call him, is pacing up and down. Call it my developed sense of intuition but I think the news has been broken to him. He stops pacing as soon as we come in and glares at us. Even the sassy Robin seems to shrink a little under his Medusa-like scowl.
The Chief stands up from behind his desk with a jovial smile as we enter. He is obviously a PR man at heart. He reminds me of a benevolent bank manager (not that I have met many of those in my time, it's just how I think they ought to look). He is a large man with a moustache and a spreading waistline. He says heartily: 'Aah! Here they are now!'
He walks round from his side of the desk and pumps my hand.
'You must be Holly!'
'Er, yes. Nice to meet you.'
'We're so pleased to have you on board! Robin tells us she knows you from the London circuit and I have been hearing all about your journalistic adventures! She says you're used to ground-breaking assignments! Say, you must tell me sometime about being undercover in Beirut. That sounds quite something!'
'Hmm. Yes. I must,' I say in a voice that doesn't actually sound like mine at all. I haven't been to Brighton, let alone Beirut. I manage to shoot a look at Robin, who smiles brazenly at me with a warning look in her eye. I have a feeling she usually gets what she wants.
'This is Detective Sergeant James Sabine. James, meet your new shadow!'
James grimaces. 'We have met,' he says through gritted teeth, but nevertheless he steps towards me and, with pursed lips that I presume are supposed to pass for a smile and without meeting my eyes, shakes my proffered hand. Hell, he damn near throttles it. I try not to wince.
'Holly, I have arranged for a desk to be cleared for you up here so that you can write your stories while James writes up his paperwork,' the Chief continues. 'That's something you'll have to learn about! The huge amount of paperwork these officers have to deal with! But I expect you found out all about patience on the Arctic expedition!'
The closest I have been to an Arctic Expedition is getting an Arctic Roll out of the freezer. An expedition of sorts, I suppose.
'I'm sure I'll have a lot to learn!' I say in a conciliatory manner, anything to get us off the subject of expeditions and anything else from my fictional career.
'Do you have the signed agreement from your editor?'
I fish into my bag for the faxed wad of papers that the
Gazette's
lawyer had been poring over at lunchtime. Joe's hasty signature is at the bottom of the last page and I bend over the desk to add my own next to his. As I do so, I feel James Sabine's eyes boring into my back. I shift uncomfortably. As I straighten up and hand over the agreement, the Chief says, 'Good! Why don't you two go and grab a coffee in the canteen and get to know each another a bit better? I need to finalise a few things with Robin here.' And with this, my new buddy and I are thrust out of the office.
James Sabine sets off down the corridor at breakneck speed. I walk behind with an uncomfortable view of his tense, broad back clad in a tweed jacket. He strides along while I perform some sort of comical half-run in an effort to keep up. His legs seem to be twice as long as mine.
I arrive back at the canteen – my second visit in twenty-four hours. The inmates eye me suspiciously. James doesn't say a single word to me as we order our coffees; he won't even look at me. He gets his cup first and whooshes off to one of the tables and so I trot behind with mine. I timidly sit down opposite him, feeling like a little girl anxiously seeking for approval from a parent. He speaks without looking up.
'Well, you must be pleased with yourself. Managing to persuade Robin and the Chief this is a good idea.'
I gulp. Golly, do we have to get straight into the boxing ring without gloves on? Can't we limber up a little first, with a few verbal stretching exercises? A bit of 'the weather's been rather inclement lately'?
'Well, I realise this may be a bit of an inconvenience for you
The Chief stands up from behind his desk with a jovial smile as we enter. He is obviously a PR man at heart. He reminds me of a benevolent bank manager (not that I have met many of those in my time, it's just how I think they ought to look). He is a large man with a moustache and a spreading waistline. He says heartily: 'Aah! Here they are now!'
He walks round from his side of the desk and pumps my hand.
'You must be Holly!'
'Er, yes. Nice to meet you.'
'We're so pleased to have you on board! Robin tells us she knows you from the London circuit and I have been hearing all about your journalistic adventures! She says you're used to ground-breaking assignments! Say, you must tell me sometime about being undercover in Beirut. That sounds quite something!'
'Hmm. Yes. I must,' I say in a voice that doesn't actually sound like mine at all. I haven't been to Brighton, let alone Beirut. I manage to shoot a look at Robin, who smiles brazenly at me with a warning look in her eye. I have a feeling she usually gets what she wants.
'This is Detective Sergeant James Sabine. James, meet your new shadow!'
James grimaces. 'We have met,' he says through gritted teeth, but nevertheless he steps towards me and, with pursed lips that I presume are supposed to pass for a smile and without meeting my eyes, shakes my proffered hand. Hell, he damn near throttles it. I try not to wince.
'Holly, I have arranged for a desk to be cleared for you up here so that you can write your stories while James writes up his paperwork,' the Chief continues. 'That's something you'll have to learn about! The huge amount of paperwork these officers have to deal with! But I expect you found out all about patience on the Arctic expedition!'
The closest I have been to an Arctic Expedition is getting an Arctic Roll out of the freezer. An expedition of sorts, I suppose.
'I'm sure I'll have a lot to learn!' I say in a conciliatory manner, anything to get us off the subject of expeditions and anything else from my fictional career.
'Do you have the signed agreement from your editor?'
I fish into my bag for the faxed wad of papers that the
Gazette's
lawyer had been poring over at lunchtime. Joe's hasty signature is at the bottom of the last page and I bend over the desk to add my own next to his. As I do so, I feel James Sabine's eyes boring into my back. I shift uncomfortably. As I straighten up and hand over the agreement, the Chief says, 'Good! Why don't you two go and grab a coffee in the canteen and get to know each another a bit better? I need to finalise a few things with Robin here.' And with this, my new buddy and I are thrust out of the office.
James Sabine sets off down the corridor at breakneck speed. I walk behind with an uncomfortable view of his tense, broad back clad in a tweed jacket. He strides along while I perform some sort of comical half-run in an effort to keep up. His legs seem to be twice as long as mine.
I arrive back at the canteen – my second visit in twenty-four hours. The inmates eye me suspiciously. James doesn't say a single word to me as we order our coffees; he won't even look at me. He gets his cup first and whooshes off to one of the tables and so I trot behind with mine. I timidly sit down opposite him, feeling like a little girl anxiously seeking for approval from a parent. He speaks without looking up.
'Well, you must be pleased with yourself. Managing to persuade Robin and the Chief this is a good idea.'
I gulp. Golly, do we have to get straight into the boxing ring without gloves on? Can't we limber up a little first, with a few verbal stretching exercises? A bit of 'the weather's been rather inclement lately'?
'Well, I realise this may be a bit of an inconvenience for you
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