Waiting.
It was another thirty minutes before it rang again.
Sixty
Talbot was too busy eating to notice Gina Bishop glance at her Cartier watch.
She sighed.
Ten-thirty.
]esus Christ, how much longer was he going to be?
She puffed agitatedly at her cigarette, gazing at the policeman through a thin film of smoke.
Around her, the low buzz of conversation from the other diners seemed to rise and fall in volume, the chink of cutlery on crockery the only other sound disturbing the relative peacefulness of the restaurant.
Talbot finally took a last mouthful of food and pushed his plate away.
‘Very nice’ he said, raising his eyebrows. He glanced around at the other customers.
‘How many of this lot do you know?’ he asked.
She looked puzzled.
‘Any of them help to pay for that outfit?’
‘What’s wrong, Talbot?’ she snapped. ‘Fed up with talking about your mother now?’
He shot her an angry glance.
‘You’ve done nothing but talk about her since we got here, why change the subject?’ Gina said, acidly.
‘I said I wanted to talk, I didn’t ask for your fucking opinions, I just needed someone to listen.’
‘And why was I singled out for that honour?’
‘Because there isn’t anyone else,’ he said, quietly.
‘What, no friends? Mind you, I’m not surprised.’
‘Do you think I’d choose to speak to you if I had other options?’
They regarded each other in silence.
She took another drag on the cigarette and blew smoke into his face.
‘What about your colleagues?’ she asked. ‘Surely they’d listen to you.’
‘I wouldn’t bother them with my problems.’
‘How considerate, but you’d bother me.’
‘Their time’s important. Yours isn’t.’
He took a swallow of his drink, watching as she drew on the cigarette.
‘So what are you going to do about your mother?’ she asked, eventually.
‘I don’t know,’ he muttered.
‘Why not let her come home?’
‘Who the hell is going to look after her?’
‘Pay someone.’
‘That’s what I do now. They don’t let her stay at Litton Vale out of the kindness of their fucking hearts. It costs money.’
A man sitting at the next table glanced across at Talbot who met his glance with a withering stare.
‘If she comes home you’ll save money that you’re paying at the hospice-‘
‘It’s not a hospice.’
She shrugged.
‘Whatever. You’ll save the money that you spend keeping her there. Spend it on a nurse to look after her at home. That seems pretty logical to me. It won’t cost you much, anyway. From what you’ve said, she’s not going to be around very long.’
Talbot glared at her furiously.
‘Or is it that you don’t want her home, Talbot?’ Gina said, flatly.
He had no answer.
Well, is that the reason?
He downed what was left in his glass and banged it down hard on the table, drawing more glances from the other diners.
‘You said earlier on that you owed her,’ Gina told him. ‘What did you mean?’
He shook his head slowly.
‘Forget it,’ he said, quietly.
‘Tell me.’
‘Fuck you.’
‘You wanted to talk, Talbot. I’m talking. You wanted me to listen. I’ve listened.’
‘All part of the job, isn’t it?’ he snapped. ‘You listen to dirty old men, sad fucking bastards who can’t get it up with their wives. Who have to pay you. Or
you talk to them and you tell them how good they are, while you’re watching the clock and adding up the pounds. You talk, you listen. You do anything for money. For anybody and with anybody. As long as the price is right.’
‘I’m not like the others and you know that.’
‘You’re a tart. Pure and simple. The only difference between you and the slags that work around King’s Cross is that you wear designer clothes to cover the dirt.’
‘And you need me, Talbot. That’s why you hate me, isn’t it? You’ve got nobody else. No friends. No family. Nothing. I’m all you’ve got.’
He ran his finger slowly around the rim of his empty glass, watching her as she ground out her cigarette.
‘I told you before, we’re both the same. The only difference is I wouldn’t let my mother die in an old people’s home. If you do that, Talbot, then don’t ever have the nerve to call me scum again.’
He eyed her malevolently, watching as she caught the attention of a waiter who scurried off to fetch the bill.
When he returned, Gina laid a Gold American Express card on the plate with the bill. The waiter scooped them both up and disappeared again.
‘Money talks’ she said, a thin smile on her lips. ‘Bullshit walks.’
The waiter reappeared and she signed the blue slip. Then she got to her feet and Talbot followed her out into the cool night air.
A taxi was approaching and Gina stuck out an arm to flag it down.
‘My place?’ she said, unenthusiastically.
Talbot had already begun walking up St James’s Street towards Piccadilly.
The taxi pulled into the kerb.
‘Talbot’ she called after him.
He kept walking.
Gina waited a moment, then climbed into the cab.
It sped off.
She didn’t look round as she passed him.
Sixty-one
‘Cath, you’ve got to call the police’ said Phillip Cross. ‘You don’t know what kind of fucking maniac might be making these calls.’
Cath sat on the sofa, legs drawn up beneath her, eyes fixed on the telephone.
There had been two more calls since the last one.
Both violently abusive.
But, she thought, different voices.
‘They can trace where these calls came from’ Cross insisted.
‘Whoever’s making them isn’t on long enough for the police to set up a trace,’
Cath said, quietly, her gaze never leaving the phone.
