Starburst (18 page)

Getting to her feet, Rene reached up and threw her arms around the lanky Welshman’s neck. “Lewis, you’re a real star. Thanks for being in the right place at the right time.” She gave him a big kiss on the cheek. “And sorry about all that blubbing.”

Lewis laughed. “That’s what I’m here for. That’s why they call me Jones the Sponge.”

P
utting down the receiver, Jamie Stratton punched the air and let out a loud whoop of relief. Thank God things were looking up at last. One month had passed without any money coming into the flat, and his bank balance was just about at its limit. Now, in the space of twenty minutes, he had managed to rent out two of the rooms. He glanced at his watch, working out that he probably had enough time before anyone arrived to head round the corner and get a celebratory cup of coffee from The Grainstore. He scooped up his keys from the hall table and left the flat at speed, descending the three flights two at a time.

Jamie bought more cups of coffee per day at The Grainstore than was probably good for him, but he had an ulterior motive for his visits. It was his considered opinion that, underneath her red-striped apron, Martha had a body to die for, an uncommon asset for a girl who edged him in height by as much as three notches over his own “approximate” six feet. Yet her attraction went much deeper than a mere clawing at his carnal senses. Humour constantly simmered in Martha’s blue-green eyes, her face radiated so much health that make-up was a non-essential, and her complete zaniness was marked by the pointless black plastic hairband that permanently adorned her frenzy of short blond hair. From the very first day she had started working in the coffee shop, Jamie had considered her his ultimate woman. The only slight problem was that, during their many brief encounters, he had found out she had almost six years on him and had been in a steady relationship for three of them. But inaccessibility only made the crush grow deeper.

The coffee shop was enjoying good custom that afternoon, but with the hometime rush yet to start, there was no queue at the counter. Martha caught his entry and immediately turned to one of her colleagues, slumping her shoulders and raising a long-suffering eyebrow. Jamie saw her every move, but undeterred by her lack of amorous reciprocation, he approached her with a broad grin.

“Hi, there, Martha.”

When she turned at his greeting, Martha gave him only the briefest of smiles. “Well, James, what is it you’re wanting this afternoon?”

“Black coffee to go, please.”

Martha turned to the espresso machine, and unclipping one of the coffee strainers, she banged it forcefully on the waste tray to rid it of the old coffee granules. “So what’s been going on today? Still home alone, are you?”

“Nup, not anymore. I’ve managed to get two of the bedrooms rented out.”

Martha glanced over her shoulder and shot Jamie a more meaningful smile that succeeded in floating butterflies around his stomach. “That’ll please the bank manager, then.”

“Too right.” He dug in the pocket of his trousers for some change. “And what about you? Busy as ever?”

Martha placed the Styrofoam cup on the counter and pushed on a lid. “Working at full throttle,” she said, holding out her hand for the money. “We didn’t close up until midnight last night.”

Jamie handed her the exact change. “No more cameras going missing then,” he said with a laugh.

Martha narrowed her eyes at him as she rang up the amount. “That’s a very bad joke.” She shut the drawer of the till with force. “It’s not good for business, having people come in here and nicking things.”

“No, I reckon not.” He picked up the cup from the counter. “Well, I’d better head back in case one of my punters arrives. I’ll see you later.”

“Nothing in life could be more certain,” Martha replied quietly through clenched teeth as she turned to serve another customer.

Seeing the taxi pull away from outside his flat, Jamie ran the last thirty yards along London Street and spun around the railings that led up to his front steps. An elderly man, smartly dressed in a tweed jacket and cavalry-twill trousers, was standing at the entrance door with a large suitcase by his side, pressing one of the bells on the brass-paneled intercom.

“Are you Mr. Hartson?” Jamie asked.

The man turned with a start and appraised the young man standing in front of him in the calf-length shorts, white baggy T-shirt and flip-flop sandals. “Yes.”

“Hi, I’m Jamie Stratton. Sorry I wasn’t here. I was getting myself a cup of coffee.”

“No need to apologize,” Leonard Hartson replied with a shake of his head. “I have only just this moment arrived.”

Jamie pulled a bunch of keys from the pocket of his shorts and unlocked the door. Holding it open with a foot, he reached out his un-coffee-ed hand and grabbed the handle of the man’s suitcase.

“Oh, I can manage that,” Leonard said, making a move to take the suitcase from Jamie’s grasp.

“It’s no bother,” Jamie replied. “I’m used to carrying heavy loads up these stairs. The flat’s on the third floor, so I’m afraid you’ve got a bit of a climb.”

Leonard laughed. “In that case, I am sincerely grateful that I have a fit young landlord.”

By the time the man had made the stairs, Jamie had opened the shutters on the large windows and given the bedroom a quick visual appraisal, letting out a loud expletive when he saw the well-breasted front cover of a copy of
GQ
peeping out from under the valance of one of the beds. Picking it up, he rolled it up into a tight scroll in his hand and went out into the hall just as Leonard Hartson entered the flat, puffing with the effort.

“Oh, my word, that is some climb,” Leonard said, resting his hand on the sideboard.

“Yeah, sorry about that. Better to take it in stages.” Jamie held out a hand to guide Leonard towards the bedroom. “You’re in here, Mr. Hartson. It’s on the quiet side of the building, so you won’t hear the traffic. The bathroom is on the left just outside your bedroom door, which I hope you don’t mind sharing with me. The kitchen is down the hall on the right, and there’s a large sitting room at the other end with cable television which you’re welcome to use whenever you like.” He looked around the room, wondering if there was anything he had missed. “Does this seem all right for you?”

Leonard nodded his approval. “Perfect.” He glanced a smile at Jamie. “Almost as well appointed as my room at the Sheraton Grand.” He walked across to the window and looked out onto the small gardens that were enclosed by the surrounding buildings. “Very pleasant indeed.” He turned back. “And what about cost?”

“Well, erm…” Jamie had given this some thought. The agency was to be charging £40 per room per night, minus their commission, from the start of the festival, but he had to try to make up some of the shortfall. “How about fifty pounds per night?”

Leonard nodded. “Would you consider sixty pounds a night and allow me use of your telephone? Only for calls within the United Kingdom, of course.”

Jamie raised his eyebrows thoughtfully. “Yeah, sounds good to me. We have a deal.”

“Good.”

Jamie leaned his back against the wall and folded his arms across his chest. “So, are you going to be here for the whole of the festival?”

“Yes, I am.”

“To see the events?”

“No. I’m going to be working.”

Jamie furrowed his brow, wondering what type of work an elderly man, obviously well past retirement age, would be undertaking at the festival. “And what is it you do?”

“I’m a lighting cameraman.”

“Is that right?” Jamie replied, suitably impressed. “What a fascinating job. What type of films do you make?”

“Well, I’ve worked on every kind of film in my time, but right now, I’m up here to do a documentary.”

“So you’ve done features as well?”

“I have, yes.”

“Would I know any of them?”

“Not unless you’re a fan of very old movies.” Leonard chortled. “The last feature I worked on was made long before you were born.”

“In that case, I’ll bet my father would know it. He’s a complete movie buff.”

Leonard nodded slowly. “Is that so? I wouldn’t suppose your father has any contacts up here in the film industry?”

Jamie laughed. “No way! Dad’s a farmer. Why do you ask?”

“Because I’m looking for someone to assist me, and I’m not really very sure where to begin.” He scratched a finger down the side of his lined face. “I don’t suppose you know of anyone who might be looking for a job for the next three weeks? Experience isn’t really very necessary. I just need someone who has a bit of muscle and a bit of common sense about them.”

Jamie shrugged his shoulders. “I’m afraid not. All my university friends have either headed off to jobs or they’re on summer vacation. I’ll have a think about it, though.”

“That would be most kind,” Leonard replied.

Jamie pushed himself away from the wall when he heard the front-door buzzer sounding in the hall. He excused himself from Leonard and walked quickly along the hall and picked up the receiver.

“Hullo?”

“Is that…Jamie Stratton?”

Jamie winced at the distorted voice that rang in his ear, the woman obviously having her mouth pressed hard against the speaker of the entry phone.

“Yes.”

“This is Rene Brownlow. I’m standing outside your front door.”

“Right. When you hear the buzzer going, push the front door open. I’m on the third floor.”

“What? I can’t get this wretched suitcase one inch further. My arms have stretched that much in length, ye’d think my dad was an ape!”

Jamie chuckled. “All right, hang on there. I’ll be down in a sec.”

He jammed the doormat in against the door to stop it from shutting and headed down the stairs at his customary speed. He opened the front entrance door and a woman with short straight hair, her small but ample frame swathed in a loose-folded coat that appeared to have been manufactured from a couple of multicoloured rag rugs, jumped back with surprise.

“My, that was quick! You must ’ave wings on your feet!”

“I’m used to taking those stairs at speed,” Jamie said, picking up her suitcase. “By the way, I read your review this morning. Pretty good.”

Rene stared open-mouthed at the ease with which he had lifted her enormous Samsonite burden. “Ah, well, nice of you to say so,” she replied distantly.

Jamie cocked his ear, catching the sound of a telephone ringing up the stairwell. “Dammit, that’s my phone. I’d better see if I can get it, so just make your own way up.” He turned and began taking the stairs two at a time, as if he were carrying nothing heavier than a paper bag.

Rene remained on the front steps for a moment, watching the point where he had disappeared. “That lad must be superhuman,” she said, shaking her head in disbelief, before starting her ascent to the flat at a much more sedate pace.

Dropping the suitcase with a thump on the flagstone floor at the door, Jamie crossed the hall and made a dive for the telephone. “Hullo?”

“Good afternoon, Jamie. It’s Gavin Mackintosh here.”

Jamie caught his breath before replying. “Hi, Gavin. Sorry about the delay. I was down at the bottom of the stairs when you rang.”

“Is my timing a bit inconvenient?”

“No, not at all.”

“Good. I was just ringing to see if you managed to find any tenants for the festival.”

“Well, funny you should say that,” Jamie replied, glancing around to see that Mr. Hartson’s bedroom door was closed and Rene Brownlow was yet to make it to the top of the stairs. “Two have just arrived today.”

“Oh, excellent. So does that mean you’ll be all right with your mortgage payments?”

“Yeah, I’ve worked out I should be okay until the end of September.”

“I take it, then, your tenants will be there for the whole of the festival.”

“Probably not both of them. One is doing a show on the Fringe, so she could well leave before the final week. The other guy’s a cameraman who’s making some sort of documentary at the festival, so I reckon he’ll be around for the duration. Talking of which, Gavin, you don’t have any contacts in the film industry up here, do you?”

“No, I’m afraid that’s a way out of my network, Jamie. Why do you ask?”

“Well, this cameraman is an old boy and he’s in need of an assistant, so he asked me if I knew anyone up here. I think he’s a bit desperate because he said he’d be happy to take someone with no experience.”

“Nothing springs to mind, but I’ll certainly keep my thinking cap on.”

“That’d be good. Cheers, Gavin.” Jamie waved a greeting to Rene as she entered the flat and sat down with a flump on her suitcase. “By the way, did Dad get hold of you?”

“No. What would that have been about?”

“A possible game of golf at Muirfield tomorrow evening, I think.”

“Ah, in that case, I’ll have to tell him I won’t be able to make it. Jenny and I are going to a concert to hear Angélique Pascal play.”

“She’s the French violinist, isn’t she?”

“Exactly.”

“Yeah, there was a photograph of her on the front page of the newspaper this morning, arriving at Edinburgh Airport. She’s pretty fit-looking.”

Gavin laughed. “You’re not wrong there. I had the pleasure of being in her company at a reception yesterday evening and she is an extremely captivating young lady.”

“Sounds as if you’re a bit hooked there, Gavin. Maybe you should consider ditching Jenny tomorrow evening and going it alone.”

“Ah, Jamie, I think maybe this would be an apt time to finish this call before you come up with any other suggestions and I’m tempted to charge you for my time. We’ll keep in touch, though.”

“Right you are. Thanks, Gavin.”

Jamie put down the receiver and turned to his new tenant, who still sat on the suitcase catching her breath. “Sorry about that.”

Rene held up a hand. “Not at all. I’m not used to all this exercise. Living in Edinburgh is like being at a bloody ’ealth farm.” She got slowly to her feet. “I tell you, I’m going to be returning to ’Artlepool a mere shadow of my former self.”

Jamie smiled at her as he picked up the suitcase. “Come on, I’ll show you to your room and you can recover in a bit more comfort.”