your computer?’
‘No, that’s all fine now. Touch wood. It’s more of a police thing.’
‘Sounds interesting.’
‘Do you want me to pick you up?’
‘No, it’s fine. I’ll hook a lift with Dave. He lives up your way. I’ll be over in about an hour.’
‘Great,’ I said. ‘Have you eaten?’
‘No actually, I haven’t.’
‘I’ll put some pasta on.’ It was the least I could do.
Before he got there I went and got the moth. It crawled into my hand without any coaxing. Its peppery wings were lighter than the last and reminded me of what I’d read on the totem website – something about the insect being a guide. It was certainly a clever little thing, nudging me towards a kind of enlightenment. I thanked him and took him outside onto the balcony. When I opened my hand it took off lopsidedly, flew down to the front garden then past the hedge and to the sea. As I followed its flight path my eyes clapped onto the sleek glossy form of a black car parked in the station’s layby. When I passed the window two minutes later it had gone. I didn’t think too much of it, focusing more on getting the place presentable for a guest, and whizzed around the house, removing dirty plates from the living room floor, vacuuming the carpet.
As I emptied a packet of tortellini into a saucepan, I wondered if Joe might construe this as a come-on: ‘Come over to my place. I want to show you my etchings.’ I hoped I hadn’t given that impression. Not that he wasn’t adorable in his own way. He was, and there was undeniably chemistry there, but I had things to do and was now compelled by an innate energy that had been amplified by the strangeness reaching for me. At that moment in time I could no more consider a romantic liaison with Joe than have downed tools and, literally, given up the ghost.
Not that those thoughts were clear, you understand. A whirling feverishness had taken possession of my mind, making it difficult for me to efficiently process everything that was going on. I was constantly reeling from my last experience whilst coming to terms with the one before. All I knew was that I was being led forwards by forces of which I was only half aware. After last night, the combination of revelations had left me in no doubt that in some small way, perhaps because I was writing the book, I should avenge Rebecca West.
Joe had been drinking and obviously got the taste for it as he turned up with a very dimpled grin and a bottle of wine. I asked him if he wanted to eat straight away but he didn’t. Instead he poured two large glasses and took them into the living room beckoning me to follow with a flirtatious hand gesture. I smiled at it, and followed. At least half of me wanted to accept the invitation. As I watched his back disappear into the shadows of the hallway, I was visited with a vision of lying in bed, my head on his chest, free of care. Although incredibly seductive and attractive right now, I could see that it was a surrendering sort of thought and had to beat it away. It was almost like if I gave in to Joe, it might be so lovely that I feared I would lose my drive and ambition in him. I couldn’t do that now. Not yet. So I cautioned myself and tried to keep focused on the matter in hand.
After a couple of minutes of small talk we ended up sitting close together, cross-legged round the New England map.
‘So, what you after?’ He nudged me in the ribs, gave me a wink, grinned and wiped his lips with the back of his hand. ‘I hope it’s not sensitive, in which case no can do. We all had media training a few weeks ago. Now I’m the model of discretion.’
‘Don’t worry,’ I said and laughed at the way it came out. Despite his inebriation he was still really cute. ‘You won’t be compromised. This stuff’s four hundred years old.’
‘My God,’ he said in mock horror. ‘Nearly as old as you!’ Then he reached out and rubbed my shoulder.
I didn’t move away, just said, ‘Cheeky.’
His arm went slack and reached for his wine. ‘You always did worry about that far too much.’
I leant back on my knuckles. ‘What?’
He took a large sip. ‘The age difference. It’s only four