Amy grinned. ‘You enjoy it, though. Don’t deny it.’ She went to the kerb, looking for a cab. ‘So, you wanna do this again tomorrow?’
‘Yeah, if I can make it,’ Eddie told her. ‘Depends if Grant Thorn needs me or not.’
She grinned again, shaking her head. ‘I still can’t believe you get to hang out with a movie star.’
‘I’m not exactly “hanging out” with him. I’m his bodyguard, not his best mate. And he’s, well . . . kind of a prat.’
‘But one with a Lamborghini, right? That’s pretty cool.’
‘Bit of a waste, though. He never drives it faster than ten miles an hour ’cause he wants everyone to see him inside it.’
‘You guarding his body today?’ A cab approached; Amy waved it down.
‘Yeah, picking him up in a bit. He wants to buy a suit for some charity bash this evening, so I’ve got to keep an eye on him. ’Cause Fifth Avenue’s such a dangerous place.’
The cab stopped as Eddie’s phone rang. He looked at the screen: Nina. ‘Well, have fun with your Hollywood buddies!’ Amy said as she got in.
‘I’ll try,’ he replied, answering the phone. ‘Hi.’
‘Hi,’ said Nina. ‘Where are you?’ He had become all too familiar with her leaden tone over the past months, but this morning it had a little extra sprinkle of gloom.
‘I’m . . . just at the gym with Grant Thorn.’
A pause. ‘Oh. When will you be able to come home?’
‘See you tomorrow!’ Amy called as the cab pulled away.
He gave her a slightly annoyed wave. ‘Not for ages, sorry. I’m with him all day.’
A second disappointed ‘Oh’. Then: ‘Who was that?’
He shot the departing taxi a guilty look. ‘Someone in a cab.’
‘I thought you were at a gym?’
‘I’m waiting outside. What’s wrong?’
She sighed. ‘Nothing. It doesn’t matter.’
‘It matters to me. Look, I can call Charlie, see if someone can cover for me.’
‘No, it’s . . . it’s okay. I mean, ha, we need the money, right?’ The laugh came across as more desperate than amused.
‘You sure? If you want, I can—’
‘It’s okay, Eddie. It’s okay.’ It sounded anything but.
His phone chirped, telling him someone else was calling. A glance at the screen told him it was his client. ‘Sorry, but I’ve got to go. Oh, did you get my note about the milk?’
‘Yeah, I did. I’ll see you when you get back. I love you.’
‘Love you too,’ he said as she disconnected. Great. Now he felt even worse about lying to her.
He switched to the incoming call. ‘Hello?’
‘Hey, the Chase-ster!’ came the laid-back voice of Grant Thorn. ‘Where you been, man? Your phone was busy.’
‘Yeah, my wife called.’
‘The old ball and chain, huh? Just kidding, man. Not saying she’s old at all. Hey, why don’t I take you two out to dinner sometime? How about that?’
‘Sounds like fun,’ Eddie answered non-committally, secure in the knowledge that all memory of the offer would have vanished from the actor’s mind by the time they met. ‘You still want me to meet you at your apartment?’
‘Yeah. There’s this chick here, give me twenty minutes to get rid of her. Okay, two chicks. Make that thirty minutes. Oh, and can you pick me up a carton of OJ? Got a serious case of dry-mouth. ’
‘I’m your bodyguard, not your butler, Mr Thorn,’ Eddie reminded him. His job might be to look after his clients, but that didn’t include wiping their arses for them, and he always made sure they knew it. ‘Maybe you could get one of your chicks to go out for it.’
‘Oh, dude! I don’t want them to come
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ Eddie told him before ending the call. Unlike the dinner, he was definitely going to remind Grant about
Nina sat morosely at the living room table, nursing a black coffee. Her laptop was open, awaiting her command, but so far she hadn’t even checked her email.
She took an experimental sip from her mug. Without milk, the coffee had been too hot to drink immediately; now it had cooled, it was too bitter. She grimaced, wondering if she could drum up the energy to go to the store for milk. The more she considered it, the less likely it seemed.
Her phone rang, startling her. She picked it up. ‘Hello?’
‘Hello, Nina.’ A familiar voice - Professor Roger Hogarth, an associate from her university days. They had been in occasional contact over the past months, but mostly by email.
‘Roger, hi! What can I do for you?’
‘Always business first with you, isn’t it?’ His chiding was delivered with amusement. ‘I’ll get to that in a minute. But how are you?’
‘I’m . . . fine,’ she said flatly.
‘And the new apartment? Liking it any more than when you moved in?’
‘The less said the better, I think.’
A small chuckle. ‘I see. Don’t worry, things will improve, I’m sure. Probably when you least expect it. And on the subject of unexpected things . . . first, you remember that I was trying to meet Maureen to complain about that ridiculous sideshow she’s got going on at the Sphinx?’
‘Yes?’ said Nina, feeling a stab of anger at the mere mention of the name. She’d had plenty of reasons to dislike Professor Maureen Rothschild even before the woman became one of the principal architects of her fall from grace.
‘Well, she finally agreed to see me. Tomorrow, in fact.’
‘Really? That’s great.’
‘Took a lot of persuading, as you’d imagine. But unfortunately, the second unexpected thing is . . . I can’t go.’
‘Why not?’
‘Slipped on the stairs, and now I’m sitting here with my foot bandaged up like a mummy.’
‘Are you all right?’ she asked, concerned.
‘Just a sprain, thank God. The perils of old age are ridiculous, though - I did the pole vault and high jump when I was young, never so much as stubbed a toe. Now I drop six inches and I’m out of action for a week!’ He tutted.
‘So what are you going to do about Maureen?’
‘Well, that’s why I’m calling. I was hoping you might go in my place.’
‘Are you serious?’ Nina said, surprised. ‘She’s the person who
‘Okay, it could be . . . awkward. But what she’s doing is a travesty of archaeology. It seems that every time I turn on the TV there’s another commercial for this circus.’
‘Yeah, I’ve seen them,’ Nina muttered. The promos for the live opening of the Hall of Records had been omnipresent for the last couple of weeks, irritating her more with each repeat.
‘It’s shameless commercialism, not science. And if there’s nothing in there, it’ll make the entire archaeological profession look like utter fools by association. I doubt it’ll make any difference, but somebody at least has to say these things to Maureen.’
‘And you want
‘I understand,’ Hogarth said after a pause. ‘I thought you probably wouldn’t, but I had to try. Someone of your standing would have more chance of getting the point across.’
