The Administration Series (93 page)
Fortunately, Dillian had remembered to hang her clothes up neatly, so they were respectable enough for a morning at work. She could go home to change at lunchtime. Except . . .
"Damn," Dillian said. "No clean knickers. I'm out of practise at this unexpected sleep-over thing. I should've remembered to wash them in the sink last night."
"We were busy. Borrow a pair of mine." When Dillian hesitated, Cele climbed off the bed and opened the dresser drawer. "Go on. Pick whatever you like. It'll give me an obscenely enjoyable thrill all day, thinking of you in them."
Dillian laughed. "Okay." She sorted through the selection, finally holding up a pair of staunchly sensible cotton briefs, obviously designed for exercising. "How about these?"
Pouting, Cele plunged her hands into the drawer and rummaged. "How about . . . these?"
"From an admirer?" Dillian asked.
Cele held the scant confection of vivid red satin and lace up to the light. "Actually, no. I bought them for myself, as a treat."
"Well . . . okay."
Knickers donned, she put her hands on her hips and pirouetted slowly, posing. "What do you think?"
Cele wiped imaginary drool from her chin. "I think you should get dressed before something
bad
happens. Or after something bad happens, which would be better for me."
"I don't think I have time."
Cele's flat didn't have any clocks, so Dillian had to hunt for her watch amongst the lurking cushions. When she found it, the time surprised her.
"Good grief!"
"No time for breakfast?"
"No, lots of time. Why did we wake up so early?"
"Why did you wake up so early, you mean. I was fast asleep until someone stuck her nose in my ear and pretended to be a cat." Cele waved towards the windows. "I never closed the blinds last night. Most people wake up early here. Everyone's so used to pitch-dark bedrooms. But I always think it's a waste when the bed faces the sunrise."
Before Dillian could reply, the flat comm chimed.
"Aha!" Cele headed for the stairs down. "It's a good job you said you could stay, because while you were in the shower I ordered breakfast, and I'd hate to have to eat all this on my own."
While Cele negotiated the arrival of breakfast, Dillian looked at her clothes and wondered how much to put on and whether to go down. She was still standing there when Cele called, "Up or down?"
"Up, please." Dillian shook out the duvet and pillows and climbed into bed.
"Apple and raspberry juice," Cele announced as she made her way back across the room below. "Coffee, fresh toasted bagels, the fullest-fat cream cheese on the menu and smoked — fuck!"
The cry was followed by a crash and more swearing as colourful as Cele's dressing gown. Dillian leaped out of bed and slithered down the stairs.
"They tried to kill me!" Cele was sitting in the centre of a heap of cushions and a spreading pool of fruit juice and coffee. "I swear to God, they ambushed me." She kicked a cushion, which squelched.
"I'll get a cloth."
Cele attempted to reconstruct the breakfast tray while Dillian mopped up juice and squeezed cushions into a bucket.
"At least you'll be able to throw those ones away," Dillian said.
"No. I'll get them cleaned. My mother would kill me if she caught me throwing out something perfectly good, if repulsive."
"Send some to her, then. Is she retired yet?"
"Supposed to be, soon. But then she was supposed to be last year, too. She's hanging on grimly to the Intelligence training post. God only knows what classes full of eighteen-year-old Service cadets think of her. Dad thinks she's mad."
"If it's what makes her happy . . . "
"Oh, I know, I know. Now, I have juice in a box in the fridge, but as for the rest . . . " Cele poked a bagel. "What should I do with the damp ones?"
"Put them on the plate. We can put extra cheese on them. Rinse the coffee off the salmon, though."
"These are delicious," Dillian said after she'd swallowed the first mouthful of bagel.
"And only slightly fruity."
"Well, as Aunt Jen always used to say, it all goes down the same hole."
Cele licked cream cheese from her lips. "Oh, Lord, yes, I remember. And how often she said it when — do you remember Keir going through his phase of not letting any different foods touch on his plate?"
"Of course. And then afterwards, he went completely the other way, with the savoury baking." After more than two decades, the memory could still make Dillian shudder. "I don't think I'll ever forget the bacon muffins."
"It was the brown-sauce icing," Cele said. "That's where it really went tragically wrong. But then, he's always had funny tastes. And he's never put off just by people telling him something can't possibly work."
Dillian had a reply ready, when she recognised the expression on Cele's face. She was teasing, but half seriously. Pushing to gauge a reaction because she thought Dillian was worrying unnecessarily about Toreth. Instead, Dillian said, "Clearly, funny tastes run in the family."
"Oh, ouch!"
Dillian smiled to herself, and concentrated on breakfast. Eating in Cele's flat, the city spread out in front of them in the bright sunlight like some amazing art installation, was definitely an experience.
"Are you going to want to do this again?" Cele asked suddenly. "Or, I mean, are you going to have time to swing by in the next few weeks so we can . . . " She trailed off. "We are cool with this, aren't we?" she asked, suddenly serious.
Dillian put down her glass of orange juice. "I don't know.
I'm
cool with it. But are you?"
Slowly, Cele set her plate down on the floor, then lay down on the bed, resting her chin on her hands. "I don't know. I thought I was."
"Oh, Cele." Dillian debated for a moment, then moved up to lean against the head board. She tugged Cele's ankle gently and said, "Come here."
Without a word, Cele turned and came to lie beside her, head pillowed on Dillian's stomach and arms around her waist. Then she sighed. "God, I'm sorry to start going back and forth on this. I thought I was Ms Modern Relationship, now I feel like I'm turning into the limpet from hell."
"What, for wanting to know if I'm going to bolt or if I'm planning on borrowing more pairs of knickers in the future?"
Cele gently twanged the elastic on the red thong. "I'm overreacting?"
"More like under-reacting. I think you're allowed to ask if I'm planning to take advantage of you again without me assuming there's an engagement ring in your pocket."
Cele patted her dressing gown pocket. "Forget-me-not notes, elastic bands and a box of charcoals. No rings."
Dillian wriggled down to lie beside Cele, and then pulled back a little — far enough to focus on Cele's face, not so far that she lost the heat of her body.
"This isn't second best, Cele. I'm not here because I don't have time to find a boyfriend or because I felt sorry for you, or I got washed away on a wave of drunken nostalgia or — "
Cele wrinkled her nose, half smile, half grimace. "I get the point."
"Good. I wanted you. Want you. I can't make any promises about the long term and I don't want to lie to you about that, not even for one night. Because I love you."
"I know, gorgeous. And I love you. Like I said before, this has no strings attached. Just like it was when you were at university. Free to start dating other people whenever, taking turns with the restaurant bills, calling before we show up at each other's flats. All the bells and whistles."
Dillian raised a sceptical eyebrow. "You don't always call before you come round
now
."
"Well, no. There's no point, is there? Not with you trying for the world record for longest celibate period for an insanely attractive woman."
Dillian snorted. "I've blown that one."
"And then some. So — " Cele grinned. "Until Mr Right tips up, I'll take you for all I can get while I have the chance."
Dillian smiled back. "Thanks."
"My pleasure. For what?"
"For not telling me that I'm living a life of denial, or anything like that."
"Dilly, one thing about you is that you've always known what you wanted. When you were eleven, you told me you were going to be an engineer and go to Mars."
"When I was eleven?"
"Yes. Ask Jen, she'll tell you. It was New Year, the first one I spent at your house. And I said I was going to be . . . well, actually I think that was my mime phase."
Dillian smiled. "And Jen asked us every year. And every year you said something different."
"And Kate always said I'd be an artist. But the point is that I know you always know what you want, and if it turns out not to be me — "
"It's not that. Never."
"Okay. If it turns out not to be women-in-the-generic, then whatever else those lips have been doing recently, I know they'll be telling the truth."
Dillian snuggled closer, enjoying the familiar-unfamiliar feel of Cele's body. "I don't deserve you."
Cele wrapped her arms around her and kissed her hair. "I know, sweetheart. I know. But I'm afraid you've still got me. Now, how about finishing that breakfast?"
"Congratulations," Toreth said again, as the junior left the office.
Doyle paused in the doorway. "Thanks, Para. I owe you a lot. I won't forget it."
Toreth watched him go, thinking the news made a perfect bloody end to a long, hard week. A minute later Sara appeared, uninvited but expected.
"Well," she said, "he got it, then."
Toreth nodded. Belqola's replacement had managed a longer stint than his predecessor, but still a short stay by the standards of Toreth's team.
"I'm getting sick of this," Toreth said. "Either they're useless, like Belqola, or they fuck off ten minutes after they arrive and leave you a pile of unfinished work. No loyalty."
"Eighteen months, not ten minutes. And he's here for another six weeks, so he'll have time to wrap up his cases."
She'd always liked the bastard. "Less than a month after Stephen Lambrick left. Why don't Political just take my whole team?"
"Morehen's a good replacement. Better than Lambrick." She sat on the edge of the desk. "Or I think so."
The reminder of his reciprocal poaching of a very good investigator from Political Crimes managed to cheer him slightly. "What, he's more your type?"
"Andy?" She smiled. "Not rich enough for me."
He raised his eyebrows. "
Andy
?"
"Andrew. Investigator Morehen." She was blushing, and trying very hard not to, which only made it worse. "We went out for a drink and we spent a while talking. Not just the two of us — it was with a few more investigators and admins, at lunchtime. Just a drink. Nothing more than that."
Not entirely convinced, Toreth considered the idea. Morehen was good-looking enough, although he'd be more attractive if he grew his mid-brown hair out of the close crop, and he was a little shorter and lighter built, and a lot poorer, than Sara usually liked them. He also had the uncompromising, hard-eyed directness that Political Crimes staff wore like a special uniform. Maybe he loosened up after a few drinks.
"Well, whatever the two of you are doing, keep it out of the office."
"Toreth! You
know
I don't — "
"Yeah, yeah, I know." He fended off her indignation with an irritated wave. The brief lifting of his good mood seemed to have vanished. "Lambrick
and
Doyle. I don't know why they're going. Either of them. Lambrick's going up a grade, but it's just another junior job for Doyle."
"Political Crimes is a good career move, though," Sara said. "And they keep expanding the section so there's lots of opportunities. Promotions."
"What the hell's wrong with General Criminal?" he demanded. She wisely kept silent. "
I
like it here. And I was the one who took Doyle out of the pool. Discipline problems after qualification — you saw his file. I was the one who gave him the chance to show me he'd grown out of it."
Which the man had. At the time Doyle had seemed suitably grateful for the permanent position and he had proved ambitious, hardworking and as disciplined as a para ever was. Too ambitious, unfortunately.
"You were dead right about him," Sara said. "He was good. And
you're
good at picking juniors. You'll find someone else even better." She grinned suddenly. "Like Morehen."
He knew it was flattery, but he couldn't help being cheered. "Yeah, I expect so. September's only a couple of months away, and then it's the cattle market."
She nodded. "Get a fresh one. They always last longer. D'you want a coffee?"
"Thanks."
Sara had barely closed the door when the comm chimed. Toreth was delighted to hear Warrick's voice. They hadn't seen much of each other over the last few weeks. Warrick had been away to a conference; it had only been for a few days, but after he came back their free evenings had never seemed to coincide.
