look, I’m afraid we can’t invite you in. The family’s away and we’ve sort of planned…well…’
‘A night on the tiles,’ Pippa chuckled. ‘You devils! I’ll bet Crimea Street is going to rock.’
‘You’d better believe it!’
‘OK, I’ll come back tomorrow.’
‘Don’t you live here?’ Roscoe asked.
‘No, I’ve got my own little place a few miles away.’
‘Where exactly?’
She gave him the address in the heart of London.
‘I’ll take you,’ he said. ‘Get in.’
Relieved, she did so, first retrieving two heavy bags from the back of her car.
‘Thanks,’ she said as she clicked the seat belt and slammed the door. ‘I’ve got a heavy night’s work ahead of me and I’ve got to give it everything.’
‘No hungry man wanting his supper cooked?’
‘Nope. I live alone. Free, independent, no distractions.’
‘Except visiting your friends,’ he observed.
‘They’re my brothers—oh, you mean in the graveyard. I suppose you thought I looked very odd.’
‘No, you looked as if you were enjoying the company. It was nice.’
‘I always did enjoy my grandparents’ company. I adored them both. Especially Gran. I loved talking to her, and I guess I just can’t stop.’
‘Why should you want to?’
‘Most people would say because she’s dead.’
‘But she isn’t dead to you, and that’s what matters. Besides, I don’t think you worry too much about what other people say.’
‘Well, I ought to. I’m a lawyer.’
‘Ah, yes. Staid and serious.’
She made a comical face. ‘I do my best.’
Outwardly, he showed nothing, but inside his expression was wry. Twenty-seven. Was he expected to believe that? Twenty-four, tops. And even that was stretching it. If she really worked for Farley she was probably little more than a pupil, but that was fine. She could still be useful to him.
A plan was forming in his mind. The details had to be fine-tuned but meeting her was like the working out of destiny. Somewhere, a kindly fate had planned this meeting and he was going to make the most of it.
‘It’s just there,’ Pippa said, pointing through the window to a tall, expensive-looking apartment block.
‘There doesn’t seem anywhere to park,’ he groaned.
‘No need. Just slow down a little and I’ll hop out. Just here where the lights are red.’
She reached for her bags, flashed him a dazzling smile and got out swiftly.
‘Thank you,’ she called, backing off.
He would have called her to wait but the lights changed and he had to move on.
Pippa hurried into the building and took the elevator to the third floor. Once in her apartment, she tossed the bags away and began to strip off.
‘Shower, shower,’ she muttered. ‘Just let me get under the shower!’
When she was naked she hurried into the bathroom and got under the water, sighing with satisfaction. After relishing the cascade for a few minutes, she got out and dried herself off, thinking of the evening’s work that lay ahead. She felt ready for it now.
But then something caught her eye. One of her bags lay open on its side, the contents spilling out, and she could see at once that one vital object was missing.
‘Oh, heavens!’ she groaned. ‘It must have fallen out in his car and he drove off with it.’
The sound of the doorbell revived her hope. Roscoe Havering. He’s found it, brought it back to me. Thank heavens!
Pulling a large towelling robe around her, she ran to the door. ‘I’m so glad to see you—’
Then she stopped, stunned by the sight of the young man who stood there, his air a mixture of pleading and defiance.
‘Oh, no,’ she breathed. ‘You promised not to do this again.’
FOR most of the journey Roscoe wore a frown. Things were falling into place nicely. Not that this was a surprise. He was an organised man, skilled at controlling his surroundings and making things happen as he wanted, but even he could hardly have arranged matters as neatly as this.
So his frown didn’t imply problems, simply that there were still details to be sorted before he’d fixed everything to suit himself, and he was giving that desirable outcome the concentration it deserved.
Now he could see the large, comfortable house that had once been his home. These days it housed only his mother and younger brother Charlie, although Roscoe had kept his room and usually slept there a couple of nights a week to keep a protective eye on both of them. His mother was looking anxiously out of the window and came to the door as soon as she saw him. She was approaching sixty, nervously thin but still with the remnants of good looks.
‘Is it all right?’ she asked. ‘Have you sorted it?’
He kissed her. ‘Sorted what?’
‘About Charlie. Have you arranged everything?’
For just the briefest moment he tensed, then smiled.
‘Mother, it’s too soon to arrange everything, but I’m working on it. Don’t worry.’
‘Oh, but I must worry. He’s so frail and vulnerable.’
Luckily she wasn’t looking directly at him, or she’d have seen the cynical twist of his mouth. Roscoe had an unsentimental, clear-eyed view of his younger brother. He knew Charlie’s volatility, his ramshackle behaviour, his headlong craziness and his selfishness. All these he saw through a filter of brotherly affection, but he never fooled himself. Frail and vulnerable? No way!
But he knew his mother’s perception was different and he always avoided hurting her, so he simply said, ‘Leave it to me. You know you can trust me.’
‘But you will make them drop those stupid charges, won’t you? You’ll make those horrid people admit that he’s innocent.’
‘Mother, he’s not exactly innocent. He more or less admitted—’
‘Oh,
