Page 22 of Pressure Head
I just laughed, which seemed to piss him off even more. He certainly slammed his car door a bit harder than necessary. I got in the passenger seat and closed my door with a more reasonable amount of force. “Well, come on—the bloke’s gorgeous, isn’t he? I wouldn’t say no.”
“That’s the sort of bloke you go for, is it? Smarmy gits flashing their money and their dicks at anyone stupid enough to be impressed?”
“Jealous, are we?”
“You wish.” Phil yanked the car viciously into gear and zoomed out of the car park, narrowly missing a Tesco’s lorry on the roundabout.
“Steady on—we don’t all have a death wish,” I muttered. “What did your last passenger die of?”
He didn’t answer, and when I glanced over, I saw his knuckles were white on the wheel. Bloody hell, had I hit a nerve? Guilt twisted in my stomach. “So, er, do you like being back around here?” I asked quickly. “Glad you moved?”
The tension eased by about a millibar. “It’s all right.”
“‘All right’? You’ve got the whole of Herts on your doorstep, here. If it’s good enough for Posh and Becks—”
“Thought they moved to LA.”
“Minor detail. They’ve been seen in one of the restaurants in Brock’s Hollow, you know—I won’t say seeneating, as this is Victoria Beckham we’re talking about.”
“Good, are they?”
I assumed he meant the village eateries, not the Beckhams. “Not bad. And there’s hundreds of places in St. Albans and Harpenden too.” I ought to get commission from the local chamber of commerce.
Phil nodded, was silent a moment—and then we were back on Graham’s estate and pulling up behind my van.
“Thanks for the lift,” I said as he parked.
Phil nodded again; any more of this and I’d be expecting him to start going,Oh, yes-yes-yes, like the bloody Churchill dog. “How much do you charge?” he asked abruptly.
“Why? Got some pipes you need cleared out?” I leered, but he didn’t answer, so I sighed and told him my rates.
“I’m going to Robin East’s house tomorrow—got an appointment with his wife. I want you to come along and do your stuff. The mystic crap, that is, not charm the pants off her.”
“What, right in front of her?”
“Use your head. You can make an excuse halfway through—say you need a leak or something—and check the place out while I keep her busy.”
“Right. Because that couldn’t possibly go wrong.”
“Come on—what’s the worst that can happen? She gets pissed off and throws us out, that’s all. No skin off your pretty little nose.”
What? “Did you just call me pretty?Pretty?”
“Strike a nerve, did it? Sorry. I meant to say, ‘your rugged, manly little nose.’”
“Arse.”
“All right, you’ve got a rugged, manly little arse too. Happy?”
I had to laugh. “You want to watch that. If you keep complimenting my arse, I’m going to think you’re coming on to me.”
Phil didn’t answer, so I glanced his way. He was staring straight ahead, the smile he’d worn for our banter vanished. Right. I sighed. Obviously, he’d just remembered who he was talking to. “There’s no need to panic; I’m not going to throw a hissy fit if you don’t turn up with a bunch of flowers next time and swear eternal love.” I opened the door, got out of the car. “See you around.”
I didn’t slam the door shut. I knew I was just being stupid, getting pissed off about it. I should have known I’d always be scrawny littlePoofskito Phil bloody Morrison. My hip ached as I walked the few steps to my van. I rubbed it, cursing under my breath. It wasn’t as if I needed any more reminders just what a twat I was being. Phil Morrison come on to me?
I’d have more chance with Dave Southgate.
I gave Dave a ring when I got home from work. It’d been a frustrating afternoon of parts that hadn’t turned up and fittings that didn’t—fit, that was. I was planning to ask him if he fancied going for a pint, but when he picked up, I could tell from the laughter and the clinking of glasses in the background he’d beaten me to it. “All right, Tom?”
