth questions.'

‘Hey, babe, don't lay that one at my door.'

‘So who's your client?'

‘I can't tell you that, babe. I'd lose my licence.'

I took the bottle back from her.

‘Bullshit. You don't have a licence. The only licences for private detectives in this country are Office of Fair Trading ones authorising people to do credit checks. Oh, sure, they've now set up the Private Security Industry Authority and they're
going
to be issuing licences, but they haven't yet. I bet you haven't even got an application form filled in.'

‘You need a form?' she started, then stopped herself. ‘You're good, babe, you know that? You fancy working for us full time?'

‘I thought you only employed females.'

‘We could cook the books.'

‘Just tell me who hired you – who hired the firm.'

‘I shouldn't really,' she said, going all coy, squirming against the door to make her skirt ride up.

‘And I probably shouldn't turn up in Horsham tomorrow – around 11 o'clock, say?'

‘Come on, Angel,' she said, straightening up, ‘we're talking client confidentiality here. I've already told you more than I needed to.'

I had to admit that was true, so I lit two cigarettes and passed one to her.

‘Then let's do it this way. I'll say a name, and you just tell me if I'm wrong. You don't have to say it's right, just if it's wrong. Okay?'

‘So I don't have to say “yes”, I just get to say “no” if I want to?'

She pretended to mull this over.

‘Sounds like my kinda party game. Go ahead.'

‘Your client was a psychotic Welsh git called Len Turner,' I said, drawing smugly on my cigarette.

Stella blanked me – she was good, she was very good – and timed it just right before making a noise like the klaxon on a U-Boat going into an emergency dive and shouting: ‘Wrong!'

She wasn't the only one who could put on an act, though.

‘But he said he was. He told me about you, showed me the photographs developed at that place just round the corner from your office in Shepherd's Bush. Then he hit me, because he thought I knew something ... and then the others hit me as well, and I thought ...'

‘Hey, here, babe.'

Her arms went around me and her corseted breasts seemed to be everywhere.

‘I've never heard of anybody called Len Turner, honest. The guy who hired us was straight-arrow respectable. He's a solicitor, for Christ's sake. Mind you, he was Welsh ...'

I let her hold me for perhaps a minute longer than was necessary. Or maybe five minutes. Then I groped in my pocket and produced a crumpled business card.

‘Name of Haydn Rees, by any chance?'

Stella's head shot back from the clinch, but I pushed her up against the door again.

‘I'm saying nothing,' she said, then made a zipper movement across her lips.

‘Right,' I said, remembering the rules of engagement. ‘But there's something else I've got to know.'

‘Me too,' she said huskily, squirming against me.

‘What?' I asked, distracted.

‘Is that the champagne bottle or are you really, really pleased to see me again?'

I lifted the bottle clear of where it had somehow got trapped between our thighs.

‘Bit of both, probably,' I said. ‘Sorry.'

She took a drink from the bottle and then held it to my lips. I had somehow forgotten to move away from her.

‘What was it you wanted to know?' she asked.

She looked at the bottle, realised I had emptied it and held it out at arms length before letting it drop. It didn't break, it bounced and then rolled across the floor and under the door of the cubicle opposite the urinal.

‘Shit!' somebody exclaimed.

Stella and I looked at each other, then at the cubicle.

‘Just who the hell is that? Are you some sort of
perv
?' she shouted. ‘All I have to do is scream and my friends will be in here like a shot.'

‘No, Christ, no, don't do that,' said the voice. ‘You just made me jump that was all.'

‘We did sort of barge in here,' I whispered in Stella's ear. ‘I mean, the guy was probably having a quiet dump and ...'

She wagged a finger in front of my face and shushed me, then winked.

‘It's the male stripper. I wondered where he'd gone,' she whispered. ‘Another mystery solved. That's why I'm the detective here.'

‘It's okay, you can come out now,' she said towards the cubicle. ‘Just go straight up the stairs and out, don't look back, don't stop for anything and don't expect a tip. I'll keep them off your back until you're clear.'

The lock on the cubicle clicked back and the door opened inwards. The young lad who stepped out barefooted was wearing a policeman's helmet, a torn white shirt covering an impressively worked-out torso and dark blue trousers, which he had to keep up by bunching the material in his hands around his crotch. Obviously they didn't make velcro like they used to.

‘You got taxi fare?' Stella asked him, and he nodded sheepishly.

‘Good. Go quickly – and consider another line of work. I really don't think this one fits your pistol.'

She opened the door and stepped out into the little corridor, then opened the door to the club. I could hear the piano giving out a ragtime version of ‘New York, New York' and thought yet again that dolphin girl was really good.

Then Stella was flapping her arm, waving the stripper on, and he actually said ‘Excuse me' as he ran by me. Stella held up her hand to stop him, stuck her head out of the door, then waved him on again.

The poor sod hadn't made the first step of the stairs before she yelled ‘Stripper!' at the top of her voice, and then there was this primeval, deep-throated roar.

I never saw what happened to him, because Stella let the outer toilet door swing back and returned to the Gents, closing that door behind her as well.

‘Now, where were we?' she asked.

‘What I wanted to know was ...'

‘No. Where
were
we?'

She put her arms around my neck, leaned back on the door and pulled me in to her.

‘That's better. And it wasn't all champagne bottle after all, was it? Now what were you saying, babe?'

It took me a minute to remember.

‘Oh yes. It wasn't you following me around; I would have noticed you. And it couldn't have been Veronica. Spy satellites would have noticed her. So who was on my case?'

‘Now let me think.'

She nuzzled into me until I could feel her breath warm on my neck. So close and so warm it made me shiver, which she must have taken for encouragement, as her pelvis began to grind into me.

‘I'd really like to know, because I didn't spot anybody at all,' I said, but my voice, oddly, didn't sound like mine.

‘It was Steffi, one of our new girls. Sorry,
operatives
.'

She murmured into my ear and then bit the lobe gently. I hoped to God she wasn't going to do the tongue trick.

‘Steffi?' I croaked.

‘Steffi Innocent. No, that really is her name. Been with us about a month. An absolute natural. Lot to learn, but keen as mustard. She'll go far that one. Very talented.'

‘Well, she fooled me. I never thought anyone could tail me around London without me spotting them.'

‘I told you she was good. I would have put her on your case – if I'd known you were involved, which I didn't ...'

‘I get the point. You're innocent by nature and she's just Innocent by name.'