I was drifting in and out of a doze. The phone was ringing. I lurched into the living room, stumbling against the sofa, wondering whether I should have gone to the gym. It was Yolande.
‘What are you doing this evening?’
Lena and I had made a loose arrangement to see each other in Fox’s wine bar in Church Street if all else failed. ‘Nothing,’ I said.
‘Do you want to come out for dinner? Nothing fancy, quite quiet. It might be … useful.’
‘Ah, now then …’ I began.
‘Can you pick me up at about seven?’ She said the name of a hotel in Russell Square.
‘Well …’
‘Seven it is, then. We should be at Sandra’s by about seven thirty,’ she said and there was a click as she broke the connection.
I held the receiver limply in my hand. Sandra? The Sandra who was Effo’s girlfriend? We were going to dinner with Sandra? I tried to remember what Yolande had said about Effo and Sandra. Effo got people to do his dirty work, Danny worked for Effo, Danny was a hit man, Terry Fleming was dead, well, missing believed dead. Did people like this even eat dinner? Or did they just eat other people? A small tingle ran down my spine.
I rang Lena to consider this development. Although Danny was no longer my client I retained as much client confidentiality as I could, but she had to know something so that she could take a properly informed view. At first she was most concerned that I was going out to dinner with a person who could sell sofas like the ones in the shop this morning.
‘Perhaps you should go for a walk round Heals this afternoon, as a form of inoculation.’
‘We’re not going to get that close,’ I said doubtfully, and explained about Danny.
‘So that’s two reasons not to go out for dinner with her.’
‘It’s not like that,’ I said. ‘She’s straight.’
‘That,’ she said darkly, ‘is what they all say.’
‘And she’s married.’
‘Three reasons then. Sofas, boyfriend and husband.’ She paused. ‘Well, if she’s really straight, why are you going?’
‘It’s just dinner. Nothing fancy. There’ll be other people there. Sandra … another girlfriend.’
‘Another girlfriend of Danny’s? Maybe that’s not so dangerous then.’
‘No, the girlfriend of another man.’ I explained the position – Lena knows she has to be discreet – about Danny and his history of serious offences, Yolande’s determination to prove him innocent, my interest in justice being done.
She sighed. ‘Was it wise to take a criminal case, after your last experience?’ she asked. Everything that had gone wrong the year before, from my arrest for murder through to my unsatisfactory relationship with Margo, could be traced back to a small drunk and disorderly case I had done at Highbury Corner magistrates’ court.
‘It’s all going to be fine.’
‘Darling, I think there’s a chance that Danny might not like you going out with his girlfriend. And might there not be the teensiest possibility that Yolande is up to something with this Sandra? They both have relationships with rather unpleasant men. Where do you come in? Look, sweetie, I’m not one to panic, as you know, but in this particular situation, isn’t there a risk that something fairly nasty might happen this evening and it might happen to you?’
‘But I’ve said I’ll go now. I’m picking her up.’
‘OK. Here’s a plan. You don’t go. You ring her back and say we have a date. Which of course we do.’
‘It’ll be fine,’ I assured her, starting to worry. Lena had called me ‘darling’ and ‘sweetie’ in the same breath, it made me feel vulnerable and in serious need of hot chocolate and someone to tuck me up in bed.
On the other hand, there was Yolande, with her blonde hair and ironic eyes. She knew what she wanted. I didn’t, but she did. I like that in a woman. Clarity of purpose, determination. ‘She’s cool,’ I said. ‘I know she has her own agenda, which is helping Danny. But that means she wouldn’t take me anywhere risky. I’m useful to her.’
‘Oh Frankie,’ Lena said, mournfully. ‘Well, take your mobile, make sure the battery is charged and keep it switched on. And, I can’t believe I’m saying this, tell that ex-girlfriend of yours, the Ice Queen.’ Lena had strong negative views about Kay. ‘If she’s his solicitor, she ought to know.’
‘Of course,’ I said. But, as I replaced the receiver, I told myself that Kay didn’t need to know just yet. What was there to tell? It was just dinner.
Guilt – or was it anxiety? – forced me to pull out one of my outstanding pieces of paperwork. Mr Burke had assaulted his partner and his two children and now they were in care and he was afraid the other foster children in the placement were a bad influence. He was raising Human Rights points, that he was being denied a family life and the family life the children were getting was a bad one. The eternal dilemma. Was it better for the children to be with a parent, even a not very good one, or in a rather bad placement in care? The mother wasn’t appealing. She was twenty, the children were four and two. I wondered if she would rather someone else looked after them for a while just to get him off her back. Maybe she wanted to live a little. I drafted a short advice saying I needed more information. I felt flat and chilly. I didn’t know if it was the sadness of some people’s lives or because I was really rather concerned about the evening to come.
Suddenly it was six o’clock. It was time to think about leaving.
I put on ‘Going to a Go Go’ and jumped into the shower in time to the drum beat. I thought about what to wear. Nothing fancy, she’d said. I’d stick to black, just to be on the safe side.
Before I left the flat I set the video to record a TV show about barristers, which I needed to be able to discuss in sneering detail in chambers (‘Oh that would never happen, as if a clerk would ever say that!’ ‘You’d never do that without a solicitor!’), but then I couldn’t find a tape to use. I decided I could probably discuss it without seeing it (not that I approve of that). A thought flickered through my mind that I might not be around to discuss it anyway, but I didn’t have time to dwell on it – I was already worried that I’d put on too much Ô de Lancôme. I switched on the radio to protect my home from intruders.
They say you’re in more danger in the home than out of it, so I was being positively sensible by going out to dinner
.
TENSaturday Evening – The Dinner Party
We planned the evening as we drove towards Hyde Park Corner. While I engaged Sandra and her other guests in deep, interesting conversation, Yolande would go and rifle through Sandra’s cupboards for something which, she assured me, was an important part of Danny’s case. Just normal dinner party activity.
‘I haven’t told them you’re coming,’ Yolande had said, buckling herself into the passenger seat, ‘or Sandra might have smelt a rat.’
‘Oh great,’ I said.