He would play without any stress and enjoy himself for a couple of hours. Maybe when Colin left in the morning, he would slip a business card or something inside Colin’s jacket that suggested he’d visited the den of iniquity with Tom. Or even better would be a card from one of the town’s lap dancing clubs that he occasionally visited. That would really make Liz mad and Tom was quite sure she was the sort of woman who would go through Colin’s pockets, when he returned home. Better not, he thought. Colin doesn’t deserve that and I’m growing to quite like having a brother.
Connor had left the girl in her hotel room and gone out for a couple of drinks. He’d invited her along but she’d refused. She was treating him like a bad smell and getting right up his nose. He’d told her he was staying with her until he saw her back on a plane to Belfast. That meant he was spending the night in her room. She’d told him in no uncertain terms not to get any ideas. He pointed out he would be working half the night doing her a favour and she should watch her lip, or he might just bundle her straight back home.
When he returned to the room, she was lying stretched out on the bed watching television. At least she hadn’t done a bunk the first moment she was able. She was obviously serious about getting Ashdown. He had thought about taking her with him later but on balance decided it was better to leave her in the room, while he was working. He tried being nice but the bitch wasn’t interested. She wasn’t going to open her legs for him no matter what he did to Ashdown. He felt tempted to take her anyway but she would probably go running to the Chief or her father and that could lead to real trouble.
He took a shower and when he returned to the bedroom with just a towel wrapped around his waist she again ignored his attempts at friendly conversation. He had a couple of hours to kill before he planned to visit Ashdown’s home. He knew how he would like to fill the time. He went to lie on the bed beside her but soon as she realized his intention, she shot up from the bed like a scalded cat.
“What you think you’re doing, “she snapped. “I told you, no funny business.”
“I was just getting comfortable to watch some telly.”
“Well get fucking comfortable with some clothes on.”
The towel wasn’t tied very securely around his waist. He got up from the bed and intentionally let it fall as he crossed the room towards the bathroom. He met her eyes with a smile but she immediately averted his gaze and turned her back on him.
Connor dressed and when he returned to the room, found Sam had moved a chair to in front of the television, where she was now sitting. He hadn’t really wanted to watch television, just to lie next to her and the small room was now getting claustrophobic with her playing the ice maiden.
He fancied another drink but there was no mini bar, so decided to go down to the small hotel bar. No point in asking the girl if she wanted to come. He wouldn’t normally drink much before a job. After a job that was different. He’d have to get a bottle of scotch from the bar to take back up his room, so he could have a drink after his work was done. He’d had two pints earlier in the evening and reckoned a couple of whiskies now wouldn’t hurt. Anyway, he needed warming up. The bloody girl had made the room seem almost as cold as outside with her frigidness.
The Prime Minister, flanked by the Home Secretary, walked out of number ten to confront the press. Despite the late hour, the media was out in force and the bright lights of television crews, from several continents, illuminated the darkness, creating an unreal atmosphere.
As the PM arrived at the lectern, set up in front of the ranks of assembled press, he was met with an expectant silence, similar to that a famous conductor receives when he walks to his podium. He had a short and hurriedly prepared statement to read but first he spoke with emotion of how personally sad and shocked he was, by the news of the death of Lord Bancroft. The lies rolled easily off his tongue.
The statement was unimaginative and factual, reporting the explosion and confirming what everybody already knew, namely that the cause had been a bomb. The PM’s voice managed to quiver with false anger, as he promised that those responsible would be found and brought to justice, although no one had yet claimed credit for the atrocity. He also stressed that these terrorist actions would not be allowed to thwart the aims of the government, to fight terrorism wherever in the world it was found.
Finally, he paid a brief tribute to Bancroft’s contribution to government and especially his time as Minister for Northern Ireland. A barrage of questions from journalists was met with nothing more than an announcement that he was unable to take any questions. Even so, one female journalist, in receipt of an anonymous telephone call, did shout out and ask what was Bancroft doing at the place of the explosion? The PM simply ignored the question and withdrew back into number ten.
“What was he doing there?” the Home Secretary asked, once back inside.
“Seems he was up to his old tricks. He was having a bloody affair with a girl thirty years younger.” The PM managed to sound incredulous. “God knows what women
