The Honey Trap by Lana Citron Page B

hit me by mistake.’
    ‘Not nice,’ he said, and then asked in the sweetest tone of voice, ‘Do you want me to kill her?’
    My little protector, hunter, always running ahead of me and into everything, his curiosity knowing no bounds. From the moment Max could walk, he was picking up sticks to wave at passing prey,
though in the main he’d chase birds and squirrels.
    THE WAY I SEE IT
    Through one eye, and feeling like a battered wife, having received more attention from passing strangers than in God knows how long, I made my feelings clear to Trisha.
    ‘We should sue the bitch.’
    Trisha scratched her chin.
    ‘I wish it was that easy. I received a fax from Betty’s solicitor today, saying they were going to sue us.’
    I was incredulous.
    ‘What? The woman attacked me. Is she totally crazy?’
    ‘Apparently, there’s some archaic trade law that we may be in contempt of.’
    ‘What!’
    Trisha began reading the faxed statement.
    ‘“My client’s husband was unfairly tempted, as the woman in question was considered too attractive, the likelihood being that most heterosexual males would find it difficult to
fend off such advances.”’
    ‘That’s absurd. It’s total bullshit as well.’
    ‘I know.’
    (I let Trisha’s underhand insult go.)
    ‘But if it goes to court, we could be threatened with closure.’
    ‘What about our satisfied clients?’
    ‘They’re all going through costly divorces, and don’t want to get involved.’
    ‘So I’m not going to be compensated.’
    ‘Issy, did you hear what I said? We could have to close.’
    ‘You can’t friggin’ well blame me for this.’
    ‘I wasn’t going to.’
    ‘Makes a nice change.’
    Trisha and I were caught in a moment of stalemate.
    ‘Issy, as you won’t be able to work till your eye heals, Fiona and I have decided you can make up the hours running the office. This place needs a thorough spring clean.’
    ‘And there I was, thinking I’d be granted sick leave.’
    ‘Hazard of the job, I’m afraid.’
    ‘Does it say that in the fine print?’ This woman was pushing me to the limit. ‘Know what, Trisha, maybe I should call a solicitor.’
    ‘Is that a threat?’
    ‘What the fuck is your problem?’
    ‘And another thing, have you called Mrs Finklestein yet?’
    Pronounced pincer digit movements and Gladys’s voice on speaker phone, for the benefit of
mein Führer
, Trisha.
    ‘Hello, you’ve reached the Finklesteins. Sorry, but we’re unable to answer your call. For the next couple of months we’re in Florida . . .’ Her voice abruptly
changed tone as she groaned, ‘What, Joel?’ the message interrupted by background grumbling, then, ‘What date?’ More grumbling then, ‘You think you should do it? You do
it . . . if you’re so . . .’ Beeeeeeeeep.
    God damn it and heavens to Murgatroyd, I left the following message:
    ‘Hi, Gladys. It’s Issy here from the Honey Trap returning your call. Please can you call me when you get this message. Thanks.’
    A cold-war silence descended between Trisha and me, lasting an hour until Nadia flounced into the office, whereupon she gave me some much-needed attention.
    ‘Omigod, Issy! You look awful.’
    I told her the story of the eye, in full goryfied detail, elaborating upon reality by adding in some hair-pulling and then ending the horrifying episode with:
    ‘A hazard of the job, apparently.’
    ‘Thank God, it wasn’t me,’ she squealed. ‘But you’ll never guess what?’
    ‘What?’
    ‘We just got another gig and some studio time.’
SURPRISE, SURPRISE
    Max made me a get-well card. He can draw an almost decipherable face, a lopsided circle with two inner eye circles, a circle for a nose and a wonky line for a mouth. Pretty
good likeness, considering my present state.
    Then at home further delights lay in store: a blinking answerphone, a rare occurrence these days. Pressed play and was rapt by the dulcet tones of Stephan asking if I was free on Friday, for
dinner.
    A