Reversing Over Liberace (27 page)

“Excuse me a second, Luke, I need to…powder my nose.” I almost ran from the restaurant, clutching my napkin to my mouth and only just making the Ladies before dinner returned in an unsightly rush. How dare he? How
could
he? How was it possible for anyone to lie so convincingly? It had strained every facial muscle I had to tell him that I'd got a “slight infection
down there”
and the doctor had recommended no sex until it cleared up. His disappointment had been obvious, but then I supposed it must be a perk of the job, having rampant sex to convince me of his honest intentions.

“So. How's the business?” was my bright opener when I returned.

“Not too bad. Showroom's getting there, I sold the Morgan yesterday, hence.” He indicated, with a wave of his knife, the undoubtedly expensive restaurant we were eating at. Equally undoubtedly paid for with part of the twenty-six grand he'd had out of me so far. “I've had a few other leads on cars that might be up my street. One in Michigan, if I can afford to fly out for a look.” No movement, not even his eyelashes stirred my way.

“Oh? Well, if it's a sure thing, maybe I could give you the cash to get out there?”

“I'm not committing until I know it's a really good deal. But thanks, I'll let you know.”

I bet you will
. “Um, Luke.” My hands started to sweat under the table and I surreptitiously wiped them on the linen tablecloth. “I'm going tomorrow to see Ganda's invention?” Why did I phrase it as a question? Duh. Come
on
,
Willow. “So I'm hoping that they'll give me at least part of the money soon.”

“Oh.” Affecting total nonchalance.

“Only, I was thinking.” I hoped he didn't hear the sudden intake of air. “I'd really like to invest some of it in your business. And, I was thinking, what about if the following weekend we go away somewhere? I thought, kind of, a hotel somewhere really special. I'd book it and everything, as a celebration.” Tinkly little laugh. Was I going too far?

“I think that sounds very nice.” Maybe there was no too far where Luke was concerned. “Next weekend, you said?” A dip into his pocket and he drew out a brand new, very expensive, palm-top computer, pressed a few keys. “Yeah, that all looks pretty free. Um, just so I can let the bank manager know, how much were you thinking of investing? Sort of? I mean, you don't have to be precise, obviously. It won't matter one way or another, but, ball-park figure?”

“I was thinking about a quarter of a million. Would that do?”

A double blink. That was the only sign he gave that he was impressed. “Two hundred and fifty thousand? That sounds very generous. You should get a nice little return on that, depending on sales, but James is doing well with the cars in Boston, so…”

I let out a small breath of relief. James obviously hadn't told Luke about the phone call, which was just as well. I'd had to work out a cover story rivalling
The Da Vinci Code
in its impenetrable complexities to prevent Luke from finding out exactly how much I knew about his activities, and I wasn't one hundred percent sure of being able to remember it without cue cards.

Oooh, and that was a big, filthy
lie
there, Mr. Fry.

“Great. Anyway, I'll always hold a share of the cars, as security. So I know you won't rip me off, ha ha.” Ha bloody ha, indeed.

Luke and I finished dinner and I pretended annoyance at not being able to take up his offer of “going back to the flat for a bottle of champagne”. I told him to put it on ice for me. With any luck it would get frostbite and drop off.

“Goodnight then, Willow.” He dropped me at my front door, his attempted vigorous kiss being narrowly averted by my pretended interest in next-door's cat on the wall. “See you in a couple of days?”

“Not tomorrow?” More pretended annoyance.

“Well, I'm a bit busy. Got some architect coming round with plans for the showroom interiors. Several companies are pitching for it, so I like to be there in person to see what they're offering. Anyway, you're off to the council tomorrow, aren't you? And then it's the weekend and I'm going to Wales to visit Da.”

“Maybe we should save ourselves for next weekend then. And,” I dropped my voice flirtatiously, “by then I should have the all clear from the doctor. I'm rather hoping to give you an absolutely unforgettable time.”

“Sounds good to me. I'll pop in and see you, to make sure it's all okay.” He revved the engine of the big black car (I wondered who it
really
belonged to) and set off.

I did a little pavement dance of glee and hopped into the Metro, which Luke had failed to notice parked at the end of the road. Cal was sitting inside reading Jasper Fforde and wearing a huge Panama hat as a disguise.

“He's gone for it. Weekend after this. Will that give us long enough? How are the boys getting on?”

Cal pulled the hat off and shook his hair free. “Pretty bloody well, since you ask. I know how to pick a team and I think they're impressed with you. Firstly, the deviousness of your mind, and secondly I told them about the thing with the melon.”

“It wasn't a melon, it was a tangerine, and kindly don't bandy details of my private life about with your mates.”

“Aw, go on.”

“Well, all right, but only the stuff that makes me sound good.”

Chapter Twenty-seven

I was kept waiting at the council office. One of the people concerned hadn't turned up, so instead of being met in reception and taken to my destination, I found myself kicking my heels and engaging Vivienne Parry in conversation. Which wasn't difficult. I had the feeling that the woman could chat equally well to a delegation of nuclear physicists or a round of tuna sandwiches. (Although what either of these would be doing hanging around the York Council Roads Department, I couldn't imagine.)

I learned that she'd worked at the council for ten years, four of them in the Roads department, that Mr. Parry was a teacher of English, and that she'd been extremely overworked lately. “What with Nadine taking so long off sick and one of the other girls on maternity leave, it's been busy, busy, busy.”

I took a sip of the coffee she'd made me. It was highly sugared and not really to my taste, but better than nothing. “I was at university with Nadine, you know.”

“Yes, she mentioned, when you were first here. That was about the last time she was at work, actually, now I come to think about it, poor girl. Practically had a nervous breakdown in the Ladies that day, sobbing her heart out, she was. I told her, no man's worth putting yourself through that much pain, but she wouldn't have it. Apparently he's the love of her life, although quite why she thinks that of a man who's treated her so appallingly, I don't know.”

“It's surprising what you'll put up with when you're in love,” I said, thinking of Luke. “Or, at least, when you
imagine
you're in love.”

“I think”—Vivienne lowered her voice and I bent in close—“that he might have got her pregnant and that's why she's been off so long. Apparently,
them upstairs
have given her indefinite leave, which is what often happens when there's an
unfortunate event
.” She threw a significant look at the ceiling. I supposed she meant the collective council bosses, rather than a pantheon of gods.

“Fancy getting pregnant by someone who's that unreliable.” At least that was one mistake I hadn't had to tick off in my Eye Spy Book of Terrible Misfortunes.

“Yes, from all accounts he's a real smoothy. Had all the chat, took her to expensive restaurants, spent a fortune on her, and then gave her a real runaround.”

“They're always the worst.”

“Yes.” Vivienne sighed wistfully, and I got the impression that Mr. Parry could never have been accused of being a real smoothy. “Poor Nadine.”

There was just something in her inflexion. Na
dine
. “What was his name, did you say?”

Vivienne shook her head. It took several moments for her chins to stop moving, but when they did, she said, “I'm sure she mentioned it, but I can't say I was really paying attention. You know how things are. Although, hold on a moment.” A hatch in the desk opened and I was beckoned through, and ushered into an inner office. “There's a photo, there, on her desk. She may have written his name on it.”

It
had
to be Nadine's desk. No one else, outside of Barbie's fan club, would have had such an arrangement of pink, fluffy items of dubious provenance. There was even a pink
pony
, for heaven's sake. And a little troll. Had this woman no shame? The picture had been taken on a cheap camera, with the resulting grainy effect, and it didn't look as though he'd even known she was taking it. Nevertheless, there he was, wearing the blue shirt I liked so much and those lovely chinos that hugged his bottom so tightly. “Luke.”

“You know him?” Vivienne shoved the picture back. Obviously a surge of loyalty to Nadine was wading its way to her surface. “Then, could you
please
ask him to sort things out with Nadine?”

“I'm not sure how I'd go about that,” I muttered to myself. “So, Nadine's been having a bad time with him since I turned up here?”

“Oh, a little before that, I think it started. A couple of weeks or so. She was quite quiet about it at first, but then one day I found her in the kitchen in tears, and she told me that her boyfriend was seeing another woman. But apparently it was all right because this other woman was going to invest some money in his business. He's a designer, clothes or some such, and he was sweet-talking around her, taking her out, wining and dining her until she handed over the money. But poor Nadine was convinced there was more to it than that, and you can't reason with someone when they're in that state, can you?”

A few more pieces of the puzzle slotted together. Nadine would have recognised my name from the letters she'd been asked to type. She must have mentioned to Luke that someone she knew stood to get a lot of money, maybe even shown him a copy of the letters, letters he'd then told her not to post. Therefore, letters I'd not known about until
after
Luke had picked me up in the bar. And Nadine would have been able to describe me to Luke, adding the details about what I'd been like at uni.
He hadn't remembered me at all
.

He'd cooked this whole thing up. Nadine knew Katie, would have known that we all went drinking in the Grape and Sprout after work. He'd only have to hang around for a few days before bumping into me. Having groomed himself into looking almost exactly as he had ten years ago. My skin flushed an unsightly puce. She must have known I'd had an insane crush on him. After all most of the English department did. She'd had to stay working here until she could confirm to Luke that I'd found out about the inheritance, knowing all the time that she'd have to meet me face-to-face. Why had she done it? Well, that was a stupid question, Luke could have persuaded the Pope to fall in love with him. Oh God, poor,
poor
Nadine. The cow.

“Oh, look, here's John come to take you down to the test site.” Mrs. Parry was obviously relieved to be shot of me, although not as relieved as I was to be leaving. The final item had fallen into place. It really had all been about the money. Luke hadn't
accidentally
met me, hadn't recognised the woman he'd fancied at university—had, instead, scripted, staged and starred in the whole elaborate production.

It made me want to go out and get syphilis, just so I could give it to him.

Watching Ganda's road surface being tested made watching paint dry look like a fun way to spend an afternoon. Various cars drove up and down a polytunnel, in various lighting conditions, braking, turning and generally doing what cars do. Eventually, the lights were lowered down to night-time level and John the tester sidled up to me.

“Everything's fine at every stage, except this one.” He pulled his cap firmly around his ears as though worried I might be about to slap his head. “Tell us what you think about this.”

In almost absolute darkness, a yellow Mini started its engine. Sprinklers began to spit water, damping the road as the car accelerated along the track, its lights strobing on the glittering surface.

“Oh my God,” I said. “It's like
Come Dancing
.”

Each individual sequin-spot of light gleamed but, magnified and prismed by the water droplets, the lights bled and merged. We are talking
serious
special effects here, ILM time. A fine, shimmering haze hung over the road surface wherever the lights shone. I could feel my vision flickering around the edges as my eyes tried to refocus, giving rise to a small, but insistent, headache.

“It's even worse behind, in the tail lights,” John intoned gloomily. “One of the testers said it was like reversing over Liberace.”

“What happens if they switch their fog lights on?”

The Mini driver complied. I should have been warned by the way John shielded his eyes and turned his head away.

“Oh. I see,” I said, when my vision eventually settled down. “Oh dear.”

“So, I don't think we're going to be recommending commercial production. Sorry.”

“No, it's fine. I mean, I can see why you can't use it.” I'd still got glowing shapes burned on my retinas. “Would it have any kind of application at all?”

“We might be able to do something with it—toned down a bit, obviously, as regards markings at the edge of pavements, but we're still thinking about that.”

My image of my future life, which had been shrinking lately, squeezing Luke out, shrank a little further and Cal's white house fell off the edge. I mentally packed away the big straw hat and the floaty frock. “So you won't be wanting to buy the design then?”

“Depends. If we can use it for something, you might get a few grand. For the use of the patent. But, as it stands, nope, sorry.”