Likewise, he could hardly call around at her home – even though he’d gone to the trouble of finding out where she lived. Again, he didn’t fancy running the risk of being introduced to the parents or have her daddy’s gimlet eye fall upon him! And he didn’t think she would be happy if he showed his face at the police station, asking for her. No doubt the news would quickly reach her superior officers and she’d be hauled over the coals, wondering if she’d been leaking information to the press. Which was hardly going to help endear him to her after their last, disastrous dealings.
So his only option was to catch her before she got into the station. So it was that he found himself in position, lounging beside a pillar box late in the afternoon, when he recognised Clement’s Rover P4 pull to a halt in a parking space about fifty yards from the entrance to the police station. Perfect!
He’d guessed she would have to return to the station sometime, and although he’d been prepared to wait for hours if need be, as luck would have it, he’d only had to lounge around for twenty minutes or so.
He saw her climb out of the passenger door, bend down to say something to the driver, then close the door after herself. He sprinted across the road, hoping the coroner hadn’t spotted him, and sidled along the edge of the pavement closest to the buildings lining the street. He was moving fast, since he needed to catch up with Trudy before she got to the entrance to the station, but that didn’t stop him from keeping a careful eye on the Rover as it pulled out into traffic and swept past him.
Once he was sure the eagle-eyed Ryder was safely out of sight, he sprinted openly up the street.
Behind her, Trudy heard the sound of someone running, and stopped automatically, turning around, feeling slightly tense. Since walking a beat, she’d become wary of hearing footsteps behind her – especially running ones! Because she wasn’t in uniform she didn’t even have her truncheon with her, and so didn’t know whether to feel relieved or annoyed to see Duncan Gillingham bearing down on her.
At least he wasn’t someone she’d once arrested, taking the chance to verbally abuse or annoy her, she supposed.
She made sure she kept her face calm and neutral as he panted to a stop beside her. He was dressed in a smart navy-blue suit and his red tie was rakishly askew. His dark, somewhat floppy near-black hair needed cutting, she noticed, and his green eyes were crinkled attractively at the corners as he smiled at her.
It was really annoying that he was so good-looking.
‘I thought it was you!’ Duncan said with a grin. ‘I’ve been wanting to talk to you for ages.’
Trudy smiled cynically. ‘Oh? And the fact that you’re after a story about Iris Carmody has nothing to do with your sudden interest in me again?’ she asked caustically.
‘Actually it doesn’t,’ Duncan lied, sounding a little hurt. ‘Did you get my flowers?’ He changed the subject quickly.
‘My mum loved them,’ Trudy said flatly.
He spluttered with sudden laughter. ‘Well, that wasn’t five bob spent in total vain then.’
Trudy felt her lips twitch in the beginnings of a spontaneous smile, and ruthlessly stopped the movement.
‘What do you want, Duncan?’ she said, sighing exaggeratedly.
When they’d first met, this man had been determined to make a name for himself by using his newspaper position to all but accuse the police of condoning a cover-up in a murder case. And he hadn’t been above feigning an interest in her in the hopes of gleaning information about the on-going investigation. So she was about as likely to trust him now as she would trust a cat to keep watch over a goldfish bowl.
‘I can’t help you, if that’s what you might be thinking,’ she warned him, before he had a chance to answer. ‘I’m not on the Iris Carmody case, I’m just a lowly WPC remember?’ she taunted.
Duncan nodded. In which case, he wondered cynically, why was she in civvies, snooping around the village of Middle Fenton with the likes of Dr Clement Ryder. ‘Yes, I thought that must be the case,’ he said smoothly. ‘So that proves it, doesn’t it? I’m not here in my official capacity. Pax?’ he asked, crossing both sets of his forefingers and holding them up in front of her.
‘So if you’re not here as a reporter, why are you here?’
Duncan smiled winsomely. ‘I feel bad about the way we left things,’ he said, realising as he spoke that he actually meant it. Well, mostly. ‘I didn’t want you to think that … well, I mean, I just wanted to say that I really liked you. I still do like you,’ he added. ‘I admire you too. The job you do. You’ve got spunk. I just didn’t want you to think it was all a con. You know, that it wasn’t real.’
‘Real?’ she repeated tensely. ‘What was real?’
Duncan shifted a little on his feet. ‘You know … that spark between us.’
‘Spark?’ she repeated again, not giving an inch.
Duncan gave a rueful smile, genuinely not knowing whether to curse her for making this so hard, or admire her for not giving in to his bullshit. She was unlike any other young woman he’d ever met, and he was damned if he knew, really, how to handle her, or what she might say next. She certainly had the ability to keep him on his toes, which was, in many ways, rather exciting.
But he wasn’t about to let her get the better of him. Apart from anything else, he really wanted to get to know her better.
‘Did I really get it so wrong then?’
