“A lot,” Ollie said. “But those are all years old. Unless your ex was plotting this back in 2010, I don’t think he’ll be in there.”
“He’s not my ex,” Simon muttered. He reached forward and then paused.
Ollie pulled an awkward face at me. “Sorry,” he mouthed.
Simon was still frowning at the takeaway boxes. “Who ate all the poppadoms?” he asked.
Ollie burst out laughing. “Oh, my friend, you are in the presence of the world’s premier Indian side dish fiend. Put a samosa, an onion bhaji, or a poppadom near him and it’s gone in a second. Those poppadoms were as good as eaten the second I brought them into the flat.”
I blushed. I mean, he was right. God, I loved poppadoms.
Ollie was laughing but Simon was giving me the strangest look. He wasn’t angry, he was … interested. A new fascinating fact about Arden.
“I like Indian food,” I muttered into my files of names.
After we’d told Ollie the full story, which had taken the best part of an hour, he’d been on board to search the files. He’d given me plenty of looks over the past six hours, he’d muttered asides, and there had been several moments where I was concerned he was going to start asking awkward questions, but mostly he’d been well behaved.
When the boxes had arrived, Simon had turned into a different person. Gone was sullen, emotional Simon and in was workhorse, detail-orientated Simon. I realised I knew so little about him. I didn’t even know what he actually did. What was a spy anyway? Somewhere between James Bond andSpooks?
Did he go on missions, with a gun and a licence to kill? Did he sit behind a computer all day and analyse text messages from bored Muslim teenage boys in east London in case they googled Syria one too many times?
I had no idea. What I did know was that he was probably quite good at it. He’d spent six hours going through filing without so much as a back stretch, whereas my pampered, work-shy hands were blistered, darling, blistered from having to touch all this coarse paper.
“Can I get anyone another drink?” Ollie said. He stood, stretched, let his T-shirt roll up a bit to show his flat stomach and then walked past me on the way to the kitchen. As he did, his fingers glided over my shoulder. It wasn’t sexual, just affectionate. A long-standing habit of his, from the moment we’d got together. I nearly closed my eyes in the comfort of it.
Of course, Simon saw all of this and glared.
Needing a break, I too stood up and went into the bathroom for a piss. I splashed water on my face and tried to rub the tension from my temples. My head ached. My body ached even worse. Ollie had asked for more details on my alleged accident. I had demurred but eventually said, “You know what Kenny’s like. He saw a squirrel. I’m lucky he didn’t yank my arm out of my socket.” He hadn’t believed me.
So far, at least, Ollie and Simon had been somewhat civil to one another. Which was a bonus.
When I’d rung Nigella to tell her that it was likely our trip to London was an all-nighter, I’d left them alone for nearly ten minutes. I had come back to the living room with no one missing any teeth, so I assumed they had behaved.
Nigella had, of course, wanted information as to why she was now a dog-sitting service. “We might have a lead,” I said. “Actually, we don’t have a lead. Which is a lead in itself.”
“Good God,” she said. “This is likeHouse of Cards, please tell me that none of you are playing the Kevin Spacey role?”
I left the bathroom and came into the living room, where it was just Simon. “Ollie’s upstairs peeing as well,” he said and took a gulp of his beer.
Ollie had set out a new bottle for me. I took a swig.
“You two still seem very close,” Simon said. He fiddled with the label on his beer.
I shrugged. “As I said, we were practically married.”
“He’s still in love with you,” he said in a voice devoid of expression. “He’s devoted to you. You could turn up here covered in blood with a severed head in your bag and he wouldn’t hesitate to get the bleach out.”
I frowned at the mental image. “Very death-orientated, aren’t you, Simon?”
He shrugged. “It must be nice,” he said after a few seconds. “To have someone love you like that.”
I flopped down on the floor again. “It didn’t stop him from screwing the intern, so no, it wasn’t really that nice.”
The door to the bathroom upstairs opened, and Ollie made his way back down. I took another swig of my beer to make sure I kept my mouth shut.
We worked for a few more hours. At 3 a.m. I called time. “This is useless, and we’re no closer to any clues.”
“You’re right,” Simon said, which surprised me. “Let’s call it a night.” He took out his phone. “I’ll see if I can find a hotel for a few hours’ kip. I don’t think I can drive.” Simon had only drunk two beers over the course of the evening.
