Angel Confidential Read Free Page A

pulling the trench coat around her legs and making sure she was in grabbing distance of the offside door handle. Little did she know that one of the few lessons in the Safety Body Language for Men course that had got through had been the one about riding in taxis. I had never known before then that the act of getting into the back of a black London cab was such a sexual minefield, and happy hunting ground for men with the subtlety of approach of a Panzer attack and hands supple enough to count mating snakes. But then again, I don’t wear short skirts. Or at least, not in the back of cabs.
    I pulled down the jump seat diagonally opposite her and put my hands on my knees where she could see them. I even left the door open a tad, not so much to reassure her but to allow me a quick exit if needed.
    â€˜Now, Ms Blugden ... was it?’ I don’t have a good memory for names and I’d only seen her card for a second or two, but there are some that register quickly.
    â€˜It’s Miss, not Ms. I hate Ms.’
    Oh, great.
    â€˜Whatever. Now, why the scene, the big production number?’
    She took a breath deep enough to make her bosom wobble, and I promised myself that if she took out a lace handkerchief to dab away a tear, I’d drive her to the nearest museum and enter her in the Feminist Time-Warp section.
    â€˜I’m on assignment,’ she said quietly, ‘a confidential assignment that involves ... surveillance .’
    She said ‘surveillance’ with the same awe other people reserve for ‘Good ganga’, or ‘Hey, it’s unlocked’, but I remained unimpressed.
    â€˜The girl I was following went into one of these ... these … houses.’ She waved a limp hand at Wimpole Street as if it was to blame. ‘I’d been following her all day, making notes, and then she came out and she jumped into a taxi. I hadn’t expected that. I mean, she came by tube, so I thought she’d go back by tube.’
    â€˜To Shepherd’s Bush Green?’ I offered helpfully.
    â€˜No, that’s where I live. I don’t know where she lives. That’s what I was trying to find out.’
    â€˜But you said you followed her all day. Where did you start?’
    â€˜At a – ah – that’s confidential, I’m afraid. But it wasn’t where she was living, just somewhere I was told she’d be this morning.’
    â€˜So why not start again tomorrow morning? Same place, same time?’ I was full of helpful suggestions.
    â€˜Because she was only going to the ... to where she was this morning ... this morning. If you see what I mean. This morning was my one chance and I got blown.’
    â€˜I think you mean you blew it.’
    â€˜Pardon?’
    â€˜Never mind. So why not head back to Shepherd’s Bush? Call it a day. Grab a real cab or a bus. Why the emotional blackmail? Why me?’
    â€˜I haven’t any money,’ she sniffed. ‘I only look a few pounds from petty cash and it’s all gone. Bus fares, the tube, cups of coffee, lunch, it all mounts up. And a spare pair of tights just in case. I would have given you a cheque at the other end if you’d been a real cab.’
    I bit my lip and breathed deeply, but be honest, Mother Teresa would have resorted to harsh language at this one.
    â€˜So what were you trying to find out, anyway?’
    Why did I ask? What possessed me to waste vital oxygen that way?
    â€˜Where she lives, what she does. Why she was here, for example.’
    â€˜Well, that last bit’s easy.’
    She blinked at me through glasses that, if they were any thicker, would come with wipers.
    â€˜It is? What do you mean?’
    â€˜Do you know who she went to see?’
    â€˜That’s what I’m trying to find out.’
    â€˜I know, but look, all these houses are practices.’
    â€˜What?’ She looked blank.
    â€˜All the houses are sub-divided into medical or dental