“In the bloody garage again. I think I’m going to have to get rid of it. It’s costing me far too much to get it fixed. There’s always something new going wrong. Mend one thing and something else breaks.”
His voice had a whinging note that grated on her nerves. He wasn’t in a good mood.
“It’s always the same and guaranteed, it always happens the week I’m short of readies or need to do something important. Now the starter motors burnt out. Two weeks ago it was the alternator and before that the radiator sprung a leak. It’s never bloody ending. I keep thinking there can’t possibly be anything else that could go wrong. But no, clunk, clunk, clunk. It’s off the road and in the garage again.”
“Are you going to carry on moaning or are you going to put the seat belt on? There’s a bus coming and if I don’t shift pretty quick the driver will start blasting his horn. Where are you going any way?”
“Sorry Brigitte, I’m just fed up with everything.”
“Being a typical man more like.” She pushed the car into first car and pulled away from the kerb.
“Careful...” Paul warned, “There’s a car right behind you. Have you got your indicator on?” He swivelled round to look out of the rear window. “Okay, it’s all clear. You can pull out now.”
Brigitte flicked the window-wiper switch and the blades swished across the glass.
“Put the heater on or you’ll get all misted up and you’ll not see where you’re going.”
He sounds like a driving instructor. I should have kept driving and left him at the bus stop. “If you’re going to back seat drive you can get out at the next stop or even better, the mood you’re in, I’ll leave you in the middle of nowhere and you can bloody well walk to where ever it is you’re going, seeing as you still haven’t told me yet.”
Paul eyed her warily. “Got a touch of PMT, have you? Just my luck to get picked up by a half-mad, hormonal woman who’s a danger on the public highway.”
“You did get in of your own free will. Shall I pull over and let you out or are you thinking of letting me know in which direction you’re considering travelling?” She gave him her most sinister ‘if you don’t shut up I’ll turn you to stone’ smile. “After all, I’d hate to be responsible for putting you on the endangered species list.”
“I was just going to go into town and have a mooch about the car sales rooms. I thought I’d have a look and see how much a newer model would set me back. Bit of a pointless exercise really when I haven’t got tuppence to my name.” Miserable and dejected he stared out of the passenger window at the passing scenery. She refused to feel sorry for him. A smell of damp wool emitted from his jacket as the car’s heater warmed the interior.
He’ll probably start steaming in a minute. He’s letting off enough hot air.
“Do you know,” He said, turning to look at her. “The landlord of the building where I rent the clinic sent a letter to all the tenants last week saying he’s upping the rents again. It’s bloody unbelievable. He does no maintenance; the place is falling down and the plumbings up the creek. It’s really hard work hypnotizing someone when they’re shivering with cold because the central heatings gone on the blink again.” He was on one. She smiled. Big mistake. “You might think its funny, but it’s no joke. I’m losing clients faster than I can find new ones.”
“What do you say I treat you to coffee and a big, thick chunk of chocolate cake before you hit the car shops?” Maybe if I mollycoddle him a bit, like giving a child a dummy, he'll shut up.
“A gin and tonic would go down better. Shame the pubs shut. I suppose cake will have to do. Where? I know. Let’s go to The Teashop. They’ve got that fudge cake stuff they melt in the microwave. I could manage a piece of that.”
It crossed her mind to say, and with a bit of luck you won’t be able to moan with your mouthful, but she replied, “That’s fine with me. It’s ages since the last time I went there. Do they still do that lemon meringue concoction?”
“As far as I know. For goodness sake look out will you!” His abrupt shout startled her and she almost swerved into the kerb. “You nearly missed the turning. Take the next on the right and you should be able to find a space to park.”
Brigitte seethed in silence while Paul conducted his how to park a car monologue and seriously considered advising him to make a career change. She reversed into a vacant space at the first attempt and sighed with relief as she switched off the engine.
“Doesn’t look as if we’ll have to fight for a table in here.” Paul commented. The old-fashioned style café was empty.
“Maybe the rain’s put people off. Do you want tea or coffee with your cake?”
“I’ll have coffee. Make sure they melt my fudge cake won’t you. Sometimes they don’t bother unless you insist, but tell them not to over do it as I don’t want chocolate soup.”
Brigitte bit her lip to avoid uttering the sarcastic remark on the tip of her tongue. Still chuntering something she didn’t quite catch he moved away towards the tables by the window leaving her to go to the service counter alone. Brigitte picked up one of the thin plastic trays and slid it onto the metal rails that ran in front of the self-service cake-stands. She hovered with indecision before the impressive array of delectable goodies, but finally chose a sponge crammed with cream and strawberries. She took out a big slice of the sticky goo Paul had asked for and sliding the tray along in front of her with one hand, went to order their drinks. “Two coffee’s please.” The waitress looked up from reading a magazine. “Could you warm this for his lordship as well, but not too much.”
The cake disappeared into a microwave before the girl idled further down the counter to make the requested drinks. A soft ping signalled the end of the requisite thirty second zapping. Returning with two brimming cups, she slapped them down on the tray. The cake followed it. The coffee was slopped in the saucers in dark brown puddles. A smell of warm, sticky chocolate wafted over, strong and sweet. Brigitte sighed. “Thank you so much.” She said it in an acidic tone she reserved for special occasions.
“Cutlery and sugar’s at the end of the counter.” The monotone comment seemed aimed at the floor more than at Brigitte herself.
“Shall I pay you now or later?”
“Whenever.” The magazine was already back in her hand. Brigitte gave up and picking up the tray carried it to where Paul was sitting, strumming his fingers on the Formica table top, waiting.
“What took so long?” He asked, grabbing at the cake plate before she’d even had a chance to put the tray on the table.
“The youth of today.”
“What?” His voice was muffled by the first spoonful of syrupy sludge he’d shovelled into his mouth.
“Never mind.” Brigitte muttered under her breath as she set the tray down on the table. This was just going to be one of those days that would try a saint.
“So,” Paul said while she shrugged out of her jacket and hung it over the chair-back. “What’s Jack been up to recently? Solved all your problems has he?”
“Actually, Pa-ul.” She stretched his name out, making sure to use the same emphasis as he did when he mentioned Jack. “As far as I know, he’s in Cambridge. I haven’t heard from him for a couple of days.”
“Left you dangling with all his fancy ideas then? Bit of a waste of time wasn’t it?”
“Not really. I’ve been doing some research into who these people...”
“Don’t you mean phantoms in the night or spectral visions?”
His wit's unbearable sometimes. “No I don’t. Strangely enough I spent an hour on the internet this morning and the more I find out the more credible the whole things becoming.”
“Go on then, convince me.” Paul scoffed. “I think Jack Jamieson’s filled your head with a load of bumph and you’re just looking for reason enough to keep seeing him.”
Brigitte stared at him hard and tried to control her rising temper. There was a soft smudge of chocolate smeared on his chin. He picked his coffee
cup up and slurped at the hot liquid. Strange, she’d never noticed he did that before. She repressed a shudder. “Ever heard of things like Druids, Ovates, Bards or Brehons?” He shrugged a no. “Well neither had I until I started reading about them on the net. Apparently it was a whole way of life or rather, more of a religious social structure in the ancient times that is. It all died out with the uptake of Christianity from what I can make out.”
“Druids?”
His one remaining brain cell's woken up.
“Aren’t they the sect that runs around naked at Stonehenge? Maybe I’ll join. Anyway what’s all that got to do with you?” His voice held a dry cutting edge she’d never heard before.
“From what I’ve managed to find out so far all I know is that Brigid was an Ovate of a tribe somewhere in Ireland and was later sainted by the church. The ovate stuff is fascinating. They cured people and communicated by telepathy...”
“You can’t possibly believe all that?” Brigitte wanted to wipe the stupid smirk off his face and she wasn’t thinking of using a napkin.
“Why not? It’s all surprisingly well documented. In fact there’s so much stuff on the subject I haven’t really had time to delve into it in depth. Some of the articles that I pulled off mention the ovates communicated with the dead. I’m going to sit and read through them all tonight.”
“Oh, please.” His forced laugh was unnerving. “What a load of twaddle. Are you sure you can’t find anything better to occupy your time. You’ll be telling me you’re a necromancer next.” He pulled a paper serviette from the dispenser on the table and wiped it across his lips. The smudge of brown stayed on his chin. She didn’t mention it. “Well if nothing else,” He guffawed like a bellowing bull. “It makes for interesting dinner conversation. On that subject what are you doing at the weekend?”
Anything that doesn’t involve you “Actually, on Friday I’m meeting Jack in Cambridge...”
“What for?”
“He wants me to do some tests.”
“What sort of tests? Tests on your head?” He snickered and she wanted to slap him.
“Aren’t we the witty one today? ESP tests, I think he said.”
“Whatever next? Shall we go to the Roses for dinner on Sunday?”
“Can’t, I’m spending it with the girls. I’ve already promised to take them for a visit to their grandparents plus shopping for clothes on Saturday as the sales are on. Count me out. I can’t fit anything else in.”
“That’s a shame. It’s really cheered me up listening to you. I could have done with hearing some more. It’s taken my mind of all my worries that's for sure, telepathic, healing druids, that's a first. “He shook his head and smiled. “Do you know something Brigitte? You’re unique, you really are.” He threw the paper tissue on to his discarded plate, pushed his chair back from the table, and stood up to leave. “I’ll give you a ring in the week to see if you’ve come to your senses.”
Brigitte smiled as she watched him walk to the door, he turned and gave her a casual salute and then disappeared out into the wet afternoon. I might be unique, but you are uniquely stupid. It was the second time in less than half an hour she’d used her special smile for brainless wonders and neither one of them had even noticed. Roll on Friday. At least Jack's a bit more interesting.
Chapter 15
With her chin cupped in her hands and her elbows resting on top of the counter, Brigitte sat in the boutique day-dreaming about nothing in-particular. God, the weeks going slow. It feels like Friday will never get here.She sensed more than saw the tall shadow hovering by the window and her heart fluttered as a bout of pure, feminine panic gripped her. Why hasn’t he phoned first to let me know he's coming? In a flap, she rushed to smooth her hair, trying to make it look tidy, and swore out loud, wishing she’d worn something different. Jack just stood there, outside. Why doesn’t he come in?
She peeped through the window display. He had his back to her and was talking on his mobile. At least that would give her a couple of minutes to compose herself. Pushing a suspended shirt aside she spied on him as he spoke, head bent in conversation. He pulled his left hand from the pocket of his trousers and looked at his watch. It was the first time she’d seen a man talk on a mobile phone without pacing up and down. He was very self-contained. She didn’t notice the little sigh of longing which escaped her lips as she admired the denim-clad stretch of his broad shoulders and the way his hair curled against the collar. He turned without warning, caught her watching him and raised his hand in a friendly hello. Feeling shy and stupid she gave him a little wave back. He finished his call, flipped the folding phone together, put it in his pocket and then pushed the shop door open.
“Hello Brigitte”
Her knees went weak and she was glad she’d made it to behind the counter and sat down. She leaned across the polished glass and smiled at him. “Hello Jack. This is a nice surprise. I wasn’t expecting you to see you again before Friday.” She tried to smile, look alluring and sound sexy all at the same time. She wondered if it’d worked and decided it probably hadn’t.
“It was a spur of the moment thing.” Jack said. “Being in the lab all day makes me, well you know. All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy. I popped down yesterday, but you were closed.
And I spent the afternoon with Paul? Life's just not fair.
“Problem with the window display?” He winked at her and she blushed.
“Just a couple of dead flies.” It was the first thing that came into her head. “Nothing much happening with the investigation?” She didn’t know what else to say. Even though she wasn’t at all sure quite what was supposed to be happening, some distant part of her brain which was disconnected to the rest was wondering why he’d visited the day before as well.
“Something did kick off yesterday. Just out of curiosity, where’s the cemetery you were in when I called you?”
“Just around the corner. Why?”
“I thought it would be nice to go and have a look.”
“You’ve come all the way from Cambridge to go to the Abbey cemetery?”
“Well...” It was Jack’s turn to be vague. “Among other things. What have you been up to?”
Not as much as I’d like, was on the tip of her tongue, but she buttoned it and told him about the few pieces she’d written. “I sort of fell asleep at the computer doing the paperwork and had the strangest of dreams. I went paddling in a river.” Jack’s eyebrow went up. “If I’d have known you were coming today I’d have brought my notes with me to show you, but they’re at home.”
“Not to worry.” He seemed unconcerned “The good thing is you’re learning to communicate. Learning to listen at last and using your head.” He tapped his forehead with his finger and asked her, “Are you feeling better about the whole thing or do you still feel unsure?”
She took a deep breath and let it out slowly before replying. “No, to be honest I’m quite happy about it, it’s just that...” She paused, considering whether or not to tell him about Paul’s latest acidic comments.
“It’s just what?” He asked, bending down close to her. Her knees went all soft and trembly.
“It’s Paul, my friend. You remember I told you about him, the one who’s been hypnotising me.”
“And what has your friend Paul got to say on the subject?” His moving eyebrow fascinated her. The only other person she knew who could do that was Elvis and he’d been long dead. The logical part of her brain said, he’s a medium, maybe that’s who taught him.
“He says I’m letting my imagination run away with me and that I’m trying to escape from reality.” Brigitte shrugged. “Well that and quite a few other remarks along those lines.”
“Oh does he now.” Jack stood up straight and slid his hands into his pockets. A very serious expression on his face. He thought for a moment, then bent down close to her again and spoke very low while looking her straight in the eyes all the time. “Your friend, Paul, really wouldn’t have a clue what he wa
s talking about then, would he”
She burst out laughing when she realised the serious tone of his voice didn’t match the amused expression on his face.
“Can you close the shop for what, let’s say half an hour or forty minutes?”
“I could do. I don’t think I’ll be missing much trade. Why?”
“Let’s just pop down to the Roses. There’s someone there I want to introduce you too.”
Brigitte crossed her fingers under the counter and hoped it wasn’t his wife or his girlfriend. “Isn’t it nearly closing time? Stan’s not normally late locking the door in the daytime. He likes his afternoon kip too much.”
“Don’t worry about that. I’ll give him a quick ring while you close up. I need to pick something up from the car. It’s parked round the corner, next to the letter box. I’ll wait for you there.”
“Okay, it’ll only take me a minute and I’ll be right with you.” Jack disappeared out the door and Brigitte went through to the storeroom looking for a piece of paper and a black felt tip pen. She wrote on the scrap she found in large capital letters, back in half an hour. Back tomorrow or the day after would have been better. She smiled at the thought as she ripped sellotape of the roll and stuck the improvised sign on the inside of the door. Grabbing her bag, jacket and the keys, she locked the door without looking back.
“So,” she asked, while she waited for Jack to finish rummaging in the boot of the flash Mercedes he’d rented. “Who am I going to meet in the Roses?”
“You’ll find out when we get there.” He stood up and waved a small nondescript gadget at her. “Found it.”
“What’s that?”
“Ah, you’ll just have to wait and see. But if we’re lucky, I think it’ll help to open your eyes even more.” He beeped the car to lock it and they started to walk towards the main street. “Well, at least I hope so. It’s a shame I’ve got to go away again so soon.” Brigitte could only agree with him. “I’d liked to have spent some time with you after we finish on Friday and helped you develop, but it’ll have to wait until I come back.”