“Oh God, Ned,” Luca said. “I didn’t plan for this to happen.”

“Of course you didn’t,” I said, stretching again. “But, I told you, I’ll be fine.”

The cramp finally eased, and I smiled at him. His worried expression improved slightly, and he lifted the rest of our stuff into the car.

“Now, tell me,” I said, changing the subject, “what do you know about Irish telephones?”

“Not much,” he said. “Why?”

“I wondered if you knew if they have area codes so you could tell where a number was in the country.”

“All I know is that Irish mobiles start with 86 or 87 after the 353.”

So Paddy Murphy’s number hadn’t been a mobile.

“How about 42?” I asked him.

“I don’t know,” he said. “Ask the Internet. Google it. If it’s an area code, it’ll be on the Internet.”

“Thanks,” I said. “I will.” Now, why didn’t I think of that?

“When are we going to have our little chat?” he asked.

“About what?” I said, knowing the answer but wanting him to be the one to raise the subject again.

“A partnership,” he said.

We were standing together behind my car at quarter to ten at night with fading light after a busy evening’s work.

“Not now,” I said. “I’m too tired, and too sore.”

“When, then?” he persisted.

“Tomorrow afternoon, we’re at Uttoxeter,” I said. “Do you want to come to me first, and I’ll take you up?”

“Fine,” he said.

“We’ll talk in the car on the way,” I said. “Unless Betsy’s with us.”

“I somehow doubt that,” he said.

“What about your flat?” I said.

“No prob. That’s one hundred percent mine. She can go home to her mother.” His tone implied that the relationship was indeed well and truly over.

“Right, then,” I said. “I’ll see you tomorrow. Be at my place by eleven.”

“Are you sure you’re OK?” he said.

“Positive,” I replied. “Now, get on home before you miss the train.”

“OK,” he said. “See you tomorrow. ’Bye.”

He strode off towards the railway station, and I watched him go.

Was my life going to be with or without Luca? Would it be the same or different? Worse or better? Safer or more dangerous?

Time, and tomorrow, would tell.

15

Imade it to the hospital in time for the last fifteen minutes of the news.

Sophie seemed so pleased to see me and jumped up and threw her arms around my neck when I arrived.

“Oh, I’m so glad,” she cooed. “I thought you must be not coming, as it’s so late.”

“There was a pop concert after racing,” I said. “Masses of people, so it took a long while to pack up and get out.” But it had helped make the traffic lighter, I thought.

I sat down next to her, and she held my hand as we watched the last few items and then the weather. Neither of us wanted to say anything about the results of the assessment. We were both afraid of pre-guessing the result only to then be disappointed. But, from my perspective, Sophie was now as well as I had ever known her over the last ten years.

I realized that for the first time in a long while, I was completely relaxed around her.

Even when she had been home in the past, I had been ultracareful not to do or say anything that might upset her. I had become the true expert at walking on eggshells.

But things seemed different this time. She seemed stronger emotionally. It was almost as if she had been helping me through the ordeal of the previous day’s assessment rather than the other way around. Perhaps it was time to discuss the possible outcome. Time to grasp the nettles of life, and never mind the stings.

“Still no news, then?” I said.

“No,” she replied. “It’s very frustrating. All the staff here can’t understand it. They all think it’s a foregone conclusion that I should go home.”

“So do I,” I said. “Darling, you seem so much better now than for a very long time.”

She smiled at me with genuine happiness, and my heart went flip-flop once more.

“I know,” she said. “I feel absolutely wonderful, and these new drugs are great. Far fewer side effects than before. And I don’t feel so bloated by them.”

Could I really hope that life’s previous bumpy up-and-down roller coaster was now going to run smooth and flat? It was far too soon to believe that, but at least the starting signs were good.

“Have a nice day at Uttoxeter tomorrow,” she said as I stood up to leave.

“I will,” I replied, giving her a kiss.

I debated in my mind whether to worry her about Luca. I really wanted her opinion, and I suppose she had a right to know if I was about to become a fifty percent partner rather than a sole proprietor of the business.

“Luca Mandini wants a full partnership,” I said.

“Does he indeed?” she said. “He’s still very young.”

“He’s twenty-seven,” I said. “That’s not so young. And he’s good. Very good.”

“Do you think you’ll lose him if he doesn’t get it?” she asked.

“Probably. He’ll either start up on his own or go to someone who’ll give him what he wants.”

“But can you afford it?” she asked.

“Yes, I think so,” I said. “I would save on his salary, and it wouldn’t be a whole lot different moneywise. I already give him a sizable share of the profits. But it would mean I’d lose some of my independence. We’ve been doing very well lately with him running the computer. I don’t really know enough of that side of things. If Luca left, I suppose I could always employ another assistant who does, but…”

“But not as good?” she said.

“Probably not,” I said.

“Seems a no-brainer to me, then. Give him what he wants.”

“You really think so?”

“Sure,” she said. “Can you afford not to? Luca won’t be able to simply walk away if he’s a partner, will he? But make sure you tie him down with a contract so it costs him to leave.”

Tie him down with a contract so he can neither leave the business nor destroy it with dodgy dealings, I thought. I had decided against telling Sophie about Internet outages, mobile phones that wouldn’t work and fixing the starting prices. I also failed to mention fists and steel toe caps in the Kempton parking lot. There were still limits to what was prudent.

But I was glad I’d asked her about Luca. Crystal clear business thinking had always been her forte-when she was well, that is-and her current advice seemed as sound as her present mental state.

“Thank you,” I said to her. “I’ll do just that.”

We kissed good night, a joyous, loving kiss.

On this occasion, she was not even fed up at me for leaving her behind. I think we both knew she would be coming home with me on Monday, and a couple more days or so wouldn’t matter.

Dundalk, the Internet told me. Paddy Murphy’s telephone was in Dundalk. I further discovered that Dundalk was some fifty miles north of Dublin on the northeast coast of the Irish Republic, close to the mouth of the Castletown River and not far from the border with Northern Ireland.

My computer also told me that Dundalk was the biggest town in Ireland that was not actually a city, with a population of about thirty thousand. Within the surrounding area, the 42 area code, there were nearly half a million people. I could hardly turn up in Dundalk asking for someone called Paddy Murphy, now could I? If I did, it would probably be me they would be throwing in the loony bin.

I was sitting in my office after another undisturbed night in Station Road.

I remained highly concerned about Shifty-eyes. I was under no illusions that he would have given up in his search for the money. Consequently, I had once again slept with the chair from Sophie’s dressing table wedged under the bedroom door handle. I had also left the cash in the cupboard beneath the stairs just in case he turned up with his twelve-centimeter knife. Perhaps he could then have been cajoled into taking the money without also using my body for target practice.