Page 54 of The Love Letter
‘Please, Alec! I have to know.’
‘Okay, about three months minimum, unless I want to get rid of them faster.’
‘And I’ve only been here seven weeks. I counted. You just said I was shaping up very nicely, so you didn’t want to get rid of me, did you?’
‘No.’ Alec gulped down his whisky.
‘Therefore, I must deduce that my sudden demotion has nothing to do with my work, but with something else that I might have stumbled over. Yes?’
He sighed, then finally nodded. ‘Yup. I tell you, Haslam, if you ever say it was me who tipped you the wink, it won’t be Pets and Gardens, it’ll be the dole queue for you. Understand?’
‘I swear, I won’t.’ Joanna indicated both her empty glass and Alec’s to the barman.
‘If I were you, I’d keep your head down, your nose clean and hopefully this whole thing’ll soon be forgotten about,’ Alec said.
Joanna handed Alec his whisky – anything to keep him there for a few more minutes. ‘The thing is, I discovered something more at the weekend. I wouldn’t put it on state-secret level, but it is interesting.’
‘Look, Jo, I’ve been in this game a long time –’ he lowered his voice – ‘and from the way those up there are acting, whatever you’re on to mightwellbe “state-secret level”. I’ve not seen the Ed so jumpy since Di’s Gilbey tapes. I’m telling you, Jo, leave it be.’
She sipped her gin and tonic and studied Alec – his greasy grey hair, which stuck up in tufts from constantly running his hands through it, the belly that strained over a worn leather belt and a pair of whisky-sodden eyes.
‘Tell me something.’ She spoke quietly so Alec had to lean in to hear her. ‘If you were me, just at the start of your career, and you had stumbled onto something that was obviously so hot that even the editor of one of the bestselling dailies in the country had been warned off, would you “leave it be”?’
He thought for a minute, then looked up and gave her a smile. ‘’Course I wouldn’t.’
‘Thought not.’ She patted his hand and hopped off the bar stool. ‘Thanks, Alec.’
‘Don’t say I didn’t bloody warn you. And trust no bugger!’ he called as Joanna crossed the bar to retrieve her coat. She saw Alice was being chatted up by a photographer.
‘You off?’ Alice asked.
‘Yes. I’d better go and do my homework on how best to prevent snails eating one’s pansies.’
‘Never mind, you’ve always got Marcus Harrison to console you.’
‘Yeah.’ Joanna nodded, too tired to argue. ‘Bye, Alice.’
She hailed a taxi to take her to Simon’s flat, wishing she’d not had so many gin and tonics. On arrival she made a large mug of strong coffee, then checked the answering machine for messages.
‘Hi, Jo, it’s Simon. You weren’t answering your mobile. I should be back by ten tonight, so don’t lock the door from the inside. Hope all’s well. Bye.’
‘Hi, Simon, Ian here. Thought you’d be home by now and can’t get through on your mobile, but would you give me a call when you get in? Something’s come up. Okay, bye.’
Joanna wrote the message down on the pad, then saw the card lying there that Simon had given her with his friend’s number on.
IAN C. SIMPSON
Digging in her rucksack, she pulled out the pen she’d found after the break-in and studied the initials engraved on the side of it.
I. C. S.
‘Bloody hell!’ she said out loud to the empty room.
Trust no bugger. . .
Alec’s words floated into her head. Was it the gin and the awful day she’d had that were making her paranoid? After all, there had to be a lot of people whose initials were I. C. S. On the other hand, how many robbers carried an initialled gold fountain pen when they were trashing a home?
And the love letter . . .
