Page 85 of The Love Letter
‘Wait, Fielding is dead? I thought . . .’
She nodded grimly. ‘My editor was writing up the article when I left the office. Apparently he died in hospital late this afternoon. This is getting dangerous . . . Shouldn’t we stop investigating? Just leave it be?’
Marcus stopped walking, and pulled her to him in a fierce hug. ‘No. We’ll sort this out together. Now, let’s go bug hunting again.’ He kissed her, and they returned to the flat.
Even more determined now, Joanna tried to think of all the areas of her flat that had remained untouched in the chaos of the burglary. She and Marcus felt along all the skirting boards and the architraves, until eventually, her fingers connected with a small rubber button, perched on the top of her sitting-room door frame. She carefully unstuck it and held it up into the light as Marcus came over to inspect it with her.
He tapped his nose, then replaced it where she had found it. Then he went outside to ring the bell and for the next thirty minutes, proceeded to come into the flat and out again as various outrageous characters, with a wide range of accents. Joanna had to conduct imaginary conversations with a Jamaican importer of rum, a Russian descendant of the Tsar and a South African game shooter. Finally, it was Joanna who had to step outside to try and control her – by that time – hysterical laughter. She decided that Marcus had missed his calling – he was a wonderful actor and mimic. When the game was finally over, Joanna removed the bug, wrapped it in layers of cotton wool, and stuck it unceremoniously into a box of Tampax.
It had been a long time since she’d laughed so much – and when they finally climbed into bed, Marcus made love to her so tenderly, it brought tears to her eyes for the second time that night.
I feel . . . happy, she thought.
‘I love you,’ he murmured just before his eyes closed.
As Marcus lay fast asleep beside her, Joanna couldn’t help but feel contented and protected, even given the tension of ‘Little-Old-Lady-Gate’ and their discovery tonight. Snuggling up to his warm body, she dozed off, trying to banish the nightmarish thought of ears in the walls by thinking about how she might love him too.
Simon knocked on the front door of number ten Welbeck Street at ten o’clock the following morning.
Zoe opened it. ‘Hi.’
‘Hello, Miss Harrison.’
‘I suppose you’d better come in.’ Reluctantly, Zoe stood aside so he could enter.
‘Thank you.’
She shut the door behind Simon and they stood in the hall.
‘I’ve given you a room at the top of the house. It’s not very big, but it has its own shower and toilet,’ she said.
‘Thank you. I shall do my best not to intrude. Sorry and all that.’
Zoe saw Simon was as uncomfortable about the situation as she was and her antipathy softened somewhat. Neither of them had any choice in the matter, after all. ‘Look, why don’t you go and put your stuff upstairs, then come down for a coffee? It’s the door on the left, right at the top of the stairs.’
‘Okay, thanks.’ He gave her a grateful smile. She watched him mount the stairs with his holdall, then went into the kitchen to put on the kettle.
‘Black or white? Sugar?’ she asked as he wandered into the kitchen ten minutes later.
‘Black, one sugar, please.’
She put the mug in front of him.
‘This is a lovely old house, Miss Harrison.’
‘Thank you. And please, if we’re to live together – I mean, under the same roof,’ she added hastily, ‘I think you’d better call me Zoe.’
‘Okay. And I’m Simon. I understand that having me here is the last thing you want. I promise I’ll be as unobtrusive as possible. I’m sure you’ve already been warned that I’ll have to accompany you on all your journeys, either behind you while you drive your car yourself, or, if you’d prefer, I’ll chauffeur you.’
‘No, I wasn’t told.’ Zoe sighed. ‘I have to go and pick up my son Jamie from school this afternoon. Surely you don’t need to come with me to do that?’
‘I’m afraid I do, Miss Ha—Zoe.’
‘Christ!’ Zoe’s hard-won calm was in danger of collapsing and turning to all-out panic. ‘I really haven’t thought this through at all. Who am I meant to say you are?’
‘Perhaps it’s best to say that I’m an old friend of the family, a distant relative, who’s over in London from abroad, and I’m staying with you for a while until I find a place of my own.’
‘You must understand that Jamie’s very bright. He’ll quiz you on exactly which side of the family you’re from and want to know the details.’ Zoe thought for a while. ‘You’d better say you’re a great-nephew of Grace, who was my grandfather’s dead wife.’
