I find him, Max?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Come on, you must know.’
‘I never needed to know. It was always him that contacted me.’
I raised the gun ever so slightly. ‘Max,’ I said. I didn’t bother saying anything else. I was too busy looking at the kitchen doorway, the one leading to the hall and the rest of the house. Bel was standing there. She was wearing a short nightdress, showing very nice legs.
She was also pointing a shotgun at me.
‘I know how to use it, Mark. Put away the gun.’
I didn’t move. ‘Let’s get one thing straight,’ I said. ‘If you’re going to be working for me, my name’s not Mark Wesley any more. It’s Michael Weston.’
Max leapt from his chair.
‘Jesus, Bel! That’s a Churchill Premier!’ He ran to the doorway and took the shotgun from her. ‘Do you know how much one of these is worth?’
‘About ten grand,’ she said.
‘Ten grand is right. Less if it’s been fired.’ He broke open the barrels to show that Bel hadn’t bothered loading the thing. I put my Magnum down on the draining board.
‘Look,’ said Max, ‘let’s all calm down. I’ll tell you what I can about Shattuck, Mark.’
‘Michael.’
‘Okay, Michael. I’ll tell you what I can. But let’s sit down. All this Gunfight at the OK Corral stuff makes me nervous, especially in the kitchen. Do you know how long it took me to do this tiling?’
So Max put the kettle on and we sat down. Bel gave me a lopsided smile, and I winked back at her.
‘Black suits you,’ she said, meaning my hair. ‘Even if that haircut does make you look like a copper.’ She touched my foot with her own under the table. We’d played this game before, enjoying the fact of having a secret from Max. I tried to remember that only a few minutes ago, she’d been aiming a shotgun at me, albeit unloaded. Bel had the face of a sixth-form schoolgirl, but I knew there was much more to her than that.
‘Sorry,’ I said, ‘I haven’t brought you a souvenir this trip.’
She attempted a pout. ‘I’m hurt.’
I put my hand in my pocket and pulled out the hat I’d bought. ‘Unless you want this.’
She took it from me and looked at it. ‘Gee, thanks,’ she said, her voice heavy with irony. ‘I’ll keep it under my pillow.’
Max was massaging his jaw. Usually he didn’t say much, understandably. He’d said more in the past twenty minutes than he would over the course of a normal day.
‘What was that about me working for you?’ Bel asked, folding her arms.
‘More properly, working with me.’ I was looking at Max as I spoke. ‘I’m going to have to go back to London, there are questions I need to ask. I’d look less conspicuous with a partner. Plus maybe there are some people I can’t talk to myself. But Bel could talk to them.’
‘No,’ Max said.
‘I pay well, and I’d look after her. I’d play it straight. First sign of danger, I zoom back up here with her.’
‘What am I, a ventriloquist’s dummy?’ Bel had risen from the table and was standing with hands on hips. ‘Why not ask me yourself? You sound like you’re asking to borrow a car or a bike, not a person.’
‘Sorry, Bel.’
‘You’re not going,’ said Max.
‘I haven’t said anything yet!’ she protested, slapping the table with her hand. ‘I want to hear about it first.’
So I told her. There was no point leaving anything out. Bel wasn’t stupid, she certainly wasn’t naive. She’d have rooted out a lie. It isn’t easy telling someone what you do for a living, not if you’re not proud of your work. I’d never minded Max knowing, but Bel ... Bel was a slightly different proposition. Of course, she’d known all along. I mean, I was hardly coming to the farm, buying guns, firing them, customising them, I was hardly doing any of this as a weekend hobby. Still, her cheeks reddened as I told my story. Then a third round of tea was organised in silence, with the radio switched off now. Bel poured cereal for
‘I don’t know.’
‘Come on, you must know.’
‘I never needed to know. It was always him that contacted me.’
I raised the gun ever so slightly. ‘Max,’ I said. I didn’t bother saying anything else. I was too busy looking at the kitchen doorway, the one leading to the hall and the rest of the house. Bel was standing there. She was wearing a short nightdress, showing very nice legs.
She was also pointing a shotgun at me.
‘I know how to use it, Mark. Put away the gun.’
I didn’t move. ‘Let’s get one thing straight,’ I said. ‘If you’re going to be working for me, my name’s not Mark Wesley any more. It’s Michael Weston.’
Max leapt from his chair.
‘Jesus, Bel! That’s a Churchill Premier!’ He ran to the doorway and took the shotgun from her. ‘Do you know how much one of these is worth?’
‘About ten grand,’ she said.
‘Ten grand is right. Less if it’s been fired.’ He broke open the barrels to show that Bel hadn’t bothered loading the thing. I put my Magnum down on the draining board.
‘Look,’ said Max, ‘let’s all calm down. I’ll tell you what I can about Shattuck, Mark.’
‘Michael.’
‘Okay, Michael. I’ll tell you what I can. But let’s sit down. All this Gunfight at the OK Corral stuff makes me nervous, especially in the kitchen. Do you know how long it took me to do this tiling?’
So Max put the kettle on and we sat down. Bel gave me a lopsided smile, and I winked back at her.
‘Black suits you,’ she said, meaning my hair. ‘Even if that haircut does make you look like a copper.’ She touched my foot with her own under the table. We’d played this game before, enjoying the fact of having a secret from Max. I tried to remember that only a few minutes ago, she’d been aiming a shotgun at me, albeit unloaded. Bel had the face of a sixth-form schoolgirl, but I knew there was much more to her than that.
‘Sorry,’ I said, ‘I haven’t brought you a souvenir this trip.’
She attempted a pout. ‘I’m hurt.’
I put my hand in my pocket and pulled out the hat I’d bought. ‘Unless you want this.’
She took it from me and looked at it. ‘Gee, thanks,’ she said, her voice heavy with irony. ‘I’ll keep it under my pillow.’
Max was massaging his jaw. Usually he didn’t say much, understandably. He’d said more in the past twenty minutes than he would over the course of a normal day.
‘What was that about me working for you?’ Bel asked, folding her arms.
‘More properly, working with me.’ I was looking at Max as I spoke. ‘I’m going to have to go back to London, there are questions I need to ask. I’d look less conspicuous with a partner. Plus maybe there are some people I can’t talk to myself. But Bel could talk to them.’
‘No,’ Max said.
‘I pay well, and I’d look after her. I’d play it straight. First sign of danger, I zoom back up here with her.’
‘What am I, a ventriloquist’s dummy?’ Bel had risen from the table and was standing with hands on hips. ‘Why not ask me yourself? You sound like you’re asking to borrow a car or a bike, not a person.’
‘Sorry, Bel.’
‘You’re not going,’ said Max.
‘I haven’t said anything yet!’ she protested, slapping the table with her hand. ‘I want to hear about it first.’
So I told her. There was no point leaving anything out. Bel wasn’t stupid, she certainly wasn’t naive. She’d have rooted out a lie. It isn’t easy telling someone what you do for a living, not if you’re not proud of your work. I’d never minded Max knowing, but Bel ... Bel was a slightly different proposition. Of course, she’d known all along. I mean, I was hardly coming to the farm, buying guns, firing them, customising them, I was hardly doing any of this as a weekend hobby. Still, her cheeks reddened as I told my story. Then a third round of tea was organised in silence, with the radio switched off now. Bel poured cereal for
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