Shifting Sands by Anthea Fraser

ride?’
    â€˜I don’t know; she could be.’
    â€˜She didn’t strike you as genuine?’
    â€˜Oh, she was fairly convincing, I grant you. The test will be if she turns up tomorrow and spills the beans.’
    â€˜Then you will come?’
    â€˜OK, but only to satisfy my curiosity.’
    By ten to eleven the following morning, they were seated at a window table. At least, Jonathan told himself, they’d not met Elise in the doorway, fleeing the scene. But as the hand of his watch crept past eleven, he was convinced, suddenly, that she wasn’t coming. It was illogical – she was not yet five minutes late – but the certainty grew.
    â€˜Let’s order for ourselves, anyway,’ he said, ignoring Steve’s quick look as he called the waitress over. Damn the girl! he thought furiously; that was twice she’d made a fool of him. Steve, he knew, was concentrating on not saying ‘I told you so’.
    Their coffee came. At nearby tables, people met, chatted, left. By eleven thirty, conversation between the two of them had dried up.
    â€˜All right,’ Jonathan said harshly. ‘Say it.’
    Steve moved uncomfortably. ‘Perhaps she looked through the window, saw me with you, and panicked.’
    â€˜Why should she panic? You haven’t got two heads.’
    â€˜She might have thought it was a trap of some kind.’
    â€˜If it’s a trap,’ Jonathan said drily, ‘I’m the one who’s been caught. I can’t believe I allowed myself to be talked into it again, after what happened last time. But what the hell is she playing at, Steve? It’s not the first of April. What possible good can be achieved by making a fool of me?’
    â€˜Relax!’ Steve said easily. ‘It’s no big deal. For all we know, she might have a genuine reason for not coming.’
    â€˜And pigs might fly.’
    They had just asked for their bill when her call came. Jonathan glanced at the screen and swore under his breath; the number showing was the same as the previous evening.
    â€˜I’ve a damn good mind not to answer it.’
    â€˜At least give her the chance to explain.’
    He jabbed at the button, but before he could speak her voice reached him, hurried and barely audible.
    â€˜I am so sorry – please forgive me! I could not get away. I’m afraid they might suspect—’ The next few words were drowned in a burst of static. Then a rapid whisper: ‘I shall contact you.’ And she ended the call. Jonathan had not spoken one word.
    â€˜So that,’ he said heavily, ‘is that. If I’d had the chance, I’d have told her not to bother. I’ve had enough of being messed around.’
    â€˜It didn’t sound like a hoax,’ Steve said consideringly.
    Jonathan stared at him. ‘Are you pleading devil’s advocate?’
    â€˜No, I just . . .’ He broke off, shrugging.
    â€˜Just what?’
    â€˜It’s hard to explain. At first, I assumed she was out for publicity; but the last two calls – I don’t know; I’m inclined to think there might be something in it.’
    Jonathan sat back in his chair, regarding him sceptically. ‘Well, you’ve changed your tune.’
    â€˜Perhaps she’s fooled us both. The thing is . . .’
    â€˜What?’
    â€˜If you don’t hear any more, we’ll be left wondering.’
    Jonathan frowned. ‘So what do you suggest we do?’
    â€˜There’s nothing we can do. You’ve no address for her, have you? Not even a last name. Just what do you know about her?’
    â€˜Let’s see: she works in the leisure industry – whatever that means – and has been over here for around two years. She wants me to look into something nefarious – or at least, she thinks she does, but the people she works for wouldn’t want her speaking to me. And, most importantly, she says