Read Online Conferences are Murder by Val McDermid - Free Book Online Page B

followed by a bear-hug brought her sharply back to the here and now. Kathy Dean, a civil service press officer, was bouncing up and down in front of her. “Lindsay!” she yelped. “Lindsay Gordon! Is it really you? Hey, no one said you were coming! Are you back for good?”
    Lindsay shook her head. “Just for conference. I’m only here as an observer.”
    â€œIt’s great to see you,” Kathy said with a wide smile. “It’s
been . . . what? Three years since you were last at conference. And judging by this,” she continued, waving a copy of Conference Chronicle, “it’s not going to be short of controversy.”
    â€œI’ve seen it,” Lindsay admitted. “I don’t remember anything this wild in my days as a young radical.”
    â€œI tell you, when they find out who’s responsible, I’m going to hire them to come and work in my department and produce scurrilous gossip sheets about my bosses,” Kathy said with a chuckle. “Look, I’ve got to run now, Lindsay, but it’s great to see you. The bar tonight?”
    Lindsay nodded as Kathy hurried off. “The bar tonight.”
    â€œTypical,” a loud voice boomed in her ear. “Not back five minutes and you can’t wait to get wide-eyed and legless.”
    Lindsay whirled around to face another old friend. Stan Merton was an East Ender who’d worked his way up the journalistic tree the old-fashioned way, starting as a tea boy and reaching his present position as city editor of a national daily. When Lindsay had been a junior reporter on the Daily Nation , she’d worked on the city desk for a few weeks, and she’d realized very quickly that under Stan’s loud-mouthed and heavy-handed humor there was a shrewd mind that could teach her a lot. She’d been a quick learner, and the mutual respect the pair had for each other had been more than enough to counterbalance their political incompatibility.
    â€œStan!” Lindsay exclaimed. “What a lovely surprise.”
    â€œSight for sore eyes, you are, girl,” Stan said. “You seen the error of your ways, then? You come back to grace our shores? Or did you come back to get your own back?” He waved Conference Chronicle.
    â€œOnly wish I’d thought of it years ago,” she said. “Buy you a drink later?”
    â€œWhat about tomorrow morning? The second order-paper looks like the kind of bleeding-heart liberal crap that builds up no end of a thirst. I don’t know why I come to these conferences. I really don’t.”
    â€œYou’ve said that at every one of the half dozen I’ve been to. You’re only here for the beer, Stan.”

    â€œTomorrow then? Half past eleven? In the bar?”
    Lindsay shuddered inwardly but managed a smile. “Great. See you then, Stan,” she said, as Stan moved off, giving her a smacking kiss on the cheek as he passed.
    By the time she reached the registration table, Lindsay had chatted to half a dozen old acquaintances who were, in a triumph of hope over experience, still union activists. She’d also studiously pretended not to have seen a couple of others she’d hoped never to encounter again. As the queue snaked forward, she spotted one or two familiar faces among the union clerical staff who were dishing out the delegate packs. Even though the full Afro had been replaced by a sharp Grace Jones flattop, Lindsay instantly recognized Pauline Hardy. The black woman looked astonished. “Lindsay Gordon!” she exclaimed. “I thought you’d abandoned us for good. Hey, it’s good to see you!” The warmth in her voice was genuine, there was no mistaking that.
    â€œYou really thought I could stay away? And never feast my eyes on you again?” Lindsay replied, falling straight back into the old teasing habit of years ago. She and Pauline had always flirted, each knowing that it was nothing