He handed her a mug of tea and sat down opposite, pushing the sugar bowl towards her.
She took a sip.
‘What happened to your sweet tooth?’ he asked. ‘It used to be three spoonfuls in a mug didn’t it?’
‘Jonathan said I was putting on a little weight, so I’ve cut out sweet stuff.’
‘Oh, well, if Jonathan says you’re getting fat …’ he said, his voice heavy with sarcasm. ‘Has he specified an optimum weight and size he’d like, or will he just tell you when you’ve completed the task?’
‘I didn’t come here to argue, Frank’ she told him, sipping her tea.
‘I can’t see too much wrong with you’ Reed told her.
He ran appraising eyes over her and thought how good she looked. Her hair was cut in a short bob, the blonde tresses gleaming. She wore little make-up except for a touch of eye-liner, but her skin seemed to glow. She was dressed in a dark green two-piece suit and a white blouse, immaculately pressed.
‘Did he pick those out for you, too?’ Reed asked, nodding towards her. ‘Is he a fashion expert as well as a weight-watcher?’
As she closed her hands around the mug, Reed pointed to her left hand.
‘Where’s your wedding ring?’
‘When I left, I took it off. We’re not together any more.’
‘But we’re still married. Or was that Jonathan’s idea too?’
‘Just leave it, Frank. It’s down to him that Becky’s here today. He suggested I let her see more of you.’
‘How fucking magnanimous of him! What am I supposed to do, run out and tell him how grateful I am that he’s agreed to let me see my own daughter?’
‘You can’t blame him for everything that happened, Frank.’
‘He took you away from me: I can blame him for that.’
‘He didn’t take me. I chose to go.’
‘Yeah, and take our daughter with you.’
They both heard footsteps hurrying back towards the kitchen and, a moment later, Becky rushed in clutching a GameBoy, brandishing it like a trophy.
‘Look, Mum,’ she said, staring at the screen. ‘It’s got Mario on it.’
She handed the GameBoy to Ellen then rushed across to Reed and threw her arms around him.
‘Thanks, Dad,’ she beamed, kissing him on the cheek.
He squeezed her tightly for a second, then let her slip from his lap, watching as she reclaimed the game and scurried off into the living room again, blonde hair flying behind her like wind-blown silk.
‘Don’t you think that’s a little advanced for a seven-year-old?’ Ellen asked.
‘And a little extravagant? You can’t buy her back, Frank.’
They eyed each other coldly then Ellen spoke again.
‘I thought you didn’t approve of those things for kids. I’d have expected you to buy her a set of encyclopaedias or something more educational,’ she said.
‘Perhaps Jonathan can teach her how to use it,’ Reed snapped. ‘He seems to be an expert on everything else.’
Ellen got to her feet. ‘I think I’d better go.’
Reed followed her out into the hallway.
‘I’m going now, Becky,’ she called and the little girl ran out from the living room once more, still clutching the GameBoy.
Reed watched as the two of them embraced, then Becky retreated from sight again.
‘I’ll pick her up at eight on Monday morning,’ Ellen said.
‘You’d better hurry,’ Reed said. ‘You’ll keep Jonathan waiting.’ He closed the door behind her and stood there for a moment, listening to the sound of her footsteps receding down the path. Then he headed for the living room.
Fifty-eight
‘What the hell are you playing at, Talbot?’
Gina Bishop stood before him in the bar of the Holiday Inn, Mayfair, lowering her voice, aware that several heads had turned upon her entrance.
Talbot was convinced it was because of the black, double-breasted jacket and
short skirt she wore that the attention of some of the other drinkers was momentarily diverted. She towered above him on her heels, blonde hair falling forward as she leaned towards him, whispering her words through clenched teeth.
‘Sit down,’ he said, running his eyes over her slender legs. ‘You make the place lock untidy.’
She paused for a moment, then slid into one of the chairs opposite him, catching the attention of a white- coated waiter who hurried across towards her. His speed increased when she crossed her slender legs and her short skirt rode a little further up her thighs.
‘What can I get you, madam?’ he said, smiling.
‘I’ll have a spritzer’ she said, brushing strands of hair from her face.
‘Another Jameson’s, please,’ Talbot added, and the waiter retreated almost reluctantly.
‘Been raiding the piggy bank again?’ Talbot said, nodding towards her suit.
‘Or has work been particularly good lately?’
‘I’ve told you before. Work’s always good.’
‘It’s not bad,’ he said, almost approvingly.
‘Not bad? It’s Gianni Versace, for God’s sake. The shoes are Manolo Blahnik’
she said, indignantly.
Talbot plucked at the sleeve of his own jacket.
‘Man at C&A,’ he said, smiling.
The waiter returned with the drinks, set them down, then scuttled away to another table.
‘So, what do you want, Talbot?’ she asked, taking a sip of her drink. ‘You interrupt my afternoon, tell me to be here tonight, you stop me working on one of my busiest nights. Do you know how much I could have made tonight? I had to cancel two appointments because of you. I could have made three grand tonight.’
‘A special, was it?’ he said, sardonically.
‘Two Japanese businessmen.’
‘Japs. You don’t advertise in the Tokyo Yellow Pages too, do you?’
‘I was recommended,’ she told him defiantly.
‘Two of them, eh? Both at the same time?’
‘If that’s what they’d wanted. The Japs tip well, too.’
‘Fuck your appointments. You wouldn’t have any at all if it wasn’t for me letting you work that beat.’
‘I’m so grateful,’ she said, scornfully.
They regarded each other in silence for a moment, then Gina spoke again.
‘So, what do you want?’
‘I want to talk.’
‘Like you wanted to talk the other night?’
‘I wondered if you wanted to get something to eat. We could walk down the road, there’s a pizza place.’
‘Do me a favour, Talbot, you don’t have to wine and dine me. You know that. If you want to fuck me, let’s go back to my place now and get it over with.’
‘I offered to buy you a meal.’
‘In a bloody pizza parlour. Do you think I’m walking into Pizzaland dressed in an outfit that cost more than their staff earn in a year?’
‘It’s only a fucking suit, for Christ’s sake.’
‘Clothes say a lot about a person, Talbot. I mean, look at the state of yours.’
‘You think those designer labels you insist on wearing mean anything?’
‘They mean something to me.’
‘Maybe, but shit’s still shit, even if it’s wrapped in silver paper.’
‘I don’t have to put up with this,’ she snapped.
