Jacks. And about the plan that had come to Myshka after she had climbed back into bed this morning and lay sleeplessly alongside her lover.
When she was done, her cigarette had smouldered into ash and Dmitry’s face was creased in concentration.
“It’s too complicated,” he said doubtfully.
“No—don’t you see? Is simple,” she argued, conviction in her voice. “Dmitry, is perfect. There will not be a better way.”
He was silent, staring downward into empty space. She knew him well enough to let him think it through in his own time. So she rose, leaving his leather coat on the chair, and went back indoors closing the sliding window behind her.
She was pouring coffee when Dmitry opened the glass and stepped back inside.
“You are right—as always,” he said without expression. “It is perfect. But—”
“What is?”
The voice made them both turn. Harry Grogan stood in the bedroom doorway, his skin still pink from too hot a shower, fastening cufflinks at the wrists of another handmade shirt.
“A gift,” Myshka said smoothly. “Dmitry has a special girl. He asked my advice on what would . . . please her.”
Grogan regarded the pair of them for a moment unsmiling, adjusted his tie. “Well you should know sweetheart.” He nodded to Dmitry. “Tell Viktor to bring the car round and wait,” he said. “I’ll be down in ten minutes.”
Dmitry nodded, his own face carefully expressionless. “Of course.”
But Grogan’s eyes were on Myshka. She had allowed the front edges of the green kimono to slide provocatively apart almost to her naval. “Is that coffee fresh?” he asked. “Bring me a cup into the study there’s a love. I’ve a couple of calls to make.” And with that he disappeared back into the bedroom.
Myshka tightened the thin robe again, aware of an aching stab both of relief and disappointment.
Dmitry gathered up his newspaper from the table and nudged her under the chin with his forefinger as he came past.
“Do not worry,” he murmured. “I know what needs to be done and I will see to it.”
And if there had been any lingering uncertainty in his tone when he had come back in from the roof terrace it was gone now.
20
Kelly lifted the steam vacuum into the back of the van and peeled off her nitrile gloves. Behind her, Tyrone appeared in the doorway leading to the flats carrying a drum of enzyme cleaner and the sharps’ bin.
He swung the two items easily up into the back of the van and hopped in after to secure them. Kelly noticed he’d split the back seam of another Tyvek suit. She really would have to speak to Ray about getting hold of a better range of sizes.
Her face clouded briefly at the thought of her boss. They’d kept him in awaiting surgery on his shattered elbow. She’d been to the hospital to see him again this morning. He was still groggy and in a lot of pain although they were talking about letting him out at the weekend. She made a mental note to go round if they did, take him some food. He wouldn’t be up to looking after himself for a while.
The letting agent hovered from foot to foot while she filled in the paperwork for him to sign. He was far less appreciative of their efforts than Gary and his mate at the flat south of the River. Kelly didn’t need to be told that he was desperate to get them out of here now the job was done.
The flat they’d just sanitised had not been the scene of a crime other than bad judgement. It had been mistakenly let to a pair of drug addicts who had eventually trashed the place before scarpering, several months behind on the rent.
Normal cleaning firms baulked at dealing with contaminated needle debris. The letting agent had admitted—eventually—that he’d discovered one of the tenants was positive for either HIV or hepatitis. He claimed not to know which.
Kelly made a guess that he’d failed to report any of this to his superiors or the building owner and was paying for the
When she was done, her cigarette had smouldered into ash and Dmitry’s face was creased in concentration.
“It’s too complicated,” he said doubtfully.
“No—don’t you see? Is simple,” she argued, conviction in her voice. “Dmitry, is perfect. There will not be a better way.”
He was silent, staring downward into empty space. She knew him well enough to let him think it through in his own time. So she rose, leaving his leather coat on the chair, and went back indoors closing the sliding window behind her.
She was pouring coffee when Dmitry opened the glass and stepped back inside.
“You are right—as always,” he said without expression. “It is perfect. But—”
“What is?”
The voice made them both turn. Harry Grogan stood in the bedroom doorway, his skin still pink from too hot a shower, fastening cufflinks at the wrists of another handmade shirt.
“A gift,” Myshka said smoothly. “Dmitry has a special girl. He asked my advice on what would . . . please her.”
Grogan regarded the pair of them for a moment unsmiling, adjusted his tie. “Well you should know sweetheart.” He nodded to Dmitry. “Tell Viktor to bring the car round and wait,” he said. “I’ll be down in ten minutes.”
Dmitry nodded, his own face carefully expressionless. “Of course.”
But Grogan’s eyes were on Myshka. She had allowed the front edges of the green kimono to slide provocatively apart almost to her naval. “Is that coffee fresh?” he asked. “Bring me a cup into the study there’s a love. I’ve a couple of calls to make.” And with that he disappeared back into the bedroom.
Myshka tightened the thin robe again, aware of an aching stab both of relief and disappointment.
Dmitry gathered up his newspaper from the table and nudged her under the chin with his forefinger as he came past.
“Do not worry,” he murmured. “I know what needs to be done and I will see to it.”
And if there had been any lingering uncertainty in his tone when he had come back in from the roof terrace it was gone now.
20
Kelly lifted the steam vacuum into the back of the van and peeled off her nitrile gloves. Behind her, Tyrone appeared in the doorway leading to the flats carrying a drum of enzyme cleaner and the sharps’ bin.
He swung the two items easily up into the back of the van and hopped in after to secure them. Kelly noticed he’d split the back seam of another Tyvek suit. She really would have to speak to Ray about getting hold of a better range of sizes.
Her face clouded briefly at the thought of her boss. They’d kept him in awaiting surgery on his shattered elbow. She’d been to the hospital to see him again this morning. He was still groggy and in a lot of pain although they were talking about letting him out at the weekend. She made a mental note to go round if they did, take him some food. He wouldn’t be up to looking after himself for a while.
The letting agent hovered from foot to foot while she filled in the paperwork for him to sign. He was far less appreciative of their efforts than Gary and his mate at the flat south of the River. Kelly didn’t need to be told that he was desperate to get them out of here now the job was done.
The flat they’d just sanitised had not been the scene of a crime other than bad judgement. It had been mistakenly let to a pair of drug addicts who had eventually trashed the place before scarpering, several months behind on the rent.
Normal cleaning firms baulked at dealing with contaminated needle debris. The letting agent had admitted—eventually—that he’d discovered one of the tenants was positive for either HIV or hepatitis. He claimed not to know which.
Kelly made a guess that he’d failed to report any of this to his superiors or the building owner and was paying for the
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