– sheer fatigue, probably. The fact that he was getting soaked by the rain.
‘No. No, you’ve got to go,’ she said, her voice suddenly nervous, almost hostile. ‘You’d better keep away from me.’
‘Why did you kiss me?’
‘I was drunk. It was the grappa.’
‘That wasn’t a drunken kiss.’
‘Well, you’d better forget it, Lorimer Black. And you’d better stay away, I mean if Gilbert saw you –’
‘Fuck Gilbert. It’s you I’m thinking about.’
‘Go away!’ she hissed at him, and stepped out of the shelter of her tree and strode across the road to her house, not looking back.
Cursing, Lorimer clambered back into his car and drove away. Anger, frustration, lust, bitterness, helplessness jostled for preeminence in his mind until a newer, more sombre note overshadowed them all: what he was feeling was close to despair. Flavia Malinverno had come into his life and had transformed it – she could not be lost to him.
‘Totally out of the question,’ Hogg said, his voice reasonable, brooking no dissent. ‘Who do you think I am? Your mother? Sort out your own problems, for God’s sake.’
‘She thinks I’m you. She thinks it was me who did the Dupree adjust. You just have to tell her I wasn’t involved.’
‘You can whistle for it, Lorimer. We never, we never go back after an adjust, never deal with the client again, you know that. It can jeopardize everything, ours is a very delicate business. Now, what’s new with Gale-Harlequin?’
Lorimer blinked, shook his head, he was wordless.
‘Spit it out, lad.’
‘Some developments. I’ll get back to you.’
He switched off the phone and accelerated away from the traffic lights at Fulham Broadway. There had to be some way of getting at Hogg, some way of making him go to Mrs Vernon and explain. But whatever that strategy might be it did not bear thinking of at the moment. His utter lack of any ideas brought the despair seeping back.
Slobodan was standing on the pavement outside the office, smoking, enjoying a breath of fresh air, rocking to and fro on his heels, as Lorimer pulled up.
‘You know, I could weep to see a car in that state. It’ll be pure rust in a week. Look at that.’
True enough, rust flowers were beginning to bloom on the Toyota’s broiled bodywork.
‘Is Torquil back?’
‘Yeah. Boy, is he putting in the hours. I reckon he’ll pull in two and a half grand this week. He’s in shock at all this dosh he’s making. You see, the trouble with Torquil was that he never realized just how much money working-class people can earn. He thought we were all poor and miserable, scraping a living, looking for handouts.’
Lorimer thought that this was as profound a statement as Slobodan had ever uttered. He agreed and they went inside where they found Torquil in noisy debate with the other drivers, stretched out on the two sofas, mugs of tea and cigarettes on the go.
‘If you do A3, M25 you’re done for. Talking two and a half hours to Gatwick.’
‘Trevor two-nine was forty minutes getting through Wandsworth High Street yesterday.’
‘Murder.’
‘Nightmare.’
‘OK. What if you went Battersea, Southfields –’ Torquil suggested.
‘Trevor one-five can get you in the back of Gatwick from the Reigate end.’
‘– No, listen, then New Maiden, but miss out Chessington and cut down through –’ Torquil looked round and saw Lorimer. ‘Oh hi. Lobby told me you were dropping by. Shall we have a bite?’
Phil Beazley popped his head out of the control room and beckoned Lorimer over.
Beazley lowered his voice. ‘We done it.’
‘Done what?’
‘Last night. Me and a couple of mates. Gave that motor a right dusting.’
Lorimer felt a tremor of alarm, of almost shock at what he had done. He had never before ordered violence done on anyone or anything and felt a corresponding loss of innocence. But Rintoul could have killed him, he should not forget that.
‘Got a present for you,’ Beazley said, reaching into a pocket and pressing something into Lorimer’s hand. ‘Little souvenir.’
Lorimer opened his hand to reveal a chrome three-pointed star set in a circle. The logo of the Mercedes-Benz company.
‘I snapped it off the bonnet before we went to work with the sledgehammers and the rivet gun.’
Lorimer swallowed. ‘Rintoul drives a BMW. I told you.’
‘No. You said a Merc. Definite. I remember. Anyway we never saw no BMW.’
Lorimer nodded slowly, taking this in. ‘Never mind, Phil. Good work. We’ll say that takes care of the loan.’
‘You’re a gent, Milo. Lobby’ll be pleased.’
‘You all right?’ Torquil asked as they walked along the road to the