Full Stop by Joan Smith Page A

she hadn’t returned his call when she got back to the flat, even though he hadn’t asked her to. ‘I was beginning to think you weren’t coming,’ he said, looking at his watch. ‘I told you half past seven.’
    â€˜Oh for God’s sake,’ Loretta responded, resisting the temptation to blurt out that she was late because she’d had to deal with an obscene caller who wanted to know if she did
fellatio.
‘Let’s see if our table’s ready.’
    Since then she had listened sympathetically to a lengthy account — outlasting their starters and main courses — of Tracey’s problems at the
Sunday Herald.
She now knew about the clampdown on expenses, the rigid imposition of a five-day week on reporters used to working four (at most), the hard-faced people brought in from the tabloids ... Making a fresh attempt to divert his attention from himself, Loretta pushed aside her empty plate, folded her hands on the table and said seriously: ‘I need your advice, John. A man’s been phoning the flat, he’s done it twice so far –’ She stopped, suddenly realising the significance of something Michael had said in his latest call.
You’ve been out, I tried your number over and over
... If he was telling the truth, he couldn’t have been watching her or shadowing her at the Metropolitan Museum. Instantly a warm glow of relief suffused her, making her realise how uneasy she’d been.
    Tracey was staring at her. ‘What man? What are you talking about?’
    Loretta said, ‘I’m coming to that,’ but her internal dialogue had thrown her off course and she found herself unintentionally starting in the middle. ‘There’s an outside chance he’s a friend of Toni’s, I don’t want to ask her outright because of what it says in the phone book. And it doesn’t really matter because the police are bugging the phone, they would’ve traced his number this evening if I hadn’t –’
    â€˜Bugging the
phone?
’ She had his full attention at last, his expression revealing how startled he was by her garbled version of events. ‘Loretta, you only got here
yesterday.
How come all this — you didn’t mention any of this when you rang last night.’
    â€˜You were rushing off somewhere. I didn’t want to worry you.’
    He rolled his eyes upwards. ‘Another wild goose chase. Another man who knows a woman whose sister
might
have been propositioned by Clinton when he was Governor of Arkansas.’
    Loretta said: ‘John,
please.’
    â€˜Sorry. What’s he want, this bloke?’
    â€˜I suppose he’s your common-or-garden obscene caller.’ Loretta hadn’t expected to be embarrassed but she felt her cheeks flush. She picked up her fork, turned it sideways and, in desperation, pretended to read the maker’s name.
    â€˜Meaning what exactly? What colour knickers are you wearing? That’s the standard one, isn’t it?’
    â€˜Is it? To be honest I didn’t realise at first, not the first time he called. His questions weren’t ... I mean, they were weird, all about whether I’m an English rose –’
    â€˜An English
rose?
Doesn’t sound very obscene to me.’
    Loretta snapped: ‘That’s what Lieutenant Donelly said. If you must know, I put the phone down tonight when he asked if I did oral sex. Is that obscene enough for you?’
    â€˜Sorry, Loretta,’ he said contritely. When she didn’t respond he leaned across the table and touched her arm. ‘Come on. I’ve said I’m sorry.’
    She shrugged his hand away. ‘It’s OK, I can handle it.’
    â€˜Maybe you can but ... Here, have another drink.’ He refilled both their glasses. ‘OK, go back a bit. You say this chap may be a friend of
Toni’s?’
    Loretta sighed. ‘I don’t know. It says in the phone book you