Angel Confidential by Mike Ripley

arrive, but then it would be quiet until lunchtime, if this Rudgard woman decided to go out for lunch. The thought of Veronica hanging around outside and remaining unnoticed was too much for me at this hour.
    â€˜What if she tries to shake me?’ she blurted suddenly. ‘What if she gets on a tube.’
    Right, that was something we could do to kill some time.
    I drove her round to Baker Street station and told her to dive in and buy herself a one-day travel card covering all zones, so she could be ready for anything. She liked that idea and I had been illegally parked for only about ten minutes when she reappeared and asked to borrow some money as she hadn’t enough cash. Once she’d got it, I pointed Armstrong to Wimpole Street and we slowly cruised it to see if we could spot Stella Rudgard heading in for her first day at the office.
    I have to admit I was curious by now. Whether she knew it or not, Stella Rudgard had a lot to answer for. Introducing me to Veronica would do as a holding charge.
    â€˜There she is!’ Veronica yelled in my ear. ‘Can’t you turn the music down? She might suspect.’
    Suspect what? I was a black Austin London cab. There were thousands of us. We were anonymous; the perfect private eye’s vehicle. Okay, so they don’t all play INXS quite so loudly. I pulled over to the kerb and let the engine idle.
    â€˜Well, I wouldn’t turn up for my first day at work looking like that,’ Veronica said through the partition.
    â€˜Like what? She looks fine to me.’
    And she did too. She was about my height with straight blonde hair that would have reached most of the way down her back if she hadn’t put it in a ponytail with a wide green hairband and hung it over her left shoulder. She was wearing a snug small black jacket with rounded edges over a short summer dress that rah-rah’d as she walked, about four inches above the knees of her bare, brown legs.
    â€˜She’s not wearing any make-up,’ said Veronica.
    â€˜Can’t say I’d noticed,’ I said.
    â€˜And that skirt’s too short.’
    I said nothing.
    â€˜And she’s wearing trainers.’
    She’d got me there. Still, two out of three wasn’t bad.
    But as she drew near to the house with the consulting rooms, Stella stopped and dug into the Harrods carrier bag she was holding. She produced a pair of patent white high heels, dropped them on the pavement and kicked off her trainers one at a time. I admired the way she did it, not giving a sod if anyone was watching. Then she bent down and picked up her Nikes and shoved them into the carrier and sauntered up to the green door of the Linscott practice.
    â€˜I suppose she loses points for the white stilettos,’ I said into the driving mirror.
    â€˜Why? They’re very smart and very fashionable these days.’
    I turned my head slowly to look at her to see whether she was serious or not.
    â€˜What? What have I said now?’
    â€˜Nothing. Skip it. You’re young. There’s time.’
    â€˜Look, she’s going in.’
    â€˜Good, you’ve got her trapped now for maybe seven or eight hours. Unless she gets fired before then, of course.’
    Veronica pursed her lips. I almost heard her do it.
    â€˜I don’t think anyone dressed like they’re going to a party really intends to make a career of the job.’
    â€˜Well, that says two things about you, Veronica,’ I smiled sweetly. ‘Firstly, you don’t go to the sort of parties I do. And secondly, if you were a man and her employer, assuming she can actually speak English, you’ll get her into the pension plan by lunchtime and she’ll probably have a company car by the time she makes the tea this afternoon.’
    â€˜Isn’t that sexist?’
    â€˜Very probably. You must be getting through to me.’
    She gave me the sort of look a spaniel gives its owner just after they’ve thrown