Dirty Weekend (37 page)

I’d deal with the unlicensed handgun. I’d find some way round it. And anything Earl Richardson said about me—if he survived his second coronary—I’d simply deny. It would be his word against mine and I had a certain amount of confidence that I’d win that fight.

I turned my attention to the pile of mail on the table. A couple of damp bills and a pink envelope. When I opened it, out fell a pale pink business card depicting a reclining nude, in tones so pale as to be almost invisible.
The pleasure of a life-time
, read the dark gold overprinting.
Demi of Bondi will take you to heaven and back. Erotic body-slides, full massage, full service available.

I turned it over. On the back she’d scrawled,
Like I said, Jack, I owe you one
. And signed it with a graceful ‘S’. I couldn’t help smiling.

I put down both the bills and the business card, sealed my letter and, grabbing an old raincoat, hurried out to my car.

The drive back into town was slow through the slanting rain and when I came to the apartment block in Ainslie, I wondered if I was doing the right thing. Hell, I thought, the worst she can do is throw my letter away.

I scuttled across the road and shoved it in Anne-Marie’s mailbox and returned to the car. As I was climbing in, I saw someone at the window of the apartment but couldn’t discern who it was.

I drove away, swishing through water. There were a dozen jobs that needed doing at work but I didn’t stop at Weston. I drove straight back to the cottage, praying Iona would call soon and, as I pulled up outside the house, I could hear the phone ringing inside.

I raced to unlock the front door, ran down the hall and grabbed it, my heart pounding.

‘Jack?’ she said.

Outside, the rain grew steadily heavier, teeming, the sound deafening on the tin roof.

‘Yes,’ I said, my heart skipping. ‘Yes, yes, yes.’