‘Spoony’s Senator for North Carolina; Matchbox is some sort of UN bigwig; Rhino ended up as Business Secretary; and Freaky you know about. We try to have a reunion every five years or so, if we can carve a slot in everyone’s diaries.’
‘Would’ve thought “Freaky” might have popped in for a visit, seeing as he’s in town?’
‘Hope so. Be good to catch up.’ Argyll eased another chunk of meat off his short rib. ‘Are you sure you don’t want to try this? It’s like butter.’
So much for getting him to rat out ‘Freaky’ Findlay for checking up on her. Unless Argyll didn’t know, of course. Could be that the ACC went straight to the headmaster. Or that she’d read too much into that ‘almost fellow pupil’ comment.
Lucy waved away the proffered forkful of dark glistening meat. ‘Doesn’t it bother you? They’re all these high-fliers and you’re stuck back here, working at the same old school.’
He spluttered at that, going red in the face as he tried to cough, laugh, and swallow at the same time. Followed by a big gulp of fizzy water. ‘Dear Lord, no. Quite the reverse!’ Argyll sat forward. ‘There isn’t a single one of them who wouldn’t sell their firstborn’s kidneys to have my job. And to put that in context: Spoony? The Republican Party are probably going to nominate her to be their next presidential candidate.’
‘No.’
‘Honestly! We’ve got seven crown princes with us, right now. We’ve got the sons and daughters of diplomats, captains of industry, heads of state, world leaders, and I get to mould and shape them. I get to help forge the future of the whole planet — every — single — day.’ He raised his water in a toast. ‘And when Gabrielle Simpson is President of the United States, I’ll be able to walk right into the Oval Office and tease the leader of the free world about how she used to run around the playing fields dressed as the Mighty Spoonwoman, Dread Avenger from the Mysterious Cutlery Drawer of Fate.’
Lucy shook her head. ‘You posh people are all weird.’
They lingered over dessert, the candles burning low in their holders, the murmur of other diners like whispers in a warm, dark forest.
Argyll had finished his shiraz and moved on to some sort of sticky pudding wine with his raspberry posset. He’d also loosened his tie, undone his top button, and was all smiles and rosy cheeks. Which meant, by Lucy’s reckoning anyway, that he was well and truly lubricated.
Hopefully, just enough to be useful.
He beamed at her again. ‘How’s your crème brûlée?’
‘Delicious.’ She scooped out another wobbly spoonful. ‘Argyll, you keep all the files on prospective pupils, don’t you?’
‘You want to see how you did on the tests? Well, I can tell you, you did very well indeed, Lucy Roxburgh McVeigh. Spectacularly well.’
‘Actually, I was thinking more about someone else’s test results: Benedict Strachan.’
The sound of other people eating and drinking seemed to get louder in the silence that followed. The scrape of cutlery on plates, the icy ping-and-chime of glasses, the whispers in the dark forest.
Argyll frowned across the table. ‘Can I ask why you want to see them?’
OK — time to turn on the charm and a sincere look. ‘Benedict’s just got out of prison. He’s scared, he’s paranoid, he’s alone, and there’s a very real risk he’s going to hurt himself or someone else.’ She even threw in a poignant shake of the head, for good measure. ‘When he pushed me in front of a train last night, he told me... I know it sounds crazy, but Benedict thinks if he can kill another homeless person, and get away with it this time, somehow everything will magically be OK, and his life will go back to the way it should’ve been.’
‘He pushed you in front of a train?’ Argyll raised his eyebrows and huffed out a breath. ‘Bloody hell. Right, well, definitely. Clearly this is in his best interests. I mean if he’s going to kill somebody. Of course. Pop past tomorrow and I’ll give you a seeing to.’ A grimace. ‘It! I’ll give it a seeing to. See to it. I’ll see to it.’ Loosening his tie a little further. ‘They must’ve turned up the heating in here...’
‘You’re working on a Saturday?’
‘Well, a boarding school never really shuts, does it? Not even for Christmas.’ He polished off the last of his posset, cheeks bright as cherries. ‘Some of our parents can be a bit... hands off.’ The smile was back, but there was something sad about it now. ‘Still, nothing wrong with that, am I right? Never did us any harm. Teaches self-reliance and initiative when you don’t have someone fawning over you the whole time.’ Deep breath. ‘Anyway, maybe it’s time to have a nice large brandy!’ Looking around to get the waitress’s attention.
She put a hand on Argyll’s arm. Gave it a little squeeze.
Not a huge amount of affection, but all he’d be getting tonight.
It banished all traces of gloom from his smile, as if she’d given a Labrador a custard cream. Shaper of the free world, indeed.
If he thought being left at school over Christmas taught self-reliance, he should try being abandoned in the care of psychopaths, because your mum’s dead and your dad’s having a nervous breakdown. But he didn’t need to know any of that: he was going to get her Benedict Strachan’s file.
And that was all that mattered.
34
‘You sure we can’t give you a lift?’ Argyll beamed up at Lucy from the taxi’s back seat.
‘It’s fine, I’m parked just down the road.’ Pointing in the vague direction of her hideous van as the rain battered against her St Nick’s brolly.
‘In that case, it only remains for me to say, “Thank you for a lovely evening!”’ He patted his driver on the shoulder. ‘Isn’t she pretty?’
The taxi driver didn’t reply, just pulled away from the kerb and headed off down the hill.
Lucy clomped her way to the Bedford Rascal and climbed in behind the wheel. Sagged there for a minute. ‘Pfff...’
It wasn’t that there was anything wrong with Argyll — he was actually quite nice, to be honest — but spending that long with another human being she wasn’t working with? Bit of a strain. But then let’s face it: it was a long, long time since she’d been out on a ‘date’. And the food had been delicious.
She rummaged in her mum’s handbag, pulled out the new phone and turned it back on again. Three messages, and two texts.
Buzzzzzzz-ding.
Make that three texts.
UNKNOWN NUMBER:
Thank you for being a delightful dinner companion, I had a wonderful time!
Really looking forward to seeing you again tomorrow!
My fondest regards,
Argyll
God, he didn’t hang about, did he? ‘My fondest regards’ wasn’t exactly romance on toast, but it was a definite improvement on ‘All the best, and with warmest wishes’. And she’d never been called ‘delightful’ before.
She added Argyll to her contacts list — so at least now the phone would know who he was — then called up her voicemails.
YOU HAVE — THREE — NEW MESSAGES AND — ONE — SAVED MESSAGE.
MESSAGE ONE:
Sarge? It’s me: Duncan. Just wanted to make sure everything’s OK and Lover Boy hasn’t tried anything. Drop me a text or something when you get home, so I know. OK? Good. Right. By-eeee.