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Sutton stared at the picture for a long time.
He couldn’t find an address. It seemed ironic that amongst a telephone book’s worth of paper, there was nothing to identify where Angela lived. So his only alternative was to take her back to his place.
*
He carried her into his bedroom.
She did not stir or make a sound. Her breath smelled sour; a consequence of the alcohol. She’d suffer tomorrow. Once he had placed her on the bed, a new dilemma presented itself. She couldn’t sleep fully dressed…and yet she was in no condition to undress herself. He could guess what her reaction would be in the morning. But still…it would be a bad night’s sleep if she were to remain fully clothed.
He tried to tell himself it was an altruistic gesture.
With most of her clothes off – except her rather formal knickers – she looked very small. Tiny. He found one of his old Ben Sherman shirts and buttoned her up in it. It was big enough to be comfortable.
Sutton took some blankets from the second bedroom which was now home to all the chrome joists of a number of exercise machines and made a bed on the sofa.
But it was a long time before he got to sleep.
*
He woke up annoyed.
The morning was bright and cheerful, when he was not. He rattled pots and pans, ostensibly in an effort to make breakfast, but in truth to wake up his uninvited guest. When that didn’t work, he banged doors.
Nothing.
She could sleep through a tsunami.
Eventually, he did the only thing left available to him. He took eggs out of the fridge, some bacon, sausages, baked beans, and threw them in to their respective pans. Finally, with the breakfast done, he ventured into the bedroom. He had added a cup of coffee and a glass of orange juice to the feast.
But delectable fragrances aside, she was still dead to the world.
He put the tray on the bedside table and drew the curtains. He was still annoyed. He didn’t know why he was annoyed. She had done all he’d asked of her…why then did he feel this resentment towards her? When he turned, he expected her to be rubbing her eyes, apologising for last night’s behaviour, begging his forgiveness for her intrusion into his privacy.
Nothing.
She slumbered on.
And looking down at her, his annoyance evaporated instantly.
In sleep, she was more beautiful than she had ever been.
He reached down and gently shook her shoulder.
“Angela.”
She frowned, turned her head slightly.
“Angela. Wake up.”
She moved, uncoiling like a snake. She stretched. She opened her eyes…and promptly shut them again. She curled back into a foetal ball.
“Does it hurt?” He asked.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” she said wretchedly.
“Not in my bed, you’re not.”
Her eyes flicked open. Alarmed. She looked around: first at the bed, then at the room…and then her place in each. Each expression on her face lasted a fraction of a second, each one progressively more alarmed.
“What…?”
“I didn’t know your address,” he explained. “You didn’t get around to telling me.”
She thought a moment.
“I don’t remember getting back here.”
“Probably because you were unconscious for the entire journey. Look. Can you eat? You need something to soak up the alcohol.”
She looked at the food he had prepared, and then looked away.
“Don’t.”
“You’ve got to eat.”
“Not for a few months.”
“Alright,” he said, sounding gruff. “But you’ve got to get up. I’ve got to get going.”
She looked at him, nodded, and then sat up. She stopped, in sudden pain, and bowed her head into her hands. Her left shoulder and the top of her breast were exposed. He tried not to look.
“I think my head’s going to explode,” she moaned.
“You’ll be fine.”
“Where’s my clothes?” She asked, in sudden realisation. “What did you do with my clothes?”
“There. At the end of the bed.” He pointed. He had folded them and put them on a chair.
A thought struck her. She looked at him.
“We didn’t…?”
He laughed.
“Believe it or not, I do have standards. I prefer my women conscious. And willing. Much more fun for all concerned.”
She nodded, pulling the shirt tighter around her.
“So who took off my clothes?”
“I’m afraid that was me,” he said, and shrugged. “I didn’t think you’d want to sleep in your party dress.” And just for the sake of it, he added, “nice view.”
She blushed a deep dark red.
“Oh God,” she breathed.
He smiled.
“God, my throat’s dry,” she said, reaching for the orange juice. She downed it in three gulps.
“Nice?”
She passed the cup back to him.
“Wet.”
“Good. I’ll leave you to it then.” He stood up. “You can eat the breakfast or leave it. The bathroom’s down the hall on the left, you can have a shower if you want. I need to talk to you. I need some particulars. Daniel’s address, being the main one. And his telephone number. If you have it. And some other bits. Then you can tell me where you live and I’ll drop you home.”
She paused, and then said, “if you’re dropping me home, then I can show you where Daniel lives. It’s on the way.”
She gave him a half-hearted smile. He supposed she was at least trying to be helpful.
He just wished she’d stop being so bloody attractive.
The cause of his resentment towards her was revealed as a thin veneer over his desire for her.
This isn’t helping Maggie, you idiot, he thought.
But he knew he wouldn’t heed his own advice.
*
CHAPTER 10
Daniel lived in a large house on the north side of Clifton.
The road was crowded with parked cars, but Sutton found a space two doors down, on the opposite side of the street…although in truth it was a squeeze. But it was a good spot for what he needed. He could see the building clearly, if at an angle. It looked like a very comfortable abode. There was a partially concreted front garden, with a small floral island in the centre of it. Iron railings separated it from the street. Sutton guessed four bedrooms. It was pale brick, what they called Bath Stone, quarried out of the earth just outside of the city of Bath. And he didn’t work? Daniel had a good life, and he didn’t even know it.
“Nice,” he remarked.
Angela leaned down to get a better view of it.
“Terry was never short of money,” she said, sitting back.
“Which makes me wonder why Daniel wants Green Light so badly,” Sutton remarked, looking at her.
Angela shrugged.
“Spite,” she said. “And greed.”
The street was quiet. It was Friday morning, and there was hardly anyone about. Three seagulls sat on a stone wall not ten feet from them, surveying their domain. Storm coming, Sutton thought.
“What did Daniel say last night?” Angela asked.
He turned to her.
“You don’t remember?”
She squeezed her eyes almost shut as she tried to recall.
“I remember being so angry I wanted to cry. But I can’t remember much of what he said to me, to make me feel like that.”
“It wasn’t a happy reunion.”
She thought about that.
“What did you say?”
“What you’d expect. Get out of here, how dare you, that sort of thing.”
“Right.” She didn’t believe him.
“You were pretty impressive. I didn’t think you had it in you.”
“Why? What did I do?”<
br />
Sutton smiled.
“You got in a few lunges.”
Angela stared at nothing for a moment, and then she said, “did you find out anything from him?”
“Not really. He was drunk. But Suzanne said some interesting things.”
“You met Suzanne?” Angela asked, with surprised.
He stared at her. Really?
“We both did.”
“God.” She put a hand to her head. “I don’t remember. What did I say?”
“Not much. You went off to be sick.”
“Oh God.” She rubbed her forehead. “What did you think of her?”
Sutton hesitated. What had he thought of her?
That she was smart.
And a schemer.
“Oh, I know that look,” Angela said. She patted his knee. “All men get that look when they meet her.”
“And what look is that?”
“Like they’ve been hit with a hammer. It’s fine. She is beautiful. She has an amazing body.”
Sutton made a face, and turned back to the house.
“She’s not my cup of tea.”
“Right.” Once more, she wasn’t convinced.
“No bum,” he said.
“What?”
“You can’t trust a woman without a bum. It’s a fact.”
She stared at him, not sure if he was being serious or not.
“You’re odd.”
He conceded that point with a nod.
“That might be true.”
There was a pause.
Tentatively, Angela asked, “is my bum…trustworthy?”
He turned to her. Her eyebrows were raised halfway up her forehead, and she was smiling. She was joking…or was she? Did she even know?
Before he could answer, a car appeared on the drive in front of Daniel’s house. It was a Jaguar XF, sleek, grey, with tinted windows. It hesitated before turning into the road, the dim shadow of a driver looking one way and then the other, before the car pulled out into the street and turned to drive up the hill, away from them.
Daniel.
It had been Daniel driving. Sutton was sure of it.
Where was he going?
Sutton looked at Angela.
“What?” She asked, at his look.
“Do you mind if we make another detour before I drop you home?” He asked, starting the car.
She looked towards the retreating Jaguar.
“You want to follow him?” She asked.
“You never know, it might lead to something,” he said, and pulled out into the road in pursuit.
*
Daniel led them through the back streets of Clifton, the narrow alleys between centuries old buildings, up St Michael’s hill, passed the The Family Practice Western College building – a Grade II listed fortress dating back to the turn of the 20th century, and looking like a building that some Lord would have been happy growing up in – before turning and parking on a road not far from the university.
Sutton pulled into another parking space four cars away from him, and watched as Daniel got out, looked around, locked his car, and then began walking down the hill.
Sutton killed the engine.
“Stay here,” he said, opening the door.
He thought about it, and then reached over and fished an old pair of sunglasses out of the glove compartment.
“Wait, I want to come with you,” Angela said.
“No. He’ll recognise you.”
“He’ll recognise you. He saw you last night-“
“Briefly. And he was drunk. Stay here. Alright?”
“But I don’t want-“
He shut the door on her protests. He put the sunglasses on. He waited until Daniel had turned the corner at the end of the road, and then set out after him.
He kept at least fifty feet between them at all times, never closing until Daniel had turned a corner – for fear of losing him once he was no longer in his line of sight – and once he had acquired him again, he would allow fifty feet of distance to grow between them once more. Following. Stalking. He was reasonably proficient at it. The trick was to appear as casual as possible, while still following certain rules: no direct observation; no furtive behaviour; no hesitations. Walk like you have every right to be where you were, and no one will question you.
He rounded a long looping residential street just in time to see Daniel go into a Natwest at the end of it.
Sutton hesitated.
A meeting with the bank?
He walked into the bank. He knew it; had an account still open with them. The layout was a problem: there was no entrance lobby, only a short hall with two escalators and a staircase. If he went up them, to the main floor, and Daniel was waiting right there – perhaps sitting in one of the chairs against the wall – then he would surely spot Sutton. He didn’t think Daniel would recognise him, but he wasn’t sure he wanted to take the chance.
But he could take a quick look with a modicum of safety.
He ignored the escalators and went up the stairs.
At the top, a large open area faced him, divided into small squares by advertising dividers; in each space, there was a round table, and a computer fixed to one side of it. Most of them were occupied by a bank employee and either a single customer, or a couple.
Daniel was not at any of them.
Sutton ventured further into the bank.
He saw Daniel then.
He was in a glass walled office at the far end of the bank, talking to an advisor. He hadn’t seen Sutton, wouldn’t see Sutton: his attention was fixed on the advisor. It was an in-depth conversation. Daniel moved his hands about a lot.
And an unexpected stroke of luck: Sutton knew the advisor.
He made as if he had forgotten something – an unnecessary show for any bank employee that happened to be watching him – and immediately turned around and got the hell out of there.
*
Just before he arrived back at the car, an odd thing made him stop in the street.
A man stood leaning against the stone entrance to one of the university annexes – converted Georgian houses that now housed different departments for the university. He appeared to be waiting for someone…but he was staring intently at Sutton. There was something about his appearance which made him seem out of place. Sutton didn’t know him. He was in his twenties, had long dark hair down to a jaw which was dark with stubble.
Sutton’s warning antennae started vibrating.
But as he approached the car, someone came out of the building to speak to the man, and Sutton watched as they both went inside. Maybe he was getting paranoid in his old age.
“Here,” Sutton said, handing her the polystyrene cup from Costa.
“What?” She said, automatically taking it from him.
“It’s an Americano,” he said, climbing into the car and shutting the door. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I took a guess.”
“It’s fine,” she said, cracking the plastic top and sniffing its contents. “You’re not having one?”
“No.”
“So this is just for me?”
He frowned.
“Yes.”
“Oh.”
“What are you looking so pleased about?”
The smile automatically disappeared from her face.
“I’m not pleased,” she said. “I’m actually really angry.”
“Why?”
“Because you don’t listen.”
Sutton shook his head.
“You couldn’t come with me.”
“Why not? Give me one good reason.”
He turned to her and raised his eyebrows.
“Because I didn’t know where he was going. Because if he had suddenly turned around he would have spotted you. And then where would we be? He’d have been suspicious. There’s coincidence, but he wouldn’t have believed you just happened to be there. It could have r
uined everything. His guard would have been up. And then it would have been more difficult to help your mother.”
Her mouth hung open for a moment, and then she said, “oh.”
“Yes. Oh.”
“But I’m not an idiot.”
“I never said you were.”
She stared at him, evaluating the truth of that statement, and then said, “where did he go? Daniel, I mean.”
“The bank.”
“What – the Natwest?”
Sutton nodded.
She said, “so…what are we doing?”
“We’re going to wait,” he said, with a smile.
“For what?”
“Just wait. That’s all.”
She frowned at him…and then with a shrug she gave up on him, and instead turned her attention to her coffee.
She sipped it greedily, and the moaned.
“That’s good,” she said.
He asked, “why do you have a really old picture of me in your purse?”
She froze, like a clockwork mechanism in need of oil.
“What?”
“There’s a photograph of me in your purse.”
“No, there isn’t.”
He stared at her.
“What were you doing in my purse?” She asked, trying to be angry. “You had no right to go in there.”
“I was looking for something with an address on it,” he said mildly. “For some reason you do not want me to know what your address is. I could have abandoned you in the street, I suppose, for the sake of your privacy. But I chose not to.” He gave the purse a flick with his head. “There’s a lot of things in there. None of them have your address on it.”
She would not look at him.
“Give me your purse,” he said, reaching for it.
Her head twitched around. She seemed near panic.
“What?”
“Give me your purse.”
She hesitated.
“I can show you where it is. The photograph.”
“There isn’t any photograph, Sutton.”
“Angela...”
“It’s my purse. I think I’d know if there was a photograph in there or not. Especially one of you. And why would I have a photo of you anyway? That’s just weird.”