bloody did!"
Right, Resnick thought, getting to his feet, and it's about time you went back to running before you have some self-induced heart attack.
Whatever was going on behind closed doors in Skelton's executive home, it wasn't happy families.
Lynn was waiting outside Resnick's office.
"Graham and I had another go at her. Still won't budge. Didn't know the other woman from Adam.
I mean Eve. " She's lying?"
"Not just that. She knows we know she is, but at the moment there's not a lot we can do to prove it. Loving that, isn't she? Clever cow!"
"Not your favourite person, then?" Resnick smiled.
"Women like that," Lynn scowled, 'whatever their intentions, just end up making women like me feel inferior. "
"Well, looks like you can have the pleasure of kicking her free. Last thing the old man wants to do is contribute to her publicity campaign."
"What about Cathy Jordan? Suppose she wants..."
To lay charges? I doubt it. Wouldn't exactly help her, would it? But if she does. " Resnick shrugged.
"I don't suppose Ms Plant's about to do a runner, do you? Suddenly turn into a shrinking violet?"
Lynn looked back at Resnick, concerned; unless she was very much mistaken, he had made a joke.
"Catherine, dear. How awful for you. How perfectly awful."
How Cathy Jordan hated being called Catherine; especially by Dorothy Birdwell, watt led hands flustering all around her, smelling her old maid's smell of face powder and malice.
"Yes, well, you know, Dotde, it really wasn't so bad."
"Perhaps you should consider following my example, dear, and have a nice young man to look after you."
Marius Gooding was standing a short way off, blazer buttons glistening. For the first time, Cathy noticed his manicured hands, long fingers flexing slightly at his sides. Catching Cathy's gaze he made a quick dipping gesture with his head, somewhere between a nod and a bow, a token smile of sympathy passing across his face. Without her understanding exactly why, something deep inside Cathy shuddered.
"I don't need a nice young man, Dottie," she said,
"I have a husband."
"So you have, dear, sometimes I forget."
"What in hell's name happened to you?" - Frank's first words when Cathy had appeared back at. the hotel in borrowed clothes, face oddly aglow, hair clotted red. "Something go wrong at the beauty shop?"
"Screw," she'd said, pushing past him on her way to the bathroom, 'you! "
"Nice idea, Cath, if you could remember how. Wait for you to screw me, might as well hand my dick to Lorena Bobbitt for surgery."
The only answer was the sound of water bouncing back from the shower.
Frank poured himself a drink and took it across to the window, looking out There was a plane rising slow between the small, off-white clouds and for a moment, wherever it was heading, he wished he were on it. Then he laughed. The thing that had most fascinated him about the whole Bobbitt affair, the way the guy had made a living later in a Californian nightclub, women handing over good bucks to dance with him in the hope of scooping ten grand by giving him a boner.
For Prank, whose childhood had been spent in castoffs and hand-me-downs and who had stolen his first quarter at age five, it was eloquent testimony to what made his country great. The ordinary American's ability to make entrepreneurial capital in the face of any adversity.
Tyrell had insisted on living as close to the centre of the city as his and his wife's combined salaries would allow. After all, he had reasoned, the one thing we don't want to add to my already antisocial hours is a lot of unnecessary travelling time, right? And Susan Tyrell had nodded agreement and said nothing about the fact that buying a house where her husband was suggesting would give her a forty-five-minute drive each way to the comprehensive where she taught.
Besides, she had liked the house: substantial, large without being sprawling, one of those late-Victorian family homes near the Arboretum which she and David had
Right, Resnick thought, getting to his feet, and it's about time you went back to running before you have some self-induced heart attack.
Whatever was going on behind closed doors in Skelton's executive home, it wasn't happy families.
Lynn was waiting outside Resnick's office.
"Graham and I had another go at her. Still won't budge. Didn't know the other woman from Adam.
I mean Eve. " She's lying?"
"Not just that. She knows we know she is, but at the moment there's not a lot we can do to prove it. Loving that, isn't she? Clever cow!"
"Not your favourite person, then?" Resnick smiled.
"Women like that," Lynn scowled, 'whatever their intentions, just end up making women like me feel inferior. "
"Well, looks like you can have the pleasure of kicking her free. Last thing the old man wants to do is contribute to her publicity campaign."
"What about Cathy Jordan? Suppose she wants..."
To lay charges? I doubt it. Wouldn't exactly help her, would it? But if she does. " Resnick shrugged.
"I don't suppose Ms Plant's about to do a runner, do you? Suddenly turn into a shrinking violet?"
Lynn looked back at Resnick, concerned; unless she was very much mistaken, he had made a joke.
"Catherine, dear. How awful for you. How perfectly awful."
How Cathy Jordan hated being called Catherine; especially by Dorothy Birdwell, watt led hands flustering all around her, smelling her old maid's smell of face powder and malice.
"Yes, well, you know, Dotde, it really wasn't so bad."
"Perhaps you should consider following my example, dear, and have a nice young man to look after you."
Marius Gooding was standing a short way off, blazer buttons glistening. For the first time, Cathy noticed his manicured hands, long fingers flexing slightly at his sides. Catching Cathy's gaze he made a quick dipping gesture with his head, somewhere between a nod and a bow, a token smile of sympathy passing across his face. Without her understanding exactly why, something deep inside Cathy shuddered.
"I don't need a nice young man, Dottie," she said,
"I have a husband."
"So you have, dear, sometimes I forget."
"What in hell's name happened to you?" - Frank's first words when Cathy had appeared back at. the hotel in borrowed clothes, face oddly aglow, hair clotted red. "Something go wrong at the beauty shop?"
"Screw," she'd said, pushing past him on her way to the bathroom, 'you! "
"Nice idea, Cath, if you could remember how. Wait for you to screw me, might as well hand my dick to Lorena Bobbitt for surgery."
The only answer was the sound of water bouncing back from the shower.
Frank poured himself a drink and took it across to the window, looking out There was a plane rising slow between the small, off-white clouds and for a moment, wherever it was heading, he wished he were on it. Then he laughed. The thing that had most fascinated him about the whole Bobbitt affair, the way the guy had made a living later in a Californian nightclub, women handing over good bucks to dance with him in the hope of scooping ten grand by giving him a boner.
For Prank, whose childhood had been spent in castoffs and hand-me-downs and who had stolen his first quarter at age five, it was eloquent testimony to what made his country great. The ordinary American's ability to make entrepreneurial capital in the face of any adversity.
Tyrell had insisted on living as close to the centre of the city as his and his wife's combined salaries would allow. After all, he had reasoned, the one thing we don't want to add to my already antisocial hours is a lot of unnecessary travelling time, right? And Susan Tyrell had nodded agreement and said nothing about the fact that buying a house where her husband was suggesting would give her a forty-five-minute drive each way to the comprehensive where she taught.
Besides, she had liked the house: substantial, large without being sprawling, one of those late-Victorian family homes near the Arboretum which she and David had
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