Maybe that’s what Joanna was looking for, Marcus thought with a jolt.
‘It might be, yes. Certainly the attic at Haycroft House is chock-full of boxes containing my grandfather’s memorabilia.’
‘Then perhaps it would be a good idea if you took another trip down there and looked through the boxes again?’
‘Hold on, how do you know that I’ve already looked?’ Marcus demanded. ‘Have you been spying on me and Joanna?!’
‘Marcus, old chap, like I said, the British government is just trying to resolve the matter as quickly and quietly as possible. For everyone concerned.’
‘Jesus!’ Marcus wasn’t reassured by Ian’s tone. ‘Is this letter going to start World War Three or what?’
‘Hardly.’ Ian’s features softened into a smile. ‘Simply an . . . indiscretion on the part of a certain young lady way back when, which the family would prefer to keep quiet. Now, there may be other places we are unaware of, trusted friends of your grandfather who might have been given the letter for safe keeping. The situation is so delicate that we have to keep the net tight. What I’ve told you tonight is on a need-to-know basis only. So any pillow talk with Joanna will veto our agreement and put you both in a . . . vulnerable position. We’ve chosen you because we know you are a man of discretion, with perfect and innocent access to places and people we cannot touch without arousing suspicion. And as I stressed before, you’ll be well rewarded for your troubles.’
‘Even if I don’t find it?’
Ian reached in his pocket and pulled out an envelope. He put it on the table. ‘There’s a small retainer to cover any expenses. Why not take the lovely Joanna off for a weekend away, wine her and dine her and find out how far she’s got in her search? Slowly, slowly, catchee monkey, as the saying goes.’
‘Yes, I get your drift, Ian,’ Marcus murmured, wanting to punch Ian on his patronising and oft-broken nose.
‘Good. And if you discover the golden ticket, what’s in that envelope will seem like small change. Now, I’ve got to head off, I’m afraid. My card’s in there too. Call me any time of the day or night if you have news.’ He stood up and held out his hand. ‘Oh, and by the way, not wishing to be overdramatic, but I should warn you, the stakes are high. Any leaks down the wrong drain and you could find yourself next to it in the gutter. Goodnight.’
Marcus watched Ian leave the room. He sat down abruptly, somewhat shaken by Ian’s final riposte. He gave in and ordered a whisky, feeling decidedly nervous, but as he took a large gulp, he comforted himself that at school Ian had always used fear tactics with the younger boys to subjugate them to his will. Yet, the teachers had seen him as a charming and caring individual. It was obvious that Ian hadn’t changed, but Marcus was now a grown man and would take his threats with a pinch of salt.
His fingers were itching to find out exactly how much was in the envelope. What if hecouldfind that letter, then pass it into the right hands? From what Ian had hinted, he could virtually name his price. It may give him enough money to turn his film into reality, and actually make a difference to the world . . .
He then wondered whether, despite what Ian had said about ‘leaks down the wrong drain’, he should come clean with Joanna and tell her about the past half-hour’s conversation. Then they could work together – no secrets from the start. But what if Ian found out? He didn’t want to put Joanna at risk . . . Perhaps he’d leave telling her for now, see how things developed and then make a decision.
What she doesn’t know can’t hurt her, he decided as he drained his glass. It seemed Ian had already paid the bill, so he picked up the envelope and went downstairs to the gents’ toilet. Locking himself in a cubicle, he counted the thick wad of notes in the envelope, his pulse racing. Five thousand pounds in twenties and fifties.
Of course, the next step was to see Zoe and find out what she knew about this letter – no longer just to please Joanna, but for his film project too . . .
Arriving by taxi half an hour later at Joanna’s flat, he could feel the envelope full of cash burning guiltily in his jacket pocket. He shrugged it off quickly and let her lead him into a cosy sitting room, where a gas fire had already been turned on and a large bowl of popcorn sat on the coffee table.
‘I’ve missed you today,’ Marcus said, then leant down to give her a deep kiss.
‘You only just saw me this morning,’ Joanna said, as she reluctantly broke her lips away from his.
‘May as well have been aeons ago,’ he murmured, dipping down for another kiss, but she ducked out of his reach.
‘Marcus, the film!’
He pulled out the old VHS tape that he had dug out of a drawer in his flat. ‘Let me say again, this is not a movie that sets the mood for romance.’
Joanna popped it into the VCR player then turned her TV on, and they settled down on the new sofa together, Joanna nestling her head against the crook of his shoulder.
Marcus barely noticed the first half-hour of the film, so intent was he on looking down at Joanna’s face, seeing her attention completely focused on what he had produced. He felt a knot of anxiety settle in his stomach. What if she thought it was rubbish? What if she thoughthewas rubbish? What if . . .
Finally, when the credits rolled up on the screen, Joanna turned to him, her eyes shining.
‘Marcus, that was amazing,’ she murmured.
‘Did you . . . what did you think?’ he asked.
‘I thought it was brilliant,’ she said. ‘It’s one of those films that really stays with you, you know? The cinematography was just gorgeous and so atmospheric, it really took you into the rainforest—’
Before she could say more, Marcus kissed her. Her mouth tasted salty-sweet from the popcorn as she kissed him back. The credits continued rolling on the TV screen, but the two paid no attention to them.
17
