Jean laughed. ‘I didn’t realise he did.’
‘It’ll be the Scottish genes in him,’ said Steven. ‘Saying anything nice is a sign of weakness.’
As he put down the phone, Steven reflected on what Jean had said about the long drive. She was right. Tally was working this weekend, so she couldn’t come up to Scotland with him. It was time to get the Porsche back on the road. He called Stan Silver at the mews garage who said to give him a couple of hours.
‘I take it this means you’re back in the service of the nation?’ said Silver, who was working on the front brakes of a Saab convertible, spanner in hand, when Steven parked the Honda and walked towards him.
‘For the time being. My ex-boss has just had brain surgery, and I’m back holding the fort.’
‘Noble causes follow you around like a puppy, Steven,’ said Silver, lifting a brake caliper clear of the disc.
Steven didn’t respond. They’d known each other a long time. He valued the fact that Silver always said what was on his mind without considering first. Sometimes it didn’t make for easy listening.
‘She’s all gassed up and ready to go,’ he said now, nodding to where the Boxster was sitting.
‘We have to settle up first.’
‘Nothing to settle, mate. Band of brothers and all that.’
Steven nodded and smiled. ‘Thanks, Stan. I owe you.’
‘Try to look after it. Any plans for taking your motor across fields and through rivers like you usually end up doing, and I’d stick with the Honda if I were you.’
‘No such plans, Stan. Church on Sundays and running Tally to her French class.’
Steven started the Porsche and revelled in the sound. He took a last look at the staid, comfortable and utterly dependable Honda before smiling and spinning the wheels of the Boxster as he took off. He looked back to see Silver laughing and waving in the rear-view mirror.
‘I got the Porsche back,’ said Steven, not long after he’d arrived at Tally’s place. It was weighing on his mind.
‘I thought you might,’ said Tally, who had her back to him at the time, preparing dinner.
‘And?’ he asked tentatively.
Tally turned her head and smiled. ‘And nothing. It suits you.’
‘Have I told you lately that I love you?’
‘Not nearly enough.’
Steven put his arms round her waist from behind and kissed her on the side of her neck. ‘I love you, Tally Simmons.’
‘Of course you do. You’re hungry, and then you’ll want sex.’
‘Why do I get the feeling I can’t win?’
‘Because you can’t. Open the wine, will you?’
He told her about the call from Lionel Montague.
‘Silly man. Why call you?’
‘I guess he needed someone working for the government to yell at. What d’you know about Merryman?’
‘A perfectly reputable company. I see their name on quite a lot of things — more than I do Ultramed’s, if I’m honest.’
Steven nodded. ‘I guess he was just pissed off over losing the contract. It was such a big deal for him.’
‘And presumably for Merryman too,’ said Tally. ‘As long as someone starts making vaccines soon; that’s all I care about.’
The conversation moved on to Steven’s investigation and how he felt it was grinding to a halt. ‘I mean, I think John was right. There was something very fishy about the Northern Health Scheme and the forces behind Carlisle, but I can’t see how to make a twenty-year leap into anything that could be happening now.’
‘Well, the way things are going, you’ll be able to talk it over with John himself soon,’ said Tally.
‘You’re right,’ agreed Steven, finding something to smile about. ‘Against all the odds… So what’s been happening in your life?’
‘Apart from the usual skirmishes with them upstairs over money, not a lot. Although my sisters and I have decided on a home for Mum. She seemed to like it well enough, and it checks out as being well staffed, clean and comfortable. I still feel guilty, though. It’s an act of betrayal…’
‘Don’t,’ Steven soothed. ‘You’re doing the right thing. If we win the lottery we’ll move to a place in the country and have her come and live with us. This is only temporary.’
‘Idiot.’
TWELVE
Edinburgh, Friday 30 April 2010
At eleven p.m. a large Citroen Picasso drew into one of the car parking bays surrounding Charlotte Square. The driver, a middle-aged Asian man, got out and slid the passenger door back. ‘Ready?’ he asked the two younger men in the back.
‘Ready,’ they replied in quiet, tense voices.
‘Welcome to Edinburgh. This way.’
The older man led them across a busy street and paused at the west end of George Street, one of the broad thoroughfares in Edinburgh’s New Town that ran west-east, parallel to Princes Street. By day it showed a respectable Georgian facade to the world. On a Friday night it was a street full of light and noise. It was the time when the cafe bars and clubs, located on the ground and basement floors of buildings with banks and offices above them, came into their own. Business ruled the daytime, pleasure the evening. Their doors were so continually being opened and closed that the inside ambience spilled onto the street. On the street itself, laughter, yells and screams rent the night air as groups of people moved like multicellular organisms seeking ever-new sources of sustenance and entertainment.
‘Western society,’ said the older man. ‘Come see. Observe.’
The three men joined the throng on the streets, pausing only to allow drunks to stagger across their path or people walking backwards and sideways to do the same. One girl stumbled and fell as she exited a doorway. She rolled over onto her back, her legs spread, her underwear showing under the briefest of skirts as she laughed hysterically. Her two friends seemed too drunk to help her up but joined in the laughter. The three men skirted round the trio, only to come to a halt again when confronted with a group of youths arguing with a policeman.
‘Your last chance,’ the constable warned. ‘You either leave the street now or you’re bloody nicked.’
‘Fuck that, we’ve no’ done nothin’!’ argued one, struggling against his companions as they tried to pull him away.
‘You’ve annoyed me. Now, I’m going to count to three…’
The youths started to move off and the Asian men continued on their way. A hen party dressed as nurses came towards them, strung out across the pavement, singing loudly but out of tune. The imminent collision was averted by a group of businessmen emerging from one of the cafe bars. They wore suits and carried briefcases but were clearly drunk, having probably been in the bar since the end of the business day. They broke into raucous laughter at the sight of the ‘nurses’ and started making lewd comments.
It was more their accents than the comments that antagonised the girls. ‘In your dreams, tosser,’ said one.
‘I’ve seen better talent come out of a skip,’ added another.
The bride, wearing L plates on her front and back, brought her knee up sharply into the groin of one man silly enough to get too close.
‘Fucking cow,’ gasped the man, collapsing to the ground.
‘Whoops,’ said one of the bridesmaids, stepping on his fingers as she passed.
The Asians, who had moved off the pavement to stand between two parked cars, remained unnoticed observers in the night until, after another hundred metres or so, a drunken youth who had been urinating unsteadily
