trying to make sure there was a table between her and her admirers. It wasn’t easy, given how many of the female publicans of the North West desperately needed to have their photographs taken in a clinch with my client. But she smiled and smiled, and drank her gin and made a blisteringly funny and scathing speech that would have had a rugby club audience blushing.
“I’m sorry you’ve been landed with all this ferrying me around,” she said as I drove across the flat fields of the Fylde towards the motorway and civilization.
“Who normally does it?” I asked.
“A pal of mine. He got the sack last year for being over fifty. He’s not going to get another job at his age. He enjoys the driving and it gives him a few quid in his back pocket.” She yawned and reached for her cigarettes. It was her car, so I didn’t feel I could complain. Instead, I opened the window. Gloria shivered at the blast of cold air and snorted with laughter. “Point taken,” she said, shoving the cigarettes back in her bag. “How much longer do you think we’re going to have to be joined at the hip?”
“Depends on you,” I said. “I don’t think you’ve got a stalker. I’ve seen no signs of anybody following us, and I’ve had a good look around where you live. There’s no obvious vantage point for anybody to stake out your home—”
“One of the reasons I bought it,” Gloria interrupted. “Those bloody snappers with their long lenses make our lives a misery, you know. All those editors, they all made their holier-than-thou
Sun
’s readers have any right to know whether I’m having Busy Lizzies or lobelia this year.”
“So that probably confirms that whoever has been sending the letters is connected to the show; they can keep tabs on you because they see you at work every day. And they can pick up background details quite easily, it seems to me. The cast members talk quite freely among themselves and you don’t have to set out to eavesdrop to pick up all sorts of personal information. I’ve only been on the set for a couple of days and already I know Paul Naylor’s seeing an acupuncturist in Chinatown for his eczema, Rita Hardwick’s husband breeds pugs and Tiffany Joseph’s bulimic. Another week and I’d have enough background information to write threatening letters to half the cast.” What I didn’t say was that another week among the terminally self-obsessed, and threatening letters would be the least of what I’d be up for.
“It’s not a pretty thought, that. Somebody that knows me hates me enough to want me to be frightened. I don’t like that idea one little bit.”
“If the letters and the tire slashing are connected, then it almost certainly has to be somebody at NPTV, you know. Of course, it is possible that the tire slasher isn’t the letter writer, just some sicko who took advantage of your concern over the letters to wind you up. I’ve asked you this before, but you’ve had time to think about it now: are you sure there isn’t anybody you’ve pissed off that might just be one scene short of a script?”
Gloria shook her head. “Come on, chuck. You’ve spent time with me now. You’ve seen the way I am with the folk I work with. I’m a long way off perfect, but I don’t wind them up like certain other people I could mention.”
“I’d noticed,” I said drily. “The thing is, now everybody at NPTV knows you’re taking what Dorothea said seriously. The person who wrote you those letters is basking in a sense of power, which means that he or she probably won’t feel the need to carry
“You’re sure I’ll be safe? I’m not a silly woman, in spite of how I come across, but what Dorothea said really scared me, coming on top of the business with the tires. She’s not given to coming the spooky witch, you know.”
“When is she in next?”
“Day after tomorrow. Do you want to see her?”
“I want to interview her, not have a consultation,” I said hastily.
“Oh, go
“I’m sorry you’ve been landed with all this ferrying me around,” she said as I drove across the flat fields of the Fylde towards the motorway and civilization.
“Who normally does it?” I asked.
“A pal of mine. He got the sack last year for being over fifty. He’s not going to get another job at his age. He enjoys the driving and it gives him a few quid in his back pocket.” She yawned and reached for her cigarettes. It was her car, so I didn’t feel I could complain. Instead, I opened the window. Gloria shivered at the blast of cold air and snorted with laughter. “Point taken,” she said, shoving the cigarettes back in her bag. “How much longer do you think we’re going to have to be joined at the hip?”
“Depends on you,” I said. “I don’t think you’ve got a stalker. I’ve seen no signs of anybody following us, and I’ve had a good look around where you live. There’s no obvious vantage point for anybody to stake out your home—”
“One of the reasons I bought it,” Gloria interrupted. “Those bloody snappers with their long lenses make our lives a misery, you know. All those editors, they all made their holier-than-thou
Sun
’s readers have any right to know whether I’m having Busy Lizzies or lobelia this year.”
“So that probably confirms that whoever has been sending the letters is connected to the show; they can keep tabs on you because they see you at work every day. And they can pick up background details quite easily, it seems to me. The cast members talk quite freely among themselves and you don’t have to set out to eavesdrop to pick up all sorts of personal information. I’ve only been on the set for a couple of days and already I know Paul Naylor’s seeing an acupuncturist in Chinatown for his eczema, Rita Hardwick’s husband breeds pugs and Tiffany Joseph’s bulimic. Another week and I’d have enough background information to write threatening letters to half the cast.” What I didn’t say was that another week among the terminally self-obsessed, and threatening letters would be the least of what I’d be up for.
“It’s not a pretty thought, that. Somebody that knows me hates me enough to want me to be frightened. I don’t like that idea one little bit.”
“If the letters and the tire slashing are connected, then it almost certainly has to be somebody at NPTV, you know. Of course, it is possible that the tire slasher isn’t the letter writer, just some sicko who took advantage of your concern over the letters to wind you up. I’ve asked you this before, but you’ve had time to think about it now: are you sure there isn’t anybody you’ve pissed off that might just be one scene short of a script?”
Gloria shook her head. “Come on, chuck. You’ve spent time with me now. You’ve seen the way I am with the folk I work with. I’m a long way off perfect, but I don’t wind them up like certain other people I could mention.”
“I’d noticed,” I said drily. “The thing is, now everybody at NPTV knows you’re taking what Dorothea said seriously. The person who wrote you those letters is basking in a sense of power, which means that he or she probably won’t feel the need to carry
“You’re sure I’ll be safe? I’m not a silly woman, in spite of how I come across, but what Dorothea said really scared me, coming on top of the business with the tires. She’s not given to coming the spooky witch, you know.”
“When is she in next?”
“Day after tomorrow. Do you want to see her?”
“I want to interview her, not have a consultation,” I said hastily.
“Oh, go
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