‘Lucia.’ This time he made a passable attempt at the Italian pronunciation, an outward sign of reluctant acceptance that she was a permanent fixture. ‘Stocking up then? Did you hear Beatrice Hall is up for grabs?’
Lucia shot him a sideways glance, a preliminary warning shot. ‘Yes, I’d heard something. Are you thinking of quoting for it then?’
‘Quoting? You make me laugh. I know that young geezer the Professor’s got in to clean up the place. Adam Corcoran, he’s called. He’s her nephew. When I bumped into him down the Red Lion the other day, he told me they’re looking to have the whole pad done up, top to bottom. So yeah, I think I’m pretty much in there, y’know.’
Lucia smiled like a winsome Medusa. ‘Well, Danny, I guess they’ll have a choice then. I’m quoting for the Hall.’
‘Suit yourself, Lucia. Think you’re wasting your time though. This is a big job – a man’s job, right, lads?’ A couple of them laughed to keep up, so he knew they were on his side. They too weren’t best pleased that Lucia had rocked up out of nowhere to steal their thunder.
‘I was thinking I’d get a reference from the Leclercs. They were so chuffed with the way their house turned out. You remember them, don’t you, Danny?’
Danny winced. He remembered the Leclercs better than he cared to admit. He’d got the gig after doing his usual magic trick on Madame Leclerc but got sloppy and fell foul of the husband. Monsieur Leclerc wasn’t best pleased when he came home early one day and found his wife doing some serious damage to the new sofa with Danny. Mr Leclerc was a tall, wiry Swiss who spent a lot of time at the gym, so Danny got a punch on the nose and a kick up the backside, and no more work from them. Naturally, Lucia swooped in to pick up the pieces. The story had made the rounds in the Red Lion, and he didn’t want to be reminded of it. Luckily the Leclercs had moved back home last month, so it was just starting to blow over.
‘Danny, you legend, that was classic! Caught you with them all the way down, didn’t he?’
Danny could have done without the sarcasm from his apprentice. Everyone knew Jimbo was always eyeing up some business on the side.
‘Well, gents, have a good day. Danny, I’m sure I’ll see you around.’ Lucia walked out, conscious of all eyes resting on her.
Being the only woman in a man’s world didn’t bother her in the slightest. She found she tended to prefer it to female company. Men were simple creatures, motivated by a finite set of goals and with predictable reactions to a short list of stimuli. With women, she never knew where she stood, whether they genuinely wanted to be friends or were laughing at her behind her back.
Chapter 2
Friday, 28th to Saturday, 29th August
(one week before the murder)
Lucia pushed open the pub door and was met with the overwhelming stench of Lynx. She knew most of them by now – young men in their twenties with fresh undercuts, tight T-shirts, and elaborate tattoo sleeves. They were harmless. Nobody else but the local builders and their occasional female hangers-on drank in the Red Lion. It was the stepping-stone for the usual Friday night carnage down in Camden. They were the ones lucky enough to afford this pastime – the rest had to make do with cans of weak lager on a bench before heading back to their dingy shared housing in East London.
‘Usual?’ The barmaid eyed up the unopened white Burgundy, which only Lucia and the landlady drank.
‘Not today, thanks, Becky. Listen, do you know if a guy called Adam Corcoran comes here?’
‘Yeah, I know Adam. Quiet guy. Doesn’t really fit in with these lunatics. He’s over there in the corner, by the window. Why do you ask?’
‘I hear he’s in charge of Beatrice Hall. I wouldn’t mind that job if it’s going.’
Becky raised a perfectly drawn eyebrow. ‘Beatrice Hall? I heard Danny Garrett’s after that.’
‘I know. Which is why I’m after it too.’
‘Suit yourself, babe, but I’d watch my back if I were you. You know how he holds a grudge.’
‘I always do. I’ll go have a word with this Adam bloke then. See you later, Becky.’
Lucia saw a washed-out man in his early thirties, feverishly tapping on his phone, half-drunk pint on the table. His cuticles were bleeding, and there were thin lines of sweat running down his temples. Accountant, or tax lawyer at a stretch. He had that air of commitment to an outwardly dull but inwardly all-consuming profession. He finally sensed her staring down at him and looked up.
‘Hi. Are you alright?’ His eyes flickered appreciatively. Her hair was still streaked with gold from the summer sun.
‘Hi. You’re Adam Corcoran, right?’ He nodded and gestured to the free bench opposite him. ‘My name’s Lucia Steer. I hear you’re after a decorator for Beatrice Hall. I’m interested in the job.’
‘I like it, Lucia. Straight in there, no messing.’
He had a few inside him – not drunk, just merry and overly confident. Perfect state of mind.
‘News travels fast around here then,’ he said. ‘The place hasn’t been touched in years. I’m trying to convince Aunt Alla to smarten it up a bit. It’s not like she can’t afford it.’ He laughed, somewhat bitterly. ‘Tell you what. Why don’t you come have a tour and see what you think?’
‘Sounds good. I can do tomorrow, even though it’s a Saturday, if that suits. Do you want me to bring references?’
‘Don’t worry, I’ll do my own digging. I like to think I’m a good judge of people. Sorry to be boring, but I’ve got to make a move. Shall we say nine thirty?’
‘Perfect. See you then. Good
