that, even if he did find out?
Tracy was just about to go over and open Jaff’s hold-all on the breakfast table when he emerged in the conservatory doorway, stretching, yawning and rubbing his eyes. Ah, well, Tracy thought, maybe later.
“Morning,” she said. “Cup of tea?”
Jaff grunted. Clearly not a morning person. Tracy made tea anyway. He drank it with milk and two sugars, pulled a face and told her he preferred coffee. She made coffee.
When he had poured his first cup, he said, “I’m starving. Is there anything left to eat?”
Tracy had checked both the fridge and freezer, not to mention the cupboards. There were a couple of tins of baked beans and some soup, but that was it. They ate cold baked beans from the cans.
“After this, we’ve got to go shopping if we plan on staying here,” Tracy said. “There’s absolutely nothing left to eat. We have to go to Eastvale.”
“How long did you say your old man’s going to be away?”
“Until next Monday. We’re all right for a bit. Have you had a chance to think things out yet?”
“Sort of.”
“And?”
“I reckon we should stay here as long as it’s safe,” Jaff said. “Say till the end of the week. We’ll let things quiet down a bit. It’s nice and isolated here, nobody to come around asking awkward questions. And nobody will think to look for me here. Even if someone does come, you can talk to them, tell them everything’s okay and send them packing. After all, it’s your dad’s house. You’ve got every right to be here, haven’t you? There’s even some decent music and movies. Not to mention the booze. I reckon we’ve lucked out.”
“But we can’t stay here forever,” Tracy argued, vague images in her mind of the further damage Jaff might do to her father’s home. She’d enjoyed last night’s careless abandon and wild freedom, but it couldn’t go on indefinitely.
“I know that, babe.” Jaff ambled over and ran his hand over her hair, her cheek, her breast. “I just need to put a few plans into operation, that’s all. I know people. I’ve got an old college mate down in Clapham who can get us fixed up with new passports, no questions asked, but I need a few days to make some calls and set things up. These things don’t come cheap. I’m just saying we’ve got a good hide-away for now, and that’s all we need. Soon as I’m organized, we can go down to London, then get out of the country. Once we’re over the Channel, we’re home free.”
“Not these days,” said Tracy. “There’s Interpol and Europol and God knows what other pols. I’ve seen programs on telly.”
“You worry too much. Don’t be a drag, babe. All I’m saying is that if you know how to disappear, you can do it over there.”
“And you know?”
Jaff kissed her. “Trust me. And maybe you should get a different lipstick while we’re in Eastvale. Pink, maybe. I don’t like that dark red color. Same goes for the nail varnish. It looks slutty. Get something lighter. Is there anything you can do about your hair? I liked it better without the colored streaks.”
“They’ll wash out easily enough,” Tracy said. She touched her hair and licked her lips self-consciously, then examined her scarlet nails. Still she felt uneasy. She wasn’t sure that she wanted to change her appearance and go into forced exile over the Channel with Jaff, much as she fancied him. After all, she didn’t know him very well and she hadn’t done anything illegal. She wasn’t on the run. In fact, she wasn’t even sure what she was doing, or why. All she’d done wrong so far was help make a bit of a mess of her dad’s place and drink some of his booze. But she decided to concentrate on the moment, on the now. She could deal with the rest later.
NOT SO far away, in his eighteenth-century manor house on the northwestern fringes of Ripon, “Farmer” George Fanthorpe stood at his picture window and surveyed his domain as he mulled over what he had just
Tracy was just about to go over and open Jaff’s hold-all on the breakfast table when he emerged in the conservatory doorway, stretching, yawning and rubbing his eyes. Ah, well, Tracy thought, maybe later.
“Morning,” she said. “Cup of tea?”
Jaff grunted. Clearly not a morning person. Tracy made tea anyway. He drank it with milk and two sugars, pulled a face and told her he preferred coffee. She made coffee.
When he had poured his first cup, he said, “I’m starving. Is there anything left to eat?”
Tracy had checked both the fridge and freezer, not to mention the cupboards. There were a couple of tins of baked beans and some soup, but that was it. They ate cold baked beans from the cans.
“After this, we’ve got to go shopping if we plan on staying here,” Tracy said. “There’s absolutely nothing left to eat. We have to go to Eastvale.”
“How long did you say your old man’s going to be away?”
“Until next Monday. We’re all right for a bit. Have you had a chance to think things out yet?”
“Sort of.”
“And?”
“I reckon we should stay here as long as it’s safe,” Jaff said. “Say till the end of the week. We’ll let things quiet down a bit. It’s nice and isolated here, nobody to come around asking awkward questions. And nobody will think to look for me here. Even if someone does come, you can talk to them, tell them everything’s okay and send them packing. After all, it’s your dad’s house. You’ve got every right to be here, haven’t you? There’s even some decent music and movies. Not to mention the booze. I reckon we’ve lucked out.”
“But we can’t stay here forever,” Tracy argued, vague images in her mind of the further damage Jaff might do to her father’s home. She’d enjoyed last night’s careless abandon and wild freedom, but it couldn’t go on indefinitely.
“I know that, babe.” Jaff ambled over and ran his hand over her hair, her cheek, her breast. “I just need to put a few plans into operation, that’s all. I know people. I’ve got an old college mate down in Clapham who can get us fixed up with new passports, no questions asked, but I need a few days to make some calls and set things up. These things don’t come cheap. I’m just saying we’ve got a good hide-away for now, and that’s all we need. Soon as I’m organized, we can go down to London, then get out of the country. Once we’re over the Channel, we’re home free.”
“Not these days,” said Tracy. “There’s Interpol and Europol and God knows what other pols. I’ve seen programs on telly.”
“You worry too much. Don’t be a drag, babe. All I’m saying is that if you know how to disappear, you can do it over there.”
“And you know?”
Jaff kissed her. “Trust me. And maybe you should get a different lipstick while we’re in Eastvale. Pink, maybe. I don’t like that dark red color. Same goes for the nail varnish. It looks slutty. Get something lighter. Is there anything you can do about your hair? I liked it better without the colored streaks.”
“They’ll wash out easily enough,” Tracy said. She touched her hair and licked her lips self-consciously, then examined her scarlet nails. Still she felt uneasy. She wasn’t sure that she wanted to change her appearance and go into forced exile over the Channel with Jaff, much as she fancied him. After all, she didn’t know him very well and she hadn’t done anything illegal. She wasn’t on the run. In fact, she wasn’t even sure what she was doing, or why. All she’d done wrong so far was help make a bit of a mess of her dad’s place and drink some of his booze. But she decided to concentrate on the moment, on the now. She could deal with the rest later.
NOT SO far away, in his eighteenth-century manor house on the northwestern fringes of Ripon, “Farmer” George Fanthorpe stood at his picture window and surveyed his domain as he mulled over what he had just
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