Hotfoot off the early train from Wales, Josie was surprised by the changes in the Bird household. For a start, Phil was cheerful and animated in a way she'd never seen before. Then there were the bags of rubbish in the kitchen. She poked inside one and came across some women's clothing and lots of torn-up letters. And those ghastly photos of Deirdre had disappeared from the sitting-room.
Josie didn't comment, she was too concerned about Gavin.
'Why didn't you ring me earlier, Phil?'
'I tried.'
'Not very hard. You could have left messages. You could have rung the office.'
'Well, you could have rung too. You're meant to be engaged but he's been gone a week and you haven't been in touch.'
There was silence for a moment. Both parties sipped their coffee without tasting it.
'I'm sorry, Josie, I've been letting it all slide. I can't get that bloody woman out of my head.'
'Phil, that's all in the past.'
'So I realise. I'm cleaning up my act at last - look.' And he indicated the rubbish sacks.
'Deirdre stuff?'
'All of it. Letters, photos, clothes, the lot. Out with the old and on with the future. I'm determined.'
'Good for you.' Josie felt a rush of affection for him. He was so like Gavin sometimes. She kissed him on the cheek in a sisterly fashion.
'So where did he say he'd gone?'
'A funny-sounding place up north. He wrote it down for me - Blisswood-in-the-Dale.'
'Never heard of it. Why there?'
Phil shrugged. 'He wanted to get away from London and the whole mess. Get away from the reporters.'
'What do you mean?'
'Since the Rabbit did that article with his picture they've all been after him.'
'What article?'
'My my, Josie, you are out of touch.'
Upstairs in Gavin's bedroom Josie surveyed the scene with amazement. Newspapers and dirty takeaway food trays littered the floor. The bed was a jumble of muddy sheets and discarded clothes. The wardrobe doors hung open to reveal Gavin's work clothes hanging untidily and a pile of shins and ties lying on top of his shoes. Letters, some of them unopened, were piled high on the table in the window and the rug beneath it was strewn with discarded envelopes and balled-up notepaper.
Above the bed the entire wall was covered with newspaper cuttings featuring the Topless Raider in action. The headlines seemed to leap out at Josie: BIG BOOBS BRENDA STRUTS HER STUFF... YOU PINCH MINE AND I'LL PINCH YOURS... NAUGHTY NORA KNOCKS 'EM OVER... DON'T POINT THOSE THINGS AT ME!...
'Good God,' said Josie, angry. 'He must be ill. Why didn't you do something?'
Phil shrugged and said nothing.
Josie peered closely at the newspaper photographs. 'She's a fat cow,' she said.
Phil chose not to disagree. 'What are all those letters?'
'They were sent on from the paper. After the article appeared he started getting a lot of mail.'
Josie picked up a sheaf of papers and read:
Dear Gavin - I'm writing to say how sorry I was to read of your terrible ordeal. Obviously you are a man who appreciates the voluptuous female form and as I myself have often been told I am 'all-woman' in the bosom department I wonder if I can be of assistance...
Ooh, Gavin, you hunk - you can weep over my three-pennies any time. Just call 081...
My husband and I run a small amateur video business and I'm always on the lookout for new talent. Having seen your picture in the paper and read of your experiences, I wonder if you would care to recreate them for the small screen. I can guarantee that my own 44-24-36 figure will not disappoint a discerning 'tit-fancier' such as yourself...
'Bloody marvellous.' Josie threw the letters onto the floor. 'They are all from little tarts. No wonder he buggered off.'
'Well,' Phil looked embarrassed, 'I hate to tell you this, Josie...'
'Oh no. He didn't go off with one of them, did he?'
'Not exactly. But there was one letter in particular... It just said, "Sorry!" and it had a big lipstick kiss on it, you know, the imprint of a mouth. Gavin thought it had come from her. That's why he went.'
'Where?'
'I told you - Blisswood-in-the-Dale. That's what the postmark said.'
'Christ!'
The diary editor took the call because Robyn was still nursing her hangover in the loo.
'There's a Josie Twist waiting for you in reception,' he said as Robyn dragged herself back to her desk a few minutes later. 'My, you had quite a night of it, didn't you?'
If only you knew, thought Robyn. The Needle's reserves of single malt were to blame, she supposed, but it was the thought of what she had done with Mercedes and Alistair that really made her feel bad. She hadn't realised guilt could turn a person green.
'I don't know any Josie Twist,' she said.
'She says she's Gavin Bird's fiancee. And she's not going away till she sees you.'
'Oh shit.'
'Sounds like more Brenda copy to me: "My boyfriend can't get it up now he's gazed on the knockers of Nora." You do it so much better than me, of course.'
'Oh, fuck off, Crispin.' Nevertheless Robyn rose slowly to her feet and headed for the door.
Robyn had not given the missing fiancee any thought while contemplating the plight of Gavin Bird. She hadn't given Gavin much thought, either, since her piece about him. In any event she wasn't prepared for the beady-eyed party in red leggings and Doc Martens who came at her bristling with rage.
'Are you the slag who wrote this?' demanded Josie, waving a page of newspaper print in Robyn's face. 'It's inaccurate, insulting and bloody damaging.'
'Sit down, Josie, take it easy.'
'No, I won't. You don't know the trouble you've caused, you thoughtless bitch.'
'Well, I need a seat. You can please yourself.'
'I bet you fucked him, didn't you? You're all tarts on papers like this. You don't care who you screw to get the lies you print.'
'Come off it, Josie.' Robyn was not inured to this kind of abuse, though she had come across it once or twice. 'You know I'm not his type.'
Josie threw herself into a chair beside Robyn, scraping the feet on the wooden floor. By good fortune there was no one else in the reception area, though the uniformed porter at the desk was staring at them without pretence.
'And why did you write that stuff about me leaving him to face his ordeal by himself? That's just not true. It happened after I'd gone.'
'I'm sorry.'
'So you bloody well should be. If anything happens to him you'll be responsible.'
Robyn looked at Josie with interest for the first time. She was a pretty girl with loose curly brown hair and full lips. The big liquid eyes still blazed with fury but at least she had stopped shouting.
'Come on,' said Robyn. 'Let's go to Umberto's across the street. If I've got to grovel I need decent coffee.' And she made for the door.
As she ate the froth from her cappucino off a spoon, Josie told Robyn about Gavin's fan mail. 'It's all from women. Offering themselves to him, telling him they can cure his obsession with that Brenda cow, saying I'm no good for him. Making every kind of obscene suggestion they can think of.'
'And the Rabbit's been sending it on, I suppose,' said Robyn. 'I didn't realise. What does Gavin think about it?' Josie explained that Gavin wasn't around to express an opinion. He'd vanished over a week ago. After he'd received a particular letter.
'His brother says he was convinced it was from the robber herself. It wasn't like the others, it just said "Sorry" and was sealed with a lipstick kiss. That might identify her, mightn't it? Like a fingerprint. I haven't got it though, Gavin must have taken it with him.'
'So you think he's gone to find her?'
'Yes.'
'Where?'
'Aha.'
There was a silence. Despite the distant grumble of her headache Robyn was alert. This could be a red herring, of course, but she was alive to all sorts of possibilities.
'Where's he gone?' she repeated.
'I'm not going to tell you. He doesn't need the tabloid ratpack on his trail. This time I'm going to look after him.'
Robyn shrugged. 'You haven't got an address, have you? Just a postmark. How are you going to find him?'
'I'm quite capable, thank you.'
'I'm sure you are, Josie, but just think of the resources the Bunny can offer.'
'Such as?'
'Train fares, hotel bills, help with day-to-day subsistence. And if he's completely bonkers when you find him, a lump sum for medical expenses might come in handy.'
'Oh.' It seemed that none of this had occurred to Josie. She chewed her lower lip. 'What would I have to do?'
'Give me the exclusive story of your quest to rescue the man you love from the clutches of an evil woman.'
'And in the meantime I lead you to the topless cow and solve the biggest manhunt this country's had for years.'
'Boob-Hunt, darling, it's unique in the history of crime. We'll be famous. Anyway, I have a hunch I know where Gavin has gone so your story just gives me another angle.'
Josie stared at Robyn in disbelief. 'What do you mean; you know where he's gone?'
Robyn took a felt-tip pen from her bag and wrote on a napkin. She laid it carefully beside Josie's empty coffee cup and the girl's jaw dropped as she looked at it. 'Blisswood-in-the-Dale,' she read. 'Christ, Robyn, how the hell did you find that out?'
Robyn grinned and picked up the menu. 'It wasn't easy. While I explain to you the mysteries of investigative journalism, let's have lunch. I could eat a cow.'