go for a recce.
‘Luca Jones!’ Ben exclaimed, coming across the rider in the foyer.
‘Hey, Doc,’ said Luca, ‘I’m fucking knackered.’
‘Have an early night, then,’ Ben said, as if to an imbecile, ‘it’s almost eight thirty.’
‘I’m waiting,’ Luca said.
‘For what?’ Ben asked.
‘For my journaliste,’ Luca said.
‘Who?’ Ben asked.
‘The lovely pussy Cat,’ Luca said openly.
‘I hope you don’t call her that to her face,’ Ben exclaimed.
‘Yeah,’ Luca said, ‘I tried but she didn’t seem to like it. I went for Gatto. She did say she’d rather just be a simple Cat but I won’t listen.’
‘Why are you waiting?’ Ben asked. ‘When are you meeting?’
‘Yesterday I asked her to come to me if she wanted one. This morning, I told her if she found me tonight, she could have it.’
Ben stared at him. ‘You said what?’
‘That I’d give her one,’ the rider shrugged, ‘a long one even. Somewhere quiet, I told her. After supper.’
‘You said that?’ Ben asked, not able to mask amazement.
‘Sure,’ Luca shrugged, ‘she told me she was shagged last night.’ Ben’s jaw dropped. ‘So,’ Luca continued, ‘perhaps tonight.’
‘And she’s on for it?’ Ben enquired nonchalantly.
Luca looked at him in amazement. ‘She’s a fucking journaliste – why wouldn’t she want an exclusive interview with Luca Fucking Jones? Man!’
Ben bit back laughter, nodded sincerely and then walked away.
I must find her. This is too good to miss. She can’t not go to Luca Fucking Jones if he wants to give her a big one somewhere private.
If I take the stairs, Cat theorizes, I can avoid bumping into anything I’d rather not.
She takes the stairs, forgetting it is the mode by which Ben chooses to travel upwards. She is humming the jingle played each day at the village. She skips down a flight, turns a landing, skips down another and all but collides with Ben on the next landing.
‘Miss McCabe,’ he says, staring at her measuredly, his hands on her shoulders to steady her but, in reality, making her quiver all the more.
‘Oh,’ says Cat, not able to look anywhere but right at him, ‘Ben.’
‘Where are you skipping to, all merry?’ he asks, removing just one hand from her shoulder.
‘I’m going to find Rachel McEwen,’ Cat says, wanting him to take away his other hand but also to leave it put. ‘We’re going to have a quick drink.’
‘A quick one,’ Ben plays with a wry half-smile. Cat frowns fleetingly. ‘And young Luca?’ Ben asks.
‘Luca?’ Cat responds, regarding Ben warily.
‘He tells me he’s going to give you one,’ Ben informs her, ‘this evening.’
Cat bites her lip. ‘I know,’ she says quietly.
‘What exactly did my rider say?’ Ben asks sternly, his voice low and doctorly and coursing through the blood in Cat’s veins like a tonic.
She drops her gaze to his lips fleetingly then regards him full on. ‘Your young rider invited me to come and find him tonight if I wanted it – that he’d take me somewhere quiet and give me a long one.’
‘Cat McCabe,’ Ben breathes, ‘my rider is waiting for you in the foyer. He needs an early night. He needs minimal exertion. I think I’ll join you both on this one. Come on.’ Ben takes her elbow. ‘I promise to be just a silent observer.’
Cat is too stunned to respond, let alone stand her ground or insist on her intended path to Rachel.
‘Do you use a gadget?’ Ben asks, innocently enough. ‘The riders usually prefer them – it makes it so much quicker and smoother.’ He looks at Cat. ‘Don’t you agree?’
Poor girl – I am a sod.
In the foyer, Ben and Cat come across Luca talking to Rachel.
‘Hey, Cat,’ Rachel says. Luca stares intently at the journaliste who is trying to transmit to the soigneur desperate pleas for assistance via eye flickers, lip twitching and general woman-to-woman telepathy.
‘Luca tells me he’s having you to himself for a while,’ Rachel says. ‘I’ll meet you in the bar. How long will you be, Luca?’
‘As long as it takes,’ Luca replies, looking adoringly at the journaliste. ‘It’s up to my feline friend, hey?’
‘He won’t last long,’ Rachel whispers to Cat. ‘God knows why he wants to do it now – he’s shagged already.’ She winks. ‘I’ll leave you to it,’ she says to Luca and Cat, ‘see you in a while.’
Ben is hovering.
‘You want to join us?’ Luca asks him begrudgingly.
‘Cat?’ Ben asks her. She does not know where to look, what to do. She turns her head towards the bar. She cannot see Rachel.
‘You have that thing?’ Luca asks her, ‘the machine? The batteries?’
Cat shakes her head and upends empty palms. She is wearing an obviously pocketless tube skirt. She looks down, wondering if her knees are knocking. Certainly they feel that they are.
‘Oh,’ Luca says, ‘why not? It’s better for you, no? Personally, I like the machine – I prefer it that way – and it is better for you, no? The results are stronger, in my experience.’
Ben can’t bear it any longer. He is about to laugh uncontrollably and Cat looks like she is about to weep. ‘Call yourself a journaliste?’ he goads her gently, giving her shoulder a little shove. ‘It’s part of the job, isn’t it?’
Cat regards him blankly.
Bloody fucking men. I’m in the wrong fucking job.
‘Necessary equipment?’ Ben furthers, captivated by the sight of her heaving chest.
She’s not wearing a bra.
‘A dic-ta-phone?’ he enunciates clearly.
‘Ah!’ Luca responds cheerfully, ‘that’s the sodding word – dictaphone.’
‘How
