take a quick trip over there this afternoon and check out where this house is,” she said to her canine companion. “Don’t want any wrong address balls-ups.”
Kinky’s eyes conveyed the information that he wasn’t going anywhere with this stupid funnel on.
“Hope she doesn’t drive too fast when I’m following her,” Lexy went on, now pacing the living room restlessly. “Her Volvo’ll leave the Panda standing. How embarrassing would that be?”
Lexy had spotted the lime green Fiat Panda in a driveway in Ealing a few days ago. She needed a car as part of her escape bid, and this one was taxed, MOT’d and a bargain at one hundred and fifty pounds. She bought it on the spot with her rapidly-dwindling cash reserve. Didn’t drive as well as the Mercedes Coupé she’d been used to, but she wasn’t going to keep anything Gerard had bought her. Anyway, it got her to Suffolk in one piece. Just about. Protesting a lot.
She glanced down at Roderick Todd’s notes again. Perhaps this whole private surveillance gig might not be quite the piece of madeira she had originally thought. She could do with a bit of advice right now, as it happened. How would Glenda Doyle have gone about it? She began to pad around the cabin, checking what Glenda had left, as if that would give her some kind of clue. There wasn’t much. A brown waxed jacket, size sixteen, hanging in the hall cupboard. Might come in handy if Lexy put on a couple of stone and lost all her dress sense. A knobbly walking stick propped up by the front door, looking like it had been made from the root of some alien vegetable. The stout brown brogues. All seemed to suggest a lot of footwork. The large magnifying glass in the kitchen drawer, of course, although Lexy had a feeling she wouldn’t need that on her first job, unless Avril Todd had hooked up with a very inadequate lover.
And that seemed to be about it.
Lexy arranged her own meagre pieces among Glenda Doyle’s. A few clothes, all practical – jeans, t-shirts and a fleece, which she hung in the empty wardrobe; some bathroom necessities; a copy of Culpeper’s Herbal ; a slim, oddly-shaped musical instrument case; a portable CD player and half a dozen CDs, a small bag of essential oils, and a compass.
Finally she withdrew from her rucksack a framed photograph of her mother being manhandled by the police during a dockside demonstration against the export of veal calves. Lexy had always thought this photograph caught Angelica Lomax particularly well.
She put the photo in the very centre of the mantelpiece, above the fake flame gas fire. “Go Mum,” she said, “wherever you are.”
6
After a restless night, Lexy awoke early and sloped down into Clopwolde, a still-sulking Kinky in tow. A silvery haze hung over the village, promising another day of brilliant sunshine, and in anticipation café owners were already pulling down striped awnings and setting out tables on the pavements.
Lexy was studying the adverts in a newsagent’s window, when a voice hailed her. “Ms Lomax?”
She twisted around, alarmed.
“Hello… again.” It was Hope Ellenger, the vet’s receptionist, standing stiffly behind her.
“’Lo,” replied Lexy warily, hoping she wasn’t in for any more grief from the woman.
“How’s your dog?”
“My walking lampshade, you mean?” Lexy threw Kinky a sardonic glance. “He’ll live.”
A tentative smile hovered on the receptionist’s lips. “Look, I want to apologise to you for being so rude yesterday,” she said.
Lexy hadn’t been expecting that. “Don’t worry about it,” she replied gruffly.
“No, really.” Hope Ellenger grasped hold of Lexy’s arm. “I’ve felt awful ever since. You caught me in a really bad way, I’m afraid.”
Lexy nodded mutely. Hope had caught her in a really bad way too. She didn’t want to start screaming, but if the woman gripped her new tattoo any harder, Lexy thought she might have to.
“I don’t want you to feel that
Kinky’s eyes conveyed the information that he wasn’t going anywhere with this stupid funnel on.
“Hope she doesn’t drive too fast when I’m following her,” Lexy went on, now pacing the living room restlessly. “Her Volvo’ll leave the Panda standing. How embarrassing would that be?”
Lexy had spotted the lime green Fiat Panda in a driveway in Ealing a few days ago. She needed a car as part of her escape bid, and this one was taxed, MOT’d and a bargain at one hundred and fifty pounds. She bought it on the spot with her rapidly-dwindling cash reserve. Didn’t drive as well as the Mercedes Coupé she’d been used to, but she wasn’t going to keep anything Gerard had bought her. Anyway, it got her to Suffolk in one piece. Just about. Protesting a lot.
She glanced down at Roderick Todd’s notes again. Perhaps this whole private surveillance gig might not be quite the piece of madeira she had originally thought. She could do with a bit of advice right now, as it happened. How would Glenda Doyle have gone about it? She began to pad around the cabin, checking what Glenda had left, as if that would give her some kind of clue. There wasn’t much. A brown waxed jacket, size sixteen, hanging in the hall cupboard. Might come in handy if Lexy put on a couple of stone and lost all her dress sense. A knobbly walking stick propped up by the front door, looking like it had been made from the root of some alien vegetable. The stout brown brogues. All seemed to suggest a lot of footwork. The large magnifying glass in the kitchen drawer, of course, although Lexy had a feeling she wouldn’t need that on her first job, unless Avril Todd had hooked up with a very inadequate lover.
And that seemed to be about it.
Lexy arranged her own meagre pieces among Glenda Doyle’s. A few clothes, all practical – jeans, t-shirts and a fleece, which she hung in the empty wardrobe; some bathroom necessities; a copy of Culpeper’s Herbal ; a slim, oddly-shaped musical instrument case; a portable CD player and half a dozen CDs, a small bag of essential oils, and a compass.
Finally she withdrew from her rucksack a framed photograph of her mother being manhandled by the police during a dockside demonstration against the export of veal calves. Lexy had always thought this photograph caught Angelica Lomax particularly well.
She put the photo in the very centre of the mantelpiece, above the fake flame gas fire. “Go Mum,” she said, “wherever you are.”
6
After a restless night, Lexy awoke early and sloped down into Clopwolde, a still-sulking Kinky in tow. A silvery haze hung over the village, promising another day of brilliant sunshine, and in anticipation café owners were already pulling down striped awnings and setting out tables on the pavements.
Lexy was studying the adverts in a newsagent’s window, when a voice hailed her. “Ms Lomax?”
She twisted around, alarmed.
“Hello… again.” It was Hope Ellenger, the vet’s receptionist, standing stiffly behind her.
“’Lo,” replied Lexy warily, hoping she wasn’t in for any more grief from the woman.
“How’s your dog?”
“My walking lampshade, you mean?” Lexy threw Kinky a sardonic glance. “He’ll live.”
A tentative smile hovered on the receptionist’s lips. “Look, I want to apologise to you for being so rude yesterday,” she said.
Lexy hadn’t been expecting that. “Don’t worry about it,” she replied gruffly.
“No, really.” Hope Ellenger grasped hold of Lexy’s arm. “I’ve felt awful ever since. You caught me in a really bad way, I’m afraid.”
Lexy nodded mutely. Hope had caught her in a really bad way too. She didn’t want to start screaming, but if the woman gripped her new tattoo any harder, Lexy thought she might have to.
“I don’t want you to feel that
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