Darling Sweetheart by Stephen Price

here…’
    ‘They’re in LA,’ Emerson whispered, ‘it’s still night-time there.’
    ‘Harry, stop this!’ she hissed.
    ‘…can you give me an estimate,’ Frost continued, ‘for two ninety-minute flights in our Gulfstream please? Two crew, two passengers… yes, hold please…’ She took the handset from her ear and looked at her boss.
    ‘So,’ Emerson patted Annalise’s arm, ‘are we puttin’ a great big smile on your boyfriend’s face today?’
    ‘This is absurd!’
    He pouted. ‘Think of all those poor farmers, dyin’ to plant us some trees. Where do the farmers plant the trees, Judy?’
    Frost shrugged. ‘Africa, I think. Or maybe India – some place like that.’
    ‘Harry,’ Annalise pleaded, ‘why are you doing this?’
    Emerson’s face was tender now. ‘Because I can see you’re upset and I feel responsible. Because I want you to be happy. Judy,’ he commanded, ‘tell those guys to go plant some trees!’
    ‘The order is on,’ Frost informed her telephone, ‘to offset two ninety-minute flights. Bill our account as usual, please.’
    Annalise gave Emerson a hug, a proper one. He seemed surprised, but pleasantly so.
    ‘Thanks. This is incredibly generous of you.’
    ‘Shucks, you’re worth it. Levine will go with you, he’ll handle the formalities.’ She kissed his cheek and, for the first time since they’d met, he blushed slightly. ‘Don’t forget your passport,’ he mumbled.
    He stood high on the keep wall. Using a pair of small, ultramodern binoculars, he watched Annalise leave her apartment. He could see that she was wearing a red raincoat and carrying a brown leather bag. Standing beside him, even with her naked eye Frost could discern Annalise climb into the Range Rover in the street far below. It moved off in the direction of Bergerac.
    ‘Well played, H.E.,’ she murmured. ‘For a minute, I thought she wasn’t gonna bite.’
    ‘Carbon offsets, my ass. Who took that call?’
    ‘Talbot.’
    ‘Are we a hundred per cent certain about this information?’
    ‘A thousand per cent certain.’
    ‘How did you get it?’
    ‘Hotel staff are the same the world over – the more money you promise them, the more they’ll do for ya.’
    ‘What if they’re wrong?’
    ‘Then they don’t get paid. But the guy I’m dealing with is pretty adamant. I’ve told Levine to give me regular updates.’
    ‘Keep me informed.’
    ‘Of course. Just one thing she said doesn’t make sense…’
    ‘Yeah?’
    ‘What’s “my arse in parsley”? I mean, did I hear that right?’
    ‘I think arse is, like, Irish for ass.’
    ‘So why would my ass be in parsley? Is that like saying your ass is grass?’
    ‘Judy – how the hell would I know?’
    ‘Harry! How are you?’ The pair turned to see Tress waving up at them from inside the keep. ‘Are we ready to start work again?’
    ‘Ready to roll.’
    ‘Where’s Annalise? Is she feeling better?’
    ‘A lot better, yeah.’ Emerson thrust his binoculars at Frost and descended a grass ramp, his sword clanking. ‘Peter, we need to discuss our schedule this afternoon. I wanna re-shoot one of my action scenes from yesterday…’
    Annalise looked around the interior of the jet with a mixture of giddiness and guilt. The seats were like leather marshmallows. A set of buttons in the arm could make them swivel or even recline, like a bed. She played with hers while the pilots finished their final checks. She hadn’t set foot inside the terminal – Levine had driven her straight through a security barrier at Bergerac airport to where the jet was parked beside a hangar, barely flashing their passports at a French policeman in passing. Two reassuringly mature and responsible-looking pilots greeted them at the plane. Levine showed her a bedroom at the rear of the cabin, which had a tiny ensuite bathroom. There was a bigger bathroom for general use, ten of the marshmallow seats and a variety of veneered cabinets and flat-screen televisions.