Chapter 42 - Not all alone

Image by Brianna Santellan from Unsplash

Had Ike imagined that faint sound?

Rap, rap.

No, she had not. Could it be the lemon and her merry sidekicks? Or something worse?

Her heart drumming up a riot, Ike grabbed the knife from the table, then switched off the light.

Rap?

Less confident now.

Ike pressed her eye to the peephole and scanned the fish-bowl view of the passage.

Where she had trembled for a man, she saw a woman. Only one, and it wasn't a Sibyl either. Brigitte was carrying a bottle of red nestled in the crook of her arm, her hands clasping the handle of a battered brown briefcase as she turned to leave.

Ike's heart did a somersault in her chest, and she fumbled with the key chain in the dark, then ripped the door wide open.

"Brigitte!" she said to a woolly black back. It issued a small shriek and swung around to face her.

"I thought you were out. Or asleep. Or something?"

Boris slipped between Ike's feet, the fur brushing her ankles. and yipped with delight, telling Brigitte any friend of his mistress would be most welcome, others need not apply. Or woofs to that effect.

Ike, so giddy with relief she didn't have to face that sword all on her own, couldn't stop the verbal tumble that rushed past her lips."Come on in. I just ate something, but I'm still hungry. The food here is to die for. Ehem, well, you know what I mean."

A smile danced in Brigitte's dark eyes. "I believe I do. I came to make amends. Thought you might be lonely."

"Tell me about it. And I should be the one to apologise. Sorry, Gary got under my skin, but that doesn't mean I can go all crabby on you."

Brigitte gave her an enigmatic smile, and Ike led her guest inside.

"No light?"

"Ah." Ike switched it on.

Brigitte placed the bottle on the table, the suitcase on the floor and sniffed. "That smells merveilleux."

"It was. Pick something from the menu. Another omelette will do me fine."

Brigitte snapped the plastic folder shut. "I'll join you. Maybe some antipasti to go with the wine."

While Ike contacted room service, Boris dashed onto the balcony.

"What's with your furry friend?"

"He needs a walk, but I think he prefers antipasti. Will need to take him out later, he can't keep flooding that potted tangerine tree or it won't survive." Ike's gaze fell on the briefcase.

"Ah that. Gary wanted me to keep it for him. He'll be back as soon as he has found somewhere for Jon to stay."

Ike's heart did another of these silly little flips and she gave herself a mental slap on the wrist. She was a grown woman and didn't need his lordship, or any other resident hunk to sort out her problems. On the other hand, in the face of an incoming killer, safety might well be found in numbers.

"He's caught the evening flight." Brigitte checked her watch. "Should have just taken off. Somehow he convinced reception they shouldn't charge him for today. Neither for your room nor his. No idea how he does it. I didn't want to leave the briefcase behind, so I brought it along. It's got his business inside. Bookings, bills, intel on the competition, the lot."

"Doesn't he use his laptop computer for that? Papers can get lost."

Brigitte laughed. "Bien sur. But he's very much a paper man. Loves printouts and keeps destroying trees. He'll get there eventually."

"Slowly, I dare say. Very slowly. Bugger. If he's gone, that explains why he hasn't responded to my last message. Well, I'll just tell you then. I might have worked out what the guy in the hedge could have used." She explained her theory.

Brigitte's pencilled eyebrows rose. "Now you mention it, that's actually what it looked like in Jeff's shots. Only, the bit at the top was bigger, the whole thing longer and more solid. An aerial belonging to a tank?"

"Unlikely. Could be purpose-built, only what for? I can't imagine, somebody commissions the clone of an aerial just to poke at a statue?"

"No."

Another rap sounded on the door and with a flash of panic, Ike realised she had forgotten to lock up again.

"Room service!"

Ike identified the voice as belonging to the same waiter who had served her earlier and willed her stampeding pulse to slow to a trot. Still, in sauntering mode, the chap delivered his load, collected his tip and repeated his warning.

Dutifully, she turned the key in the lock once he had left and sat down to tackle another load of artery-clogging delight.

"You still haven't heard from Monsieur le Commissaire?" Brigitte dabbed her lips with her napkin and arranged her cutlery on the plate at precisely the right angle. "Didn't want to ask before dinner."

"It's appreciated. Nothing so far, I rang the Questura again and left the same message. Guidetti still is not in and they still seem to think I'm a nutcase."

"You told them you have evidence concerning a murder case."

"Yeah, mentioning a murder weapon sounded a bit too—crass. The second time I mentioned Shalon and that I had something that might help. They still seemed half asleep. Oh well, perhaps I mightget a good night's rest before he strikes. Or that wanker turns up."

"Your ex?"

"The murderer."

Brigitte frowned. "He shouldn't find you. At least not immediately. I mean, that's why we swapped taxis and drove around for half an hour, non?"

"One of our lord and master's better ideas, I dare say."

A sly look. A wink. "Ah, you don't fool me."

Brigitte relaxed in her chair, one hand dangling towards the greedy muzzle of the dog who had got more than his fair share of dinner and was in dire need of exercise. Best while Brigitte was still around. Alone, Ike didn't dare venture further than the pots in the patio. The movement might also get rid of that excess warmth she felt radiating from her cheeks.

"Be honest. You like him. And he likes you. It's very amusing to watch you two dance around each other and swap insults. Very British."

"The insults? I think not."

"No, the way you pretend you're not interested."

"I'm not pretending anything."

"Bien sur."

"I've got neither the time nor the inclination for romantic involvement. Not with my lord, anyway. He still has his pretty young wife on his mind."

"Not so much since you showed up." Brigitte raised her hands, her smile deepening. "I know. I know. Denial comes first. I agree, though. About this not being the right time. À propos time." She checked her watch. "It's late. I need my beauty sleep. Why don't we take poor Boris walkies before I go back to my hotel?"

Boris was already at the door.

Do let me know if you have questions or comments on my novel. Constructive suggestions and feedback are always welcome! And thank you for reading. In doing so, you give my writing a purpose.