â
âDo you know them?â
âQuite well. Iâve used them in the past. Theyâve got a big reputation. You must be impressive if theyâve taken you on. Arenât we nearing Crimea Street now?â
âNext one on the left.â
They saw the garage as soon as they turned into the street. The little business that Pippaâs great-grandfather, Joe Parsons, had set up ninety years earlier had flourished and grown. It was now three times the size, and her brothers, Brian and Frank, had bought houses on the same street so that they could live close to their work.
They were just preparing to shut up shop when the little convoy rolled into view. At once they came out onto the pavement and stood watching with brotherly irony.
âAgain!â Frank declared. âWhy arenât I surprised?â
âBecause youâre an old stick-in-the-mud,â Pippa informed him, kissing his cheek, then Brianâs. âAnd clearly you didnât mend it properly. This is Roscoe Havering, who came to my rescue.â
âGood of you,â Brian said, shaking Roscoeâs hand. âOfcourse a better idea would have been to dump her in the nearest river, but I dare say that didnât occur to you.â
âActually, it did,â Roscoe observed. âBut I resisted the temptation.â
The brothers laughed genially. They were both in their forties, heavily built and cheerful.
A few moments under the bonnet was enough to make Frank say, âThisâll take until tomorrow. And look, Iâm afraid we canât invite you in. The familyâs away and weâve sort of plannedâ¦wellâ¦â
âA night on the tiles,â Pippa chuckled. âYou devils! Iâll bet Crimea Street is going to rock.â
âYouâd better believe it!â
âOK, Iâll come back tomorrow.â
âDonât you live here?â Roscoe asked.
âNo, Iâve got my own little place a few miles away.â
âWhere exactly?â
She gave him the address in the heart of London.
âIâll take you,â he said. âGet in.â
Relieved, she did so, first retrieving two heavy bags from the back of her car.
âThanks,â she said as she clicked the seat belt and slammed the door. âIâve got a heavy nightâs work ahead of me and Iâve got to give it everything.â
âNo hungry man wanting his supper cooked?â
âNope. I live alone. Free, independent, no distractions.â
âExcept visiting your friends,â he observed.
âTheyâre my brothersâoh, you mean in the graveyard. I suppose you thought I looked very odd.â
âNo, you looked as if you were enjoying the company. It was nice.â
âI always did enjoy my grandparentsâ company. I adored them both. Especially Gran. I loved talking to her, and I guess I just canât stop.â
âWhy should you want to?â
âMost people would say because sheâs dead.â
âBut she isnât dead to you, and thatâs what matters. Besides, I donât think you worry too much about what other people say.â
âWell, I ought to. Iâm a lawyer.â
âAh, yes. Staid and serious.â
She made a comical face. âI do my best.â
Outwardly, he showed nothing, but inside his expression was wry. Twenty-seven. Was he expected to believe that? Twenty-four, tops. And even that was stretching it. If she really worked for Farley she was probably little more than a pupil, but that was fine. She could still be useful to him.
A plan was forming in his mind. The details had to be fine-tuned but meeting her was like the working out of destiny. Somewhere, a kindly fate had planned this meeting and he was going to make the most of it.
âItâs just there,â Pippa said, pointing through the window to a tall, expensive-looking apartment block.
âThere doesnât seem