Chapter 55 - Love is in the Air

And some soothing romantic music to conclude, brought to you by Soothing Relaxation on YouTube

"What's up? Oh, you want my expertise." Adrian's  lips slipped off the bottle with a little plop. "Well, then, I hate to say so, Gary old chap, but Ike is right. With her around, his potential victim, he felt like bragging. With my esteemed colleagues, he would have clammed up."

"Yee-haw!"

"Ms Wordsworth, that doesn't stop your action from being rather, uh, ill-advised."

These legal types seemed to fish in the same murky pool for their vocabulary.

Ike shrugged. "I didn't want the guy to get out on bail or whatever, he would only have caused more trouble. We don't need that."

Aline shivered, but it could have been the damp cold spreading now the bonfire was burning down. The gas heaters to the left and the right of the table did their best, but their warmth got sucked into the canopy of stars above them. "So, he really wasn't after you from the outset?"

"At first, he didn't have murder on his mind. He flipped when Shalon gave him the lip in the ladies. Then he saw certain physical similarities between us and came after me."

Lorna huffed. "Not very logical, if you ask me."

"Murderers never are," Adrian said.

"Ah, bah."

"We don't often agree, but Ike is right," Gary said. "Cancelling a dinner is one thing, trying to spook the tourists with a marble head is something else entirely. But sabotaging the brakes? That's criminally stupid."

"Murderers usually are," Adrian added some variety to the theme. "You'd be surprised how little thinking goes on in those minds. Half of them are flat out gobsmacked when they stick their knife in somebody's ribs, and suddenly there's a corpse on the carpet."

"I doubt Brian is capable of getting smacked in the gob," Brigitte said. "He's a walking time-bomb."

"Always was," Gary said. "That's I why I didn't want to embark on a business relationship with the chap. In principle, he wasn't wrong. Today's tourism market isn't big enough for both of us. Actually, that reminds me of something I need to tell you."

The table fell silent, eyes turned his way.

"You know me, I'm not the world's biggest risk taker, but as an entrepreneur, one doesn't have many options."

Sniggers exploded all over the place.

"Will you let me finish? I've closed down the travel agency. We're running solo with the tour operating business. To make it work, I'm planning to take over Serious Study Tours. With your permission, of course, ladies, you're all partners."

"What?" "Whoo!" "À l'attaque!" was the more distinguishable comments.

Adrian had buried his head in his hands. His shaking shoulders gave Gary reason to believe matters were not totally desperate, at least not yet.

"These ideas are all hot off the press. We'll discuss details tomorrow when we're soberer."

"Hungover you mean." Ike waggled the pitcher with the remains of the mulled wine and pulled a face. "Drat, only the dregs left."

"Story of my life." Adrian seemed to have recovered his composure. "How is that supposed to work when you lot are already stretched beyond limits?"

"Well, if we didn't have to cope with murderous morons the whole time, things might be a tick easier," Gary said. "Somehow, Brian hired a very competent office manager. She was about to quit, but I persuaded her to stay. She can take care of the day to day running of both companies. We need to look at which of their tours are profitable, he seems to be all over the place, and that will require some, uh, consolidation. But there seems to be a market out there for more traditional trips heavy on the educational angle. That should give us a baseline income and some security to develop LiteraTours. I think, in the long run, we've got the better concept, we're just a bit new."

"Does that mean I don't have to shepherd any more people?" Strangely enough, Ike looked disappointed.

"Hey, what about us?" Lorna and Aline chorused.

"Ike, don't get your hopes up, we'll need you for the bespoke excursions offered by LiteraTours. I would fervently hope you can work with me on the concept and planning. Same applies to Aline and Lorna. Your talents are wasted cooking the books. I need you for the research and supplier liaison. Please say yes."

"I haven't heard that," Adrian said. "The bit with the book-cooking, I mean."

"And what about poor little moi?" Brigitte asked.

"You're responsible for the logistics, the fleet arrangements—plus, of course, you'll need to continue with your lovely little bus. We'll get a second driver for LiteraTours, but the other gang operates with local coach hires and that's a bit of a nightmare."

Brigitte rubbed her hands. "They'll find me a bit of a nightmare."

Lorna rose. "Somehow I knew we would need the bubbly. You had that maniacal gleam in your eye, Gary, the one that always tells me you're up to something. Could somebody please go and fetch the bottle from the river?"

Bubbly on top of mulled wine? He could only hope his in-laws never learned of this. Otherwise, they'd confiscate Jon because his father had turned into a drunkard.

###

Two days later after the memorable evening (and an even more memorable hangover), Ike parked her little hybrid on the curb in front of Gary's house, a cardboard box situated in a Potter's field of broken domestic dreams. The place was reasonably clean yes, insofar as there were no graffiti and not too much litter in the street. But boy, how much more boring could one get? Grey sky, grey tarmac, rows and rows of the same rabbit hutches lined up with regimental precision, each carefully keeping exactly the distance required by zoning regulations and not an inch more.

The wind swirled shrivelled leaves around her feet only to give up again as if those houses had sucked the energy right out of the atmosphere.

"Warf?" Boris, unimpressed by the overall mood, cocked his leg against a lamppost.

"Okay, boy, let's see what his lordship has cooked up for us."

Literally cooked. She understood from Lorna that this was to be considered a memorable occasion.

It made her uneasy. What was Gary after?

Well, officially they were to talk shop, discuss the third tour to Du Maurier country. And the new arrangements.

But otherwise?

It might be easier to just leave, call and feign a headache.

Not very professional.

So not her.

She squared her shoulders and marched up the path, lined with uneven grey tiles that already crumbled at the edges.

Pushed the bell button. Heard something gong inside the house. Called the butterflies swarming her stomach to order. No need for a flutter. Only her partner, his staid lordship inviting her to a business meal.

Cooked by himself.

Footsteps echoed from inside.

The door opened, a rectangle of light, savoury smells and welcoming warmth in the drizzly fog.

"Hey," said Gary, his Husky eyes all aglitter.

"Hey," she said in response, feeling foolish.

"Woof," said Boris.

"Chrrchchch," said something at Gary's feet.

The dog exploded with barks, ripped the leash from her hand, barged inside and immediately formed part in a hairy fuzzball, rolling along the corridor, hissing, spitting and growling.

"Gladys, stop that!" Gary yelled.

"Boris, heel!" Ike shouted.

THE END

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