information about to be imparted. She saw it and smiled.
“Anyway, I was on the Internet last night and I did a search on Quintin Boyd, you know, just out of interest.”
“Yeah, I already did that,” I said impatiently. “He’s a bigwig corporate lawyer.” She turned to me and shook her head, patting my knee in mock concern.
“Poor thing. Did you not get your oats last night?” Bloody hell, how did she find out this stuff? I declined the invitation to confess. She dropped the act. “You won’t need me to tell you what he’s doing next Sunday then?” she asked. I sighed.
“OK, spit it out.” She looked past me and waved. I turned to see Jason holding Ashley up at the front window, who was grinning and waving. I waved too and turned back to Sandra expectantly. She was determined to milk it, and was checking her moisturiser-covered face in the sun visor mirror.
“This better be worth it,” I said. She flicked up the visor.
“He’s the keynote speaker at the alumni lunch, whatever that is?” she said.
“It’s where graduates who’ve made something of themselves get together and pat each other on the back. What alumni lunch?”
She smiled at me before delivering her payload. “The one Morley College is having next Sunday of course. He graduated eighteen years ago, got a first class honours, whatever that is, in Economics and Law.”
“It means he’s a clever bastard. Let me tell you what I learned.”
I told her about my adventures last night, omitting the part about my date with Nina.
“What were you doing in that pub? It’s a young person’s pick-up joint on a Friday night.”
“Wasn’t my choice,” I said, giving her a don’t-ask-me-more stare. I threw her a distraction. “What about the fact that Lucy told me she’s a virgin?” She took the bait.
“If I meet her I could tell you either way. If she was pissed she could have been lying, but usually the lie is the other way round. If she isn’t actually fucking Quintin then perhaps they have a Lewinsky-Clinton type of relationship. Or, he could be grooming her for something down the line.”
“Sounds a bit cynical, even for you. And hang on a minute, when I assumed they were having sex you called me an arsehole. When you do it, despite evidence that they’re not, it’s suddenly perfectly logical. How does that work?” She flashed me her smile.
“Privilege of being female, George. There aren’t many of them.”
I didn’t tell her that I thought the idea of Quintin spending time grooming Lucy when he had an endless stream of attractive young women silly; I’d learnt to choose my battles with Sandra very carefully.
17
I TOOK JASON TO THE PIG AND WHISTLE IN NEWNHAM: LOG fire, club sandwich lunch, no children. I updated him on last night’s shenanigans, omitting the part about Nina going off with a tattooed man. He shook his head either in disbelief or respect, I couldn’t tell.
“Lucy Booker ripped to the tits, who’d have thought it.”
“Tell me what you got yesterday then,” I asked. He took out a notebook and flipped it open. The smell of other people’s lunch was making my mouth water.
“OK. Got the 3:45 to Kings Cross, travelling first class—”
“You travelled first class?”
“Yeah, boss. I bought a first class ticket when I went in. I figured a guy like Quintin Boyd doesn’t travel with the proles, right, and if he did I could still travel second class. Either way I was covered, right?” I gave him a nod to acknowledge his reasoning and he went back to his notes.
“He spent a long time on his BlackBerry, emailing and stuff. I couldn’t see what he was doing though ’cause I was sat the other side of the aisle. Then he took out some papers, but I couldn’t see them. He picked up one of the papers, I’d say a letter from the way it was folded in three, and he made two phone calls.” Jason sipped from his beer.
“Have you ever thought of becoming a detective?” I said jokingly.
“Yes I
“Anyway, I was on the Internet last night and I did a search on Quintin Boyd, you know, just out of interest.”
“Yeah, I already did that,” I said impatiently. “He’s a bigwig corporate lawyer.” She turned to me and shook her head, patting my knee in mock concern.
“Poor thing. Did you not get your oats last night?” Bloody hell, how did she find out this stuff? I declined the invitation to confess. She dropped the act. “You won’t need me to tell you what he’s doing next Sunday then?” she asked. I sighed.
“OK, spit it out.” She looked past me and waved. I turned to see Jason holding Ashley up at the front window, who was grinning and waving. I waved too and turned back to Sandra expectantly. She was determined to milk it, and was checking her moisturiser-covered face in the sun visor mirror.
“This better be worth it,” I said. She flicked up the visor.
“He’s the keynote speaker at the alumni lunch, whatever that is?” she said.
“It’s where graduates who’ve made something of themselves get together and pat each other on the back. What alumni lunch?”
She smiled at me before delivering her payload. “The one Morley College is having next Sunday of course. He graduated eighteen years ago, got a first class honours, whatever that is, in Economics and Law.”
“It means he’s a clever bastard. Let me tell you what I learned.”
I told her about my adventures last night, omitting the part about my date with Nina.
“What were you doing in that pub? It’s a young person’s pick-up joint on a Friday night.”
“Wasn’t my choice,” I said, giving her a don’t-ask-me-more stare. I threw her a distraction. “What about the fact that Lucy told me she’s a virgin?” She took the bait.
“If I meet her I could tell you either way. If she was pissed she could have been lying, but usually the lie is the other way round. If she isn’t actually fucking Quintin then perhaps they have a Lewinsky-Clinton type of relationship. Or, he could be grooming her for something down the line.”
“Sounds a bit cynical, even for you. And hang on a minute, when I assumed they were having sex you called me an arsehole. When you do it, despite evidence that they’re not, it’s suddenly perfectly logical. How does that work?” She flashed me her smile.
“Privilege of being female, George. There aren’t many of them.”
I didn’t tell her that I thought the idea of Quintin spending time grooming Lucy when he had an endless stream of attractive young women silly; I’d learnt to choose my battles with Sandra very carefully.
17
I TOOK JASON TO THE PIG AND WHISTLE IN NEWNHAM: LOG fire, club sandwich lunch, no children. I updated him on last night’s shenanigans, omitting the part about Nina going off with a tattooed man. He shook his head either in disbelief or respect, I couldn’t tell.
“Lucy Booker ripped to the tits, who’d have thought it.”
“Tell me what you got yesterday then,” I asked. He took out a notebook and flipped it open. The smell of other people’s lunch was making my mouth water.
“OK. Got the 3:45 to Kings Cross, travelling first class—”
“You travelled first class?”
“Yeah, boss. I bought a first class ticket when I went in. I figured a guy like Quintin Boyd doesn’t travel with the proles, right, and if he did I could still travel second class. Either way I was covered, right?” I gave him a nod to acknowledge his reasoning and he went back to his notes.
“He spent a long time on his BlackBerry, emailing and stuff. I couldn’t see what he was doing though ’cause I was sat the other side of the aisle. Then he took out some papers, but I couldn’t see them. He picked up one of the papers, I’d say a letter from the way it was folded in three, and he made two phone calls.” Jason sipped from his beer.
“Have you ever thought of becoming a detective?” I said jokingly.
“Yes I
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