| Call Me Daddy
© Xeen EPILOGUE If she was out of town, she would not leave with a rucksack, her passport and her credit card, he thought. Now that she had transformed over night into this outstanding sophisticated young woman, there was no turning back. She needed a lot more than the minimal stuff she was used to carrying around when she was on the job out of London. Hence the baggage BTP found --undamaged. Undamaged was the key really. Jack was right, she might have been attacked, mugged, ransacked, kidnapped – or else. Out of foolish positive incoherent expectations, he was bracing for the worse and trying to avoid any sign of commiseration. Rumour has it he was bad luck and that Havers was doomed from the start because of him. Half the Department was on the look-out, patrols have been dispatched to Acton and to Saint Pancras and he was informed on an hourly basis of any progress on the other side of the Channel by his colleagues from the Police Judiciaire in Paris should she had taken the Eurostar and reached her primary destination. He managed to retrieve his cup from the coffee machine without burning his hand or spilling half of it on the fresh pressed trousers he always kept in his office in case of emergency. Giving an absent nod to the new guy from accounting, he strolled as leisurely as he could to his office wishing he had met Lafferty or Winston on his way back. The wait was killing him and he could have used some support from her friends and colleagues now that everyone blamed him. But with everybody already looking for her, chances were he was not going to find someone to talk too any time soon except for Evans or Hillier and that was the last thing he wanted. An exuberant voice and vigorous slamming of doors made him raise his head to a very familiar figure. “Sorry I’m late, sir. Something was wrong with my clock, well, I guess,” Havers pondered with a big grin, “and Jack did not bother to wake me up this morning,” she added cheerfully. She was standing before him, in her battered parka, her hair dishevelled, in her plain ordinary baggy trousers and zipped sweater, her huge shoulder bag crossed over her chest. “I guess he was called early on some case, there were coppers crawling from every single crack of the road this morning. Never seen so many in one spot,” she laughed. “To make matter even worse, I had to take the tube, can you believe it but my car literally died on me. Well, anyway… --I’m glad to be back to the Met. What did I miss? Any idea whom I’m going to work with? And where is everybody?” She went to her desk, Lynley trailing in her wake, and threw her coat and bag on the back of her chair. The bag opened and a free daily, two energy bars, a water bottle and a small pack of tissues fell to the ground. She did not make a move to put them back in and simply shrugged. “What’s wrong sir? Am I wearing my sweater inside out?” She made a show at looking at her reflection in the glass door behind her and tucked her hair behind her ears in a very typical gesture. Hands inside her jeans pockets, she tilted her head, pouting her mouth. “I have to confess that my last week in Cornwall was awful if you don’t mind me telling, sir, I mean I don’t want to be rude, you know with your Cornish roots and all. But I don’t see how even you could have put up with these caricatures of police officers. They did everything they could to ruin my investigation, can you believe it? Those retarded pricks,” she added, slumping down on her chair. “What in heavens are you doing Havers? Why are you here?” “Hey! Good morning to you too, sir. You beat me for the coffee, I see. Did you get one for me already by any chance?” “Havers, please, will you stop for a minute. Why are you back? I mean, how can you possibly be here?” “Huh… I work here, remember? Why do you ask? Miss me already?” she grinned. Lynley sat his cup on her desk and put his hands on her shoulders. “Would you just calm down… --please? Were you in Saint Pancras International?” She stared at him quizzically. “Why would I? I don’t need to connect to Saint Pancras to get to the Met.” He sighed. “Tell me, I know the doc gave you clearance and you’re supposed to be…” She frowned. “Wait a minute. What doctor? What are you talking about? I’m fine, thank you very much. Want to send me to the doctor? You’re having a bad day or what?” Lynley exhaled soundly and sat on the edge of her desk. He grasped his drink more nervously that he would have liked to and took a sip, peering at her over the rim of the cup. She was real and she seemed unharmed. His mind was in overdrive. The present situation reminded him why he was not fond of science fiction --at all. There’s nothing logical or predictable in science fiction. When you watch a science fiction movie or read a science fiction book and really enjoy it, you must be prepared to confront an impending ultimate threat that writers enjoy using --the fantastic reset button. If it was written somewhere in the great book of inescapable events that it might happen in real life, why did it have to happen to them? Well, possibly it was not so bad after all, he thought. Lots of things had happened during these last weeks which should be best forgotten. He plastered a smile on his face. It was easy. Havers was a real eye-catcher this morning despite her shapeless clothes. “Please, would you come to my office, we must have a talk,” he said smile finally reaching his eyes. “Make yourself comfortable, I will get you a coffee.” “Extra sugar please,” she said. THE END Thank you for your support ;) |
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