Bye Bye Baby (22 page)

His mother sniffed. ‘Very pretty, very English.’ The words weren’t unkind but her tone was.

Peter kept his own rising bitterness in check. ‘Mum, if I’d married Pat, it would have been a sham — an arranged marriage — and it would have ended in tears, divorce probably. Is that what you and Dad would want for me? This is real between Ally and me. She’s keen to meet you, but not until you feel comfortable. She knows all about Pat too.’

‘And what do her parents think about you?’

‘I haven’t met them.’

‘Well, what are they going to think of a girl who says yes to a man who asks for her hand after just weeks of knowing her?’ his mother demanded. It sounded like an accusation.

‘I don’t know, Mum.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I haven’t asked her yet. I wanted to ask you both first. I wanted your approval before I ask her.’

His father looked suddenly ashamed. ‘Do you hear that, Clare?’ She nodded, also abashed. ‘He’s asking our approval. Son, this is your life. We trust your choices in all you do.’

Peter could see how much this was costing them emotionally. Perhaps the discussion about moving nearer to Bournemouth would have to wait.

‘I promise you, you’ll love her almost as much as I do,’ he said.

His mother finally looked at him properly. ‘Bring her around soon, Peter. We’ll make her feel welcome.’

Relief flooded his veins. He wished he could interrupt Ally’s rehearsal right now and propose on the phone. But he would wait — he wanted to see her cool grey eyes light up when he popped the question
and offered her the sapphire and diamond ring he’d taken out a loan to buy.

He looked at his dad, conveying silent thanks, and again was struck by his father’s surge of emotion. He hugged him, confused by how oddly his dad was behaving. Then he bent to kiss his mother, who silently stroked his back in lieu of the words she obviously couldn’t find at this moment. They would have been hollow, for he could feel the disappointment radiating from her. Best they waited to say more.

He changed the subject. ‘Dad, before I forget, remind me that I need my birth certificate. I need it to get the security clearance to work on the government account.’

He couldn’t miss his father’s glance at his mother or the flicker of alarm that passed across both their faces.

‘Peter,’ his mother said, ‘we’ll talk about that later. Come and eat your dinner before it gets cold. Champagne after, okay?’ She sounded strained.

It wasn’t worth arguing. Peter put the expensive bottle of French champagne into the fridge, returned to his seat and the tray of cooling food. His appetite had deserted him.

‘So this security clearance can only be done with your birth certificate, is that right?’ his father asked.

Peter nodded. ‘I’m not allowed to work on the job without it. I need to show them the adoption papers too, before they can sign off on the contract.’

‘Then we have a problem,’ Garvan Flynn replied.

‘Why?’

‘Because we have no paperwork for you, son.’

23

Jack ran to his office, hoping the dry cleaning that Joan had very kindly picked up the day before, which he’d forgotten to take home, included his dark suit. He was in luck. No option but to wear the same shirt, but he’d take five minutes to shave again, perhaps change the tie — he always kept a more formal one strung around whatever handy hanging spot he could find.

Jack prayed none of the female staff would appear as he changed — to his knowledge it was only Cam holding the fort for the evening, but he still looked around constantly while putting on his clean suit. He ran to the bathroom with a toilet bag he kept on hand for those suddenly called press conferences the Super seemed to enjoy. ‘I especially like to interrupt the media’s lunchtime drinking,’ he’d said to Jack often enough. Finally he was ready, dabbing on some cologne and wincing at the sting.

‘Cam, I’ve got to fly,’ he said, re-emerging into the main operations room.

‘I hope she’s worth it, chief,’ Cam answered, not looking around from his screen. ‘I’m going to see what I can find out about the McEvoys’ family home.’

‘Good job, Cam. Call me — er no, text me. I’ll be at a show but the phone’ll be on silent and I’ll call straight back if it’s urgent, okay?’

Brodie put a hand in the air to wave his superior off.

‘Have one for me.’

Jack rang Sophie again from outside the Yard just as he was climbing into a taxi. He gave the driver the address. ‘I’m in a hurry,’ he added.

‘I think I might have heard that somewhere before,’ the cabbie replied good-naturedly, and then proceeded to take roads that Jack hardly knew existed as a good route to Chinatown.

‘How’s that ice going?’ Jack asked as Sophie answered.

‘I’m sucking it,’ she said and giggled. ‘To make sure it’s gone before you get here and then you’ll owe me big time.’

‘I’m paying for dinner. It’s a done deal.’

‘You have no idea what my terms might be, DCI Hawksworth.’

He grinned. ‘Whatever you want, but I have to tell you, this driver is a clever one — I’m almost at your doorstep.’

She made a sound down the phone as though she were sucking a sweet. ‘Too late, the ice has gone!’ she clicked off.

Jack gave the driver a ten-pound note and got out into the soft drizzle, not waiting for change. ‘Thanks,’ he called, and scanned the area for a flower shop. He couldn’t bear to walk up to Sophie empty-handed, especially after treating her so poorly on a first night out together.

He entered Gerrard Street via the large, gaudily lit, red iron gates that guarded either end of the Chinatown strip and spotted a small florist, still open.
Just for emergencies like this
, he thought. Inside, he was greeted by a young girl still in school uniform.

‘I need something really beautiful, really sexy, that says sorry and I think you’re fabulous all at once,’ he said, and smiled broadly when she burst into giggles. ‘Can you help?’

‘Yes,’ she said, her warm, dark eyes twinkling, ‘but I’ll get my sister.’

An older, more stunning version of the youngster glided out from a back room. ‘Hello,’ she said brightly, ‘I’m Lily. I’ve heard you’re in trouble.’ She smiled. She had the Asian woman’s slim, elegant build that Jack found so provocative.

‘Deep trouble,’ he replied and the younger sister laughed again.

‘Then there’s nothing for it,’ Lily said, ‘it has to be the earliest pale pink tulips from Holland. Very, very expensive.’ She teased him with another smile.

He pulled an expression of horror. ‘Just how expensive?’

‘Well, you are saying sorry, after all, and you want the instant forgiveness that only my tulips can provide.’ She deliberately said the word as ‘two lips’.

Wow! Lily was sexy; Jack could barely tear his gaze from her sparkling dark eyes to look where she pointed in the fridges.

‘Alright, alright,’ he said, beaten. ‘Just make them look impressive.’

‘They’ll do it all by themselves, I promise,’ Lily said, picking out a dozen magnificent stems. ‘Get some pale
pink and silver ribbon cut up, Alys,’ she instructed her young helper as she moved back around the counter to arrange the flowers.

‘They are lovely,’ Jack admitted, knowing that was an understatement. ‘I’ll have to hurry you though, I’ve kept her waiting long enough,’ he said, looking at his watch and groaning inwardly.

Lily had the tulips displayed in silver paper and cellophane in a blink and was soon swiping his credit card for forty-five pounds. Jack signed the docket after a look of horror and a groan for Alys’s entertainment.

‘Thanks, Lily, they’re magnificent. Do you have a refund policy? Can I return them if she’s already gone or refuses to forgive me?’

Alys exploded into girlish laughter and her big sister gave him a wry look. ‘By all means, I’d love them for my room,’ Lily said. ‘But we don’t do refunds.’

He liked her, would have asked her out for a coffee if Sophie wasn’t in his life. ‘Wish me luck,’ he said and the sisters obliged in a chorus.

Jack hurtled through the restaurant door and ran up the stairs two at a time, the evening’s drizzle clinging to his suit like sparkly dandruff. He wiped it off his shoulders as he arrived on the fourth floor.

‘I’ve got a booking for Hawksworth,’ he said to the maitre d’. ‘My guest is already seated, I understand.’

He was shown to their table. It was four minutes after seven.

‘I ordered for both of us,’ Sophie said as he arrived with his flowers. ‘For me?’ She looked genuinely delighted.

‘I don’t know how else to say sorry.’

‘Eat. The curtain goes up in less than half an hour. I
hope you like these dishes, tuck in. These tulips are stunning, Jack, thank you.’

He gave a shrug of dejection. ‘And what you’re going to do with tulips at the theatre, I have no idea. What an idiot I am.’

‘I’ll check them into the cloakroom,’ she said breezily. ‘I love them.’

‘I’m glad,’ he said, swallowing a gulp of the vodka and tonic she’d ordered him. ‘Ah, no ice.’

‘Told you,’ she said and smiled. ‘I hope that’s your poison and I’m sorry we don’t have time to linger over dinner.’

‘Gives us an excuse to do it again.’

‘Big day?’

‘Full on,’ he said, unwrapping his chopsticks.

‘Do you focus on one case or several at a time — how does it work?’ she asked, expertly lifting some vegetables into her bowl. ‘This chicken is delicious, and have some of this,’ she urged in between mouthfuls, pointing to the various dishes.

He grinned, enjoyed watching her eat. She looked dazzling tonight in a simple black dress with a sheer silver wrap. He had to wonder how she did it all herself. ‘Your hair looks terrific like that,’ he said.

‘Thanks. I only wear it this severe when I’m trying to show off my hideously expensive earrings,’ she said. ‘Anyway, tell me about your day.’

He sighed and finished the vodka. Shame he didn’t have time to order them a lovely crisp Gewürztraminer to go with their spicy Szechuan chicken. ‘Sorry, I didn’t answer, did I. Um, yes, many of us juggle several cases at once — that’s normal. Sometimes, though, a case is big enough to require single-mindedness.’

‘And which kind of case was it that kept me waiting?’ she said, ladling rice into her mouth.

‘I love the way you eat,’ he admitted.

‘Well, your tummy is going to rumble through
Les Mis
, I can see that,’ she said defensively, but without heat.

‘I’ll manage. Perhaps we can sneak a Mars Bar in for interval?’ He appeased her by beginning to eat, knowing he had barely minutes now to finish the food.

Sophie dabbed her mouth with a napkin. ‘So go on, which type is yours?’

‘Er, the second one,’ Jack answered, trying not to spit food at her because his mouth was full and the meat was still hot from the sizzling plate it had been cooking on.

‘Okay, so the bad one.’ He nodded. ‘Do you work in a team?’ He nodded again. ‘You strike me as a loner, Jack. Do you work well in a team?’

He swallowed, licked the juices from his lips. ‘Yes, I believe so. I’m running this one, so I’d better be a team player.’

‘Are there women on your team?’

‘Three — no, four.’

‘All support, I suppose,’ she said wryly, draining her sparkling water.

‘Not all. There’s Detective Inspector Carter and Detective Sergeant Jones — I’m sure neither of them would consider themselves as support.’

‘We’d better go,’ Sophie said, looking at her watch.

‘I’ll get the bill.’

‘Right, I’ll just fix my lipstick — give me one minute,’ she said, adroitly turning her wheelchair from the table.

‘You look very beautiful,’ Jack said.

She stopped and their gazes met and lingered. ‘Thanks, Jack. I’m always a little embarrassed by my arms.’

He stared at her with incredulity. ‘Why? They look perfectly lovely to me.’

‘That’s because you can’t see them. I expertly hide them with three-quarter sleeves and dark colours, and in winter I get to drape beautiful shawls about myself or wear thick coats — I love winter.’

He heard the amusement in her voice. ‘Sophie, you’re perfect.’

‘Not perfect,’ she said, and a hint of sadness crept in as she looked briefly towards her legs, ‘but I’ll take that compliment and cherish it.’

It was the sudden stillness between them and not wishing to lose it that prompted him to continue in his direct way. ‘How did it happen?’

She sighed. ‘We’ll be late.’

‘Tell me . . . please.’

‘Multiple sclerosis, diagnosed when I was twenty-two. Most people don’t really understand it, so let’s keep it simple and say that it can make my body very dysfunctional at times. I’m lucky, though,’ she added brightly. ‘I can get around relatively easily on walking sticks when I need to, but it wears me out faster — hence the muscled arms to stay stronger for longer. If I’ve got a big day ahead, I use the chair. And I always use the chair going out because I don’t know what I might have to face.’

Jack regretted asking the question now on their first night out together. ‘So you can move around freely?’ he said.

‘Not freely, no.’ She grimaced. ‘And not very well at the present time because I’m in what’s known as relapse. Typically one of my relapses lasts a month or more. This one is taking its time, but for most of today I was on my feet — with my sticks. Just don’t ask me to run or exert myself. I’m useless.’

The waiter arrived with Sophie’s coat.

‘I love the lining,’ Jack said, pointing at the violet silk beneath the coat’s blood-red exterior, more for something to say, having realised he was stepping into an area neither was ready for.

‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘If you can’t match it, clash it, I say.’

‘Sophie, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t —’

‘No, don’t be. It had to come up.’ She gave him a soft look of sympathy. ‘And now it’s done with,’ she grinned, trying to lighten his sudden glum mood. ‘Besides, you should know the dodgy bits up front if we’re going to enjoy sex at some stage.’

He looked up from the table, startled.

‘I have a very obedient bladder so rarely an accident other than in relapse,’ she went on. ‘And my bowel is superbly trained and delivers on time, every day, so I don’t go anywhere until Mr Bowel has had his say, then I’m safe.’

‘Sophie, don’t —’

‘No, we’ve arrived at the inevitable point — a bit earlier than I’d imagined — but let’s do it. Is there anything else you want to know?’

Jack stared, deeply embarrassed, into her cool, almost unnaturally dark eyes, and strained for a response that could return their sparkly mood of just moments ago. ‘Could you just clarify the bit about the sex?’

Sophie laughed, husky and joyous. ‘That was the right question, Jack Hawksworth. Come on, pay the bill, take me to the theatre and I’ll explain it in detail a bit later.’

Jack pushed Sophie in her chair into her apartment. ‘Right,’ he said, feeling more self-conscious than he could credit. ‘We must do this again soon.’

She swung the chair around to face him and eyed him, slightly bemused, remaining silent.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked.

‘You.’

He shook his head, gave a confused smile.

‘Was
Les Mis
that disappointing on the second viewing, or is it that the multiple sclerosis thing was a major turn-off?’

He looked up from her carpet, shocked. ‘Whatever makes you say that?’

The amusement never seemed to disappear from Sophie’s tone. He envied her such composure. ‘I’m surprised you didn’t just give my wheelchair a big shove from the lift just now and wave me goodbye as the doors closed.’

Before he could register it Jack was suddenly crouched before her, his hands reaching for hers. ‘Oh god, Sophie, I hardly notice the chair and I don’t care why you’re in it. I know a little about MS and that it affects sufferers in myriad ways.’

‘Then you’ll know the relapse still has a way to go. Soon the spasms will return and the chair will become a necessity rather than an aid — that’s when I don’t go out much and I get moody. I’m not much of a catch, to be honest, so flee, Jack, while you still can.’ She smiled crookedly.

Jack squeezed her hands now as he leant forward and kissed her. It was a gentle kiss and it was welcomed.

‘Sophie, I think you’re beautiful,’ he murmured thickly when they parted, and felt his desire inflame further when he saw a similar rush of longing reflected in her eyes. ‘I’ve never met anyone like you, and even though every inch of me says you’re dangerous, I feel compelled to know more about you.’

‘Dangerous?’ She frowned. ‘Yes, a real thug in this thing.’ She looked at him quizzically. ‘Dangerous to who?’

‘To me,’ he said softly, mesmerised by the uncanny darkness of her eyes. ‘To my heart.’

He hadn’t meant to sound so dramatic but the stillness that suddenly hung between them was intense.

She held the silence a few moments longer, her gaze searching his — for guile, he thought.
And why not? Why should she believe me?

‘Tell me, Jack,’ she said finally, ‘how is it that someone who looks like you and acts like you isn’t already married and mortgaged to the hilt, with a horde of beautiful children clinging to your long legs?’