Blue Genes - By Val McDermid Page 0,15

fervently and pumped up and down. "I just know we're going to be mates," she added, clapping her other hand on my shoulder.

I looked past her at Bill, my eyebrows raised. He moved toward us and the woman released my hand to slip hers into his. "Kate," he finally said. "This is Sheila." His eyes warned me not to laugh.

"Don't tell me, let me guess," I said. "You met in Australia."

Sheila roared with laughter. I could feel her excessive response thrusting me into the role of repressed English¬woman. "God, Kate, he was right about your sense of humor," she said. I forced my lips into what I seemed to remember was a smile. "Hey, Bill, you better tell her the news."

Bill stood chewing his beard for a moment, then said, "Sheila and I are getting married."

To say I was speechless would be like saying Tom Hanks can act a bit. It's not that Bill doesn't like women. He does. Lots of them. He also likes variety. As a serial monogamist, he makes Casanova and Don Juan look like absolute beginners. But he'd always been choosy about who he hung out with. While he preferred his girlfriends good-looking, brains and ambition had always been just as high on his agenda. So while Sheila might appear more of a bimbo than anyone I'd ever seen Bill with, I wasn't about to make a snap judgment on the basis of what I'd witnessed so far. "Congratulations," I managed, without tripping over too many of the syllables.

"Thanks, Kate," Sheila said warmly. "It's big of you to be generous about losing your partner."

I looked at Bill. He looked as if he'd swallowed an ice cube. "I thought that in these situations one said some¬thing like, 'Not so much losing a partner as gaining a sec¬retary,' " I said ominously. "I have this feeling that there's something you haven't got around to telling me yet, William."

"Sheila, Kate and I need to have boring business talks. Why don't you get Shelley to point you in the direction of all the best clothes shops? You can come back at lunchtime and we'll all go to the Brasserie?" Bill said des¬perately, one eye on the toe I was tapping on the floor.

"No problem, Billy boy," Sheila said, planting a kiss smack on his lips. On her way past me, she sketched a wave. "Can't wait to get to know you better, Kate."

When the door closed behind her, there was a long silence. " 'Why don't you get Shelley to point you in the direction of all the best clothes shops?' " I mimicked as cruelly as I could manage.

"She owns three dress shops in Sydney," Bill said mildly. I might have known. That explained the tailored black dress she'd almost been wearing.

"This is not a good way to start the day, Bill," I said. "What does she mean, I'll be losing a partner? Is she the pathologically jealous type who doesn't want her man working alongside another woman? Is Shelley getting the bum's rush from Waltzing Matilda too?"

Bill threw himself into his chair and sighed. "Sheila knows I was dreading this conversation, and she said what she did to force me into having it," he explained. "Kate, this is it. Sheila's the one I want."

"Let's face it, Bill, you've run enough consumer tests to make an informed decision," I said bitterly. I wanted to be happy for him. I would have been happy for him if it hadn't been for the stab of fear that Sheila's words had triggered in me.

He looked me in the eye and smiled. "True. Which means that now I've found her, I don't want to let her go. Marriage seems like the sensible option." He looked away. "And that means either Sheila moves over here or I move to Australia."

Silence. I knew what was coming but I didn't see why I should let him off the hook. I leaned back against the wall and folded my arms across my chest. Bill the Bear was turning from teddy to grizzly before my eyes, and I didn't like the transformation. Finally, a few sighs later, Bill said, "Me moving is the logical step. My work's more portable than hers. The jobs I've already been doing in Australia have given me some good contacts, while she has none in the rag trade over here. Besides, the weather's nicer. And the wine." He tried a pleading, little-boy-lost smile on me.

It didn't play. "So what happens to Mortensen and