Spy Story

'What colour was the lorry?'

'Maroon and beige.'

'And there were two lorry drivers?'

'Two, yes. Would you like some coffee?'

'That would be great, Miss Shaw.'

'Sara will do.' She unplugged a machine and poured two bowls of coffee. Then she put the jug under a large cosy. The kitchen I was a narrow place with many machines. All the dish towels were I printed with coloured pictures and recipes. On the wall there was a cross-reference chart that I thought was an analysis of the hydrogen atom but on closer inspection became herbs. She put croissants, butter and jam on the table beside me. Her hands were elegant, but not so well cared for that she might not have done her own washing-up and sweeping. I bit into one of the croissants while she warmed the milk and checked through a spikeful of bills. I couldn't decide whether she was wearing a bra.

'You don't seem too upset,' I said.

'Does that offend you? Ben was a friend of my father's. I saw him only two or three times a year. He felt it was a duty to see me eat a meal but we had very little to talk about except my parents.' She flicked some crumbs off her sweater, and gave a sigh of irritation. 'Messy sluts like me should always wear aprons.' She turned to me and held her hands up. 'Look at me, I've only been in the kitchen two minutes.' I looked at her. 'You don't have to look at me like that,' she said. A buzzer on the electric oven sounded and a red light switched on. 'You're not really in insurance, are you, Mr…' She put some ready-cooked pizzas into the oven and reset the timer.

'Armstrong. No, I'm a leg-man for Sergeant Davis.'¹ She shook her head; she didn't believe that either.

'It was an accident, Mr Armstrong. And quite frankly it was Ben's fault. He was driving very slowly, he thought he could hear a whining noise in the engine.'

'People with Bentleys get that way about engines.'

She didn't encourage my generalizations about people with Bentleys. She probably knew more of them than I did.

She reached over me for a croissant. I watched her in that way she hadn't liked.

'The street was dry and the lighting good?'

She swallowed some coffee before answering. 'Yes to both.' She paused before adding, 'Do you always look so worried?'

'What worries me, Miss Shaw, is the way you are so certain about everything. Usually witnesses are full of maybes, thinks and abouts, but even in that sodium arc lighting you can tell that the truck was maroon. That's almost psychic'

'I am psychic, Mr Armstrong.'

'Then you'll know that I was at dinner last night with Mr Toliver. And unless you were hiding under the jelly, he seemed to be unaccompanied.'

She picked up her coffee and became very busy with the spoon, deciding how much sugar she needed. Without looking up she said, 'I hope you didn't tell the police that,'

I continued breakfast with a second croissant. She said, 'It's a complicated situation — oh, nothing like that. But Ben collected me last night from a friend of mine — a girl friend — I didn't want to get into all that with the police. I can't believe there's any need, is there?'

From time to lime she would embrace herself as though she was cold, or needed love or just to make sure her arms were still there. She did it now.

'There's probably no need,' I said.

'I knew you were nice,' she said. She took the silk cosy from the silver coffee pot and poured some for me. 'Things like that… I knew I'd be found out. Even when I was a child I could never tell a lie and get away with, it.'

'What did you do after the car stopped?'

'Oh, must we go into that?'

'I think we should. Miss Shaw.' This time she didn't tell me to call her Sara.

'I knew he was in a coma — he wasn't just dazed or semiconscious. We'd done first aid at school. He had almost no pulse, and there was the blood.'

'You sound pretty calm about it.'

'You feel happier with girls who jump on the table and pull their skirts up — '

'You bet!' I said tonelessly.

' — at the sight of a mouse.' I was hoping that if she got just a little more angry she'd tell me something worth hearing. She sat bade on the seat, kicked off her shoes and tucked her feet under her chair. She smiled. 'You push your way in here with some nonsense about insurance companies. You all but call me a liar. You tell me I'm not upset enough, and you litter the place with your second-rate jokes. And all the time I'm not expected to ask you who the hell you are and send you packing.'

'Ask me.'

'One of Mr Toliver's secret little helpers. I know who you are all right.'

I nodded.

'It's not as though you are good at it. No wonder it's, all such a mess.'

'What's all a mess?'

'No matter.' She gave a world-weary sigh.

From the cellar the blond man called, 'I can't find the rose.'

'Bloody fairies,' she said. Then she regretted the lapse of composure. 'I'm coming, Sylvester. I'll just show my guest to the door.'

I poured a little more coffee for myself. 'Your coffee is so good,' I said. 'I just can't resist it.'

Her brow furrowed. It must be terrible to be so wellbred that you can't order a stranger out of your own restaurant.

'Isn't it on the bench?' she called.

'I've looked everywhere,' the boy insisted.

She got to her feet and hurried down the creaking steps. I heard her speak to the boy as I stepped across to the pantry door. I reached for the dark blue jacket and spread it open on the table. It was an officer's high-button working uniform. On the breast there was a large slab of ribbons and on its cuffs the rings that denote a kontr- admiral of the Soviet Navy. I flipped the jacket over and bundled it back into the comer. It took only a moment to be back in my seat again but the beautiful Miss Shaw was at the open door.

'You found it?' I asked politely.

'Yes,' she said. Her eyes bored into me and I remembered her little joke about being psychic. 'I almost forgot,' she said, 'will you buy a couple of tickets for our play?'

'What play?'

'We're all amateurs but the two leads are awfully good. It will only cost you fifty pence a ticket.'

'What are you doing!'

'I can't remember the title. It's about the Russian revolution — the battleship Potemkin — you must have seen the film. The play's less political — a love story, really.' She stood up to hint that I should go away now.

And when this girl hinted she did it with her every last: gene at the ready. She stood arms akimbo and tossed her head to throw back her loose blonde hair and provide for me the final proof that she was bra-less. 'I know you think I'm being evasive/ she said in a soft, gentle, sexy voice.

'You could say that,' I agreed.

'You're wrong,' she said, and ran her hand through her hair in a manner more that of a model than the proprietor of a restaurant. Her voice dropped even more as she said, 'It's just that I'm not used to being interrogated.' She came round close behind me but I didn't turn my head.

'You do very well for an amateur,' I said. I didn't moves from Bay chair.

She smiled and put her hand on my shoulder. I could feel her body as she moved against me. 'Please,' she said. How can I convey the sound of the word in her mouth?

'What are you thinking?' she said.