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Authors: Stella Whitelaw
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carrying on the wind. ‘Wait till my dad hears about this. You won’t last five seconds in his band if I tell him about this. And don’t you deny it. I’ll tell him.’
Tom looked at me and said one word: ‘Trouble.’
I sighed. ‘Double trouble.’
Maddy was a handful, no doubt about that.
SEVEN
M addy didn’t notice Tom and I standing some way higher on the headland, two dogs leaping around. She rushed down the slope, slipping and sliding, but then her bulging straw bag flew open and a cascade tumbled around. She stopped to scrabble among the grass to collect her belongings.
It gave Ross the breathing space he needed. He fled down to the harbour seafront, hurrying through the stragglers, losing himself in the crowds.
The New Orleans bandsmen were packing up, making their way to the nearest pubs. Jazz is always thirsty work. The umbrella ladies were taking it easy, putting up their feet with cappuccinos at the harbour cafe.
‘Did you say you were keeping an eye on that young woman?’ Tom asked.
‘Sort of. She’s too young to be on her own all the time.’
‘You’ll need more than one eye.’
It was tempting to confide in Tom but not exactly a sensible move. DCI James might object if I took on board a civilian. Besides, the situation could become dangerous and I didn’t want to deprive Ant and Dec of their cliff walks.
‘I’ll see you around,’ I said, giving the dogs a farewell stroke. I couldn’t let Maddy out of my sight. She was on her knees, searching in the long grass.
‘It’ll be a pleasure,’ said Tom, nodding.
Perhaps Mrs Lucas wasn’t around much to cook and that’swhy he lived on burgers.
I sauntered over as if I had appeared by accident. ‘Hi, Maddy,’ I said, letting the wind comb through my hair.
‘I’ve lost my best lipstick,’ she moaned. ‘It was brand new. Cost a bomb. Passionate Peach it’s called. I just love it and now I can’t find it. Hell’s bells. This isn’t my day. Ross and I have quarrelled and I’ll never speak to him again. He’s a mean, rotten so-and-so bastard. I hate him, hate him.’
She went on, mumbling incoherently, a waterfall of words.
I didn’t want to know what they quarrelled about nor did I correct her language. But I had a vague idea of the circumstances. Ross had been the one escaping down the slope, not young Maddy.
I did a bit of kicking around with the toe of my boot. The gods were on my side. Perhaps one of them suffered from vertigo on his cloud. I caught a glint of gilt and bent down. It was a fat, shiny lipstick case.
‘Is this your Passionate Peach?’
I was nearly knocked off my feet. Maddy hugged me ferociously.
‘Thank you, thank you, darling Jordan! You’re my best friend forever. It’s the most fabulous colour. Look, look.’
She unwound the gilt cover and showed me the barely touched lipstick. It was a sort of pink or sort of peach, whichever light it was held in.
‘Wow,’ I said, who only owned one lipstick, shade of a forgettable rose. ‘Fab colour.’
‘Isn’t it? I’m so pleased. Let’s go and have a coffee to celebrate. I feel like celebrating.’
I guess I felt like celebrating too and never said no to a coffee. Breakfast now seemed a long time ago.
‘Good idea.’
‘My treat.’
We strolled into town. Swanage was a pleasant seaside town, lots of souvenir, bucket and spade shops, the usual quota of charity shops, cafes and fish restaurants. The two chainsupermarkets were sited further back in the town with a couple of banks and travel agents on the way. I remembered I might need some sort of glam top if I got asked to a party. It wouldn’t hurt to have a glam top in my meagre wardrobe.
The town was packed with holidaymakers and jazz enthusiasts. They crowded the pavements and spilled onto the road.
No Vacancy
signs hung in every window of the guest houses.
Fresh fish was the top dish of most restaurant menus, it seemed. Local fishermen downloaded their catches in the early morning.
Tom looked at me and said one word: ‘Trouble.’
I sighed. ‘Double trouble.’
Maddy was a handful, no doubt about that.
SEVEN
M addy didn’t notice Tom and I standing some way higher on the headland, two dogs leaping around. She rushed down the slope, slipping and sliding, but then her bulging straw bag flew open and a cascade tumbled around. She stopped to scrabble among the grass to collect her belongings.
It gave Ross the breathing space he needed. He fled down to the harbour seafront, hurrying through the stragglers, losing himself in the crowds.
The New Orleans bandsmen were packing up, making their way to the nearest pubs. Jazz is always thirsty work. The umbrella ladies were taking it easy, putting up their feet with cappuccinos at the harbour cafe.
‘Did you say you were keeping an eye on that young woman?’ Tom asked.
‘Sort of. She’s too young to be on her own all the time.’
‘You’ll need more than one eye.’
It was tempting to confide in Tom but not exactly a sensible move. DCI James might object if I took on board a civilian. Besides, the situation could become dangerous and I didn’t want to deprive Ant and Dec of their cliff walks.
‘I’ll see you around,’ I said, giving the dogs a farewell stroke. I couldn’t let Maddy out of my sight. She was on her knees, searching in the long grass.
‘It’ll be a pleasure,’ said Tom, nodding.
Perhaps Mrs Lucas wasn’t around much to cook and that’swhy he lived on burgers.
I sauntered over as if I had appeared by accident. ‘Hi, Maddy,’ I said, letting the wind comb through my hair.
‘I’ve lost my best lipstick,’ she moaned. ‘It was brand new. Cost a bomb. Passionate Peach it’s called. I just love it and now I can’t find it. Hell’s bells. This isn’t my day. Ross and I have quarrelled and I’ll never speak to him again. He’s a mean, rotten so-and-so bastard. I hate him, hate him.’
She went on, mumbling incoherently, a waterfall of words.
I didn’t want to know what they quarrelled about nor did I correct her language. But I had a vague idea of the circumstances. Ross had been the one escaping down the slope, not young Maddy.
I did a bit of kicking around with the toe of my boot. The gods were on my side. Perhaps one of them suffered from vertigo on his cloud. I caught a glint of gilt and bent down. It was a fat, shiny lipstick case.
‘Is this your Passionate Peach?’
I was nearly knocked off my feet. Maddy hugged me ferociously.
‘Thank you, thank you, darling Jordan! You’re my best friend forever. It’s the most fabulous colour. Look, look.’
She unwound the gilt cover and showed me the barely touched lipstick. It was a sort of pink or sort of peach, whichever light it was held in.
‘Wow,’ I said, who only owned one lipstick, shade of a forgettable rose. ‘Fab colour.’
‘Isn’t it? I’m so pleased. Let’s go and have a coffee to celebrate. I feel like celebrating.’
I guess I felt like celebrating too and never said no to a coffee. Breakfast now seemed a long time ago.
‘Good idea.’
‘My treat.’
We strolled into town. Swanage was a pleasant seaside town, lots of souvenir, bucket and spade shops, the usual quota of charity shops, cafes and fish restaurants. The two chainsupermarkets were sited further back in the town with a couple of banks and travel agents on the way. I remembered I might need some sort of glam top if I got asked to a party. It wouldn’t hurt to have a glam top in my meagre wardrobe.
The town was packed with holidaymakers and jazz enthusiasts. They crowded the pavements and spilled onto the road.
No Vacancy
signs hung in every window of the guest houses.
Fresh fish was the top dish of most restaurant menus, it seemed. Local fishermen downloaded their catches in the early morning.
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