Simone arranged to pick me up around the corner from Hotel du Vin at 10 p.m. ‘Dress code blue, with masks.’
I said, ‘Masquerade.’ I thought ‘steamy’.
Bemused and clean out of suitable face gear, I deposited a chaste kiss goodbye on her cheek and headed into town to a party shop that I thought might be able to assist. The fog had lifted, replaced by dull, featureless light. To me, it looked exotic and beautiful. I wasn’t accustomed to feeling this happy, this turned on or open to possibility. Lately, I’d felt nothing much other than boredom coupled more recently with brief snatches of excitement. Was I entranced? You bet.
As I was about to enter the aptly named Party House my phone rang and, believing it might be Simone, I picked up.
‘It definitely wasn’t Mossad.’
I said nothing.
‘Hex, are you there?’
‘Yes.’
‘And Lars Pallenberg had no significant amounts of adrenalin in his system, I checked.’
‘Right.’
‘Can you talk?’
‘No.’
‘Can you meet?’
‘No.’
‘But we have to talk.’
‘We have nothing to discuss.’
‘We have plenty to discuss.’
Stalemate. Silence ticked between us like a bomb on countdown.
‘Look, I’m sorry. I treated you …’ she paused, unable to find the right word to describe how badly she’d used me. I didn’t help her out. ‘… despicably,’ she stuttered.
Good, that would do. Even better, she sounded contrite, unusual for McCallen. At the back of my mind it occurred to me that the call, her plea, was a ruse to lure me in so that the argument could recommence. The thought of having another energetic spat with McCallen was as appealing as drinking warm camel’s milk.
‘So can we meet?’
Too quick with the kiss and make up, I thought. ‘I’m busy.’
‘I hear what you say about Billy.’
‘Good.’
‘But someone is out to avenge him.’
‘I don’t buy it.’ I didn’t list why I thought she was wrong.
‘Are you saying that you don’t believe me?’
‘No, I believe you.’ I only said this because the alternative would lead to more discussion which would lead nowhere.
‘I’m telling you,’ McCallen said, ‘someone is trying to spook us.’
‘There is no “us”. Don’t include me in your mess.’
‘Won’t you hear me out?’
I stopped to think about it. Someone had definitely tried to kill me. Maybe I could use McCallen to find out who it was. ‘Not now,’ I said.
‘Soon?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Tonight?’
‘Otherwise engaged.’
‘Tomorrow.’
Tomorrow I’d be tucked up with Simone. Pessimistic by nature, I suddenly made a happy discovery: I was turning into an optimist. ‘Make it noon.’
‘Where? You choose.’
And because I was feeling mellow I decided to be nice. ‘Queen’s Hotel,’ I said.