Moon Song Read Free Page B

shop door, he saw her at once.
    ‘Hi.’ She smiled across to him. ‘Can I park here?’
    ‘Hey, Zoldé!’ He came over, arms outstretched, hugged her. ‘No, the wardens’ll do you straight away. Go up to the top.’ He pointed to a wider bit of road in front of a café in the direction she was pointing. ‘Turn round and come down the bottom, pastthe turning you came in by.’ Darshan waved towards the west side of the Close. ‘I’ll go down and clear the space I bagged for you.’ He grinned and jogged off down the road.
    Isoldé watched him lope away, admiring. Darshan was gorgeous, she’d forgotten just how much. With a sigh, she turned the car and drove carefully down behind him. There was a row of private parking spaces at the bottom and he was pulling a booktrolley out of one. It was decorated with a huge cardboard billboard painted with,
‘Really sorry folks, it’s for my best girl !!!’
    ‘Oh ye gods, Darshan! How d’you get away with that?’ Isoldé pointed at the edifice.
    ‘I sweet-talk the wardens.’ He had on his butter-wouldn’t-melt look.
    ‘I’ll bet you do!’ Isoldé told him.
    He took her back to the shop, introduced her to the staff, showed her round.
    Later, when the shop closed and everyone was gone home, Darshan made coffee and put his feet up on the desk. ‘What d’you think?’
    Isoldé carried on walking round the shelves, looking at the books, then she turned to the collection of CDs and slowly rifled through. It was a small but good quality, eclectic mix of classical, mediaeval, jazz and folk.
    ‘What’s your turnover?’
    ‘Pretty good. We’re in our third year now. Do you want the detailed figures?’
    ‘Later, yes, if you really want me to chuck everything up in London and come in with you. I want to know what my risk is.’
    Darshan tapped a filing cabinet. ‘We can go through that lot after dinner.’
    He took her to an excellent Thai restaurant in the Close. They went early and came back early so she could browse his accounts. He sat cross-legged on the floor, reading, while she went through the books. It was obvious he trusted her, he’d just unlocked thefile-cabinet and told her to rootle to her heart’s content.
    ‘No secrets from a partner,’ he’d said.
    She’d been impressed, felt confident, or reasonably so, for the huge step of jumping out of her safe, known, hi-flying job at the paper into this venture. After an hour she closed the books and looked up at him, a half-smile on her mouth.
    ‘Well …?’ Darshan asked.
    ‘I think so,’ she told him. ‘Ask me again on Sunday.’
    ‘Good. Now, how would you like to meet some interesting locals?’
    He took her a few doors up the Close and into what looked like a good wine bar.
    ‘Ale bar!’ Darshan corrected her, laughing at her nonplussed expression.
    It was well but softly lit, white plaster walls panelled up to a dado rail in a golden coloured wood, solid oak floor underfoot. He led her to a table in the corner where two men sat with the remains of a meal in front of them.
    ‘Jamie, Paul. This is Isoldé Labeale, my high-powered London journalist friend,’ Darshan announced, eyes alight with mischief.
    Isoldé coloured up, smiled, held out a hand.
    Jamie stood up and took it in a powerful grip.
    ‘Good to meet you,’ he said, looking straight into her eyes.
    Paul’s grip was strong too, but his eyes had a softer expression, echoing the mischief in Darshan’s. Isoldé pulled herself together.
    ‘Good to meet you too.’ She included them both in her smile.
    ‘I can tell I’ve been set up here.’ She rolled her eyes and glared at Darshan.
    They all laughed.
    ‘What’re you on?’ Darshan asked.
    ‘Riggwelter,’ Paul said.
    ‘I’ll get a jug.’ Darshan disappeared to the bar.
    Paul pulled out a chair for Isoldé and they all sat down.
    ‘I gather Darshan’s not told you who we are.’ Jamie smiled. ‘I run Exon Radio, the local station. That’s why he introduced you with