| The Perfume of the Lady With Red Hair © Xeen Note: Lynley, Havers and theirs sort don’t belong to me. This takes place sometimes around “The Seed of Cunning” episode. I always wondered when watching the episode why Lynley would appear so protective of Havers.... -o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o- CHAPTER 3 It was an awkward moment but it did not last long. He disappeared to the top of the stairs and to his room, leaving her alone. She was glad he did. Seeing him in his underwear, it was an experience she really did not need to add to the list after what just happened at the pub. Soon he was back to the kitchen, wearing jeans and a nice striped sweater. He did exactly what he had mentioned on the front door and put the kettle on. She was expecting it was only a figure of speech and that she might eventually get her hands on a glass of something a little stronger, but that was all she got. She cupped her hot mug, feeling the warmth unwinding her uneasiness and relaxed. After all, he was still the same Lynley, and she was still Havers. Unfortunately, it was the problem, --who they were. She waited a few minutes for him to say something but he remained silent, absorbed in the contemplation of his tea. Some classical music was playing in the background and he was unknowingly beating the tempo with his left foot. “Sir?” “Sorry Havers, you were saying?” “I was not saying anything but I was kind of hoping that you would. I don’t want our partnership to dwindle down and end because of a stupid kiss. I mean, I’m really grateful for what you did and everything but…” “Yes, you’re right. I cannot even begin to express how much I’m sorry about what happened. I have not been myself lately. That’s totally inexcusable.” “I forgive you,” she chuckled. “I just want to make sure you’re not mad at me.” “It was my idea; you only ask for help, how could I be mad?” “Ok then. Now… can I have something more… well, -- you know?” “Whisky? Tequila? Dry Martini?” “Shaken, not stirred then,” she giggled. -o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o- She woke up to the silence. It was something she was not used to in Acton. She stretched her arms and rubbed her eyes and enjoyed the peace and quiet. She checked her phone for time and set her naked foot on the thick carpet. After a quick glance to the sky outside the window, she directly went to the bathroom and after a nice hot shower proceeded downstairs in search of Lynley. There was a note on the kitchen table. Make yourself at home. I had to go. Meet me at the Met. She repressed a grin. The last part read like just the title of a bad pulp fiction. She took her time to fix herself some breakfast and she was sitting in front of the bow-window when it hit home. It was Saturday, the case was closed and there was no reason to go to work or to the Met on a Saturday morning. However, the note was explicit and direct. She took her tea upstairs to brush her teeth and get her mobile. She rang him immediately. When he did not pick up, she left him a message on his voice mail. This was not her first time in Lynley’s apartment –technically, it was her first time since he’s been married to Helen though, but he usually did not leave her alone there to rush to 10 Broadway on a week-end. She was getting worried. She let herself out and closed carefully the door behind her. She found her car right the corner and drove herself to her office. It was a walking distance but she had to go see her mother and she preferred to have her car handy after meeting with Lynley. She toyed with different scenarios which would involve her presence but none seemed relevant. She parked outside and hastened to the lift. It could have been any other day at the Met. Most of her colleagues were busy and hardly noticed her presence until she answered her phone. Everyone was suddenly looking her way, glances and whispers were exchanged and she walked to Lynley’s office under close scrutiny. “Hello sir. What is it that was so urgent that you left me at your place without saying anything?” she asked. Lynley sprang from his chair and silenced her with a warning look. He took her by the arm and gave a circular look outside from the doorway to the detective pool before closing the door behind her. He was pale and seemed furious. She was wondering if she had done anything wrong since they parted the night before after a few drinks and no ill feelings about their odd evening. “Please,” he said, gesturing her to the chair facing his desk, “you better be sitting. Webberly called me this morning to make sure I would be able to make some damage control.” She shrugged. “Damage control? Is it about the missiles sir? They want to know how we got the file and why we lost it?” “I wish it had anything to do with the case Havers,” he sighed. “I don’t know how we’re going to get out of this in one piece, it’s probably going to be pretty bloody for the both of us, and I must apologize for this, because it is my fault, entirely.” “I don’t understand sir.” “Well, you’re aware that I am a public figure, and even if I’m not always in the limelight doesn’t mean I’m not a juicy subject for the tabloids. Public interest focuses on trivial things Havers, you know that don’t you?” She nodded, unsure of the direction this conversation was going. “Webberly called me to point to my attention some photographs published in a downmarket tabloid paper this morning and I’m afraid that the same photographs will soon be gracing the entire gutter press. Luckily, my name is not prominent enough to be tabloid material and we’re not front page, but yet, people will talk and you’ll have to brace yourself against nasty attacks in the near future. Sensational news are short-lived, and hopefully this will be all over tomorrow. Unless they pick up on something else pertaining to…,” he hesitated, “… us and then we’re on for a long unpleasant ride.” “You’re aware that I have absolutely no idea what you’re ranting about, aren’t you?” “Have a look. And we’ll talk.” She took the newspaper from his desk and deciphered the title of the last column on page four. She went beet red instantly and her stomach decided that breakfast had been a very bad idea. Paralysed by anger and shame, she waited a moment to regain some composure and turned towards Lynley who was fidgeting with a crystal paperweight. “It’s not true! None of this is true how could they?” she protested. She slumped back down on the chair. “How could they?” This was his turn to shrug. “That’s only sexual titillation. Unusual sexual affairs feed that type of press. It’s junk food news. That will go away very quickly. My lawyers are working already on the proper response.” “But about the photographs sir?” “Probably phone pictures. Not very good. At least the ones in the pub.” “They’re good enough, if you ask me. At least they seemed to be when if I can recall the look on about every face of the people working on the opposite side of this door sir! What about the ones where you’re in your underwear letting me inside your place?” “That’s the price of being famous Havers.” “That’s the price when you’re actually famous. Last time I check, I was not. And what about Helen? You have to call her.” “If we are in luck she won’t even know.” “I’m not supposed to put up with that,” she grumbled as she stood up. “You better fix that and fast. And when you’re finished, you’ll have to make it up to me. There’s no way I’m going to pay the price of being your Lordship’s sidekick by being trashed in the tabloids.” With that, she stormed out of his office and outside the Met. Lynley sighed, staring absently at the open door before him. It was going to be a very long week end. TBC |
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