Blackstone's Pursuits by Quintin Jardine Read Free Book Online Page B

here she was, this woman I had met in the most bizarre circumstances a few hours earlier, taking her place, perhaps at the head of them all.
    She looked out across the southern aspect of Edinburgh, across Arthur’s Seat, up the ragged line of the Old Town’s rooftops, up to the craggy Castle on its flat-topped hill. She breathed deeply of the evening air. She took my arm, and squeezing it, leaned against me, laying her head on my shoulder. ‘It’s good to be back, partner,’ she said, softly and musically. ‘If only for now.’
    There was nothing I could say to add to the moment, and so, for once in my life, I said nothing. Instead, I eased her gently into one of the two green wooden folding chairs on the balcony. I stepped back into the house and trotted down to the kitchen, re-emerging from the loft a couple of minutes later with two glasses and my prize bottle of reasonably good champagne. It had been a present from a lawyer client, and had been languishing in my fridge since Christmas, awaiting an appropriate moment. I balanced the glass on the balcony’s broad wooden rail and filled them carefully. Handing one to Prim I raised the other in a toast. ‘You’re back; so welcome,’ I said. ‘I hope that it’s for good.’
    She looked at me for a long time, the glass pressed to her lips. ‘We’ll see,’ she said at last. ‘When I left a year ago, it was because I didn’t have anything to stay for. For now though, as I say, I’m glad I’m back.’ She sipped the champagne and nodded in polite approval. We drank in silence, looking out over the park, watching the joggers on the Radical Road, until the sun slipped round the comer of the loft, and the balcony, and my shivering palm tree, fell into shade.
    ‘Come on,’ I said. ‘Let’s go on a pizza hunt. D’you fancy a walk first? Along Princes Street?’ She nodded. I left her outside for a minute or two while I changed into my pub-going gear, then, locking up everything but Wallace’s cage, we headed out and up towards the old High Street. ’You got that fiver?’ I asked as we left.
    ‘Too damn right!’
    ‘Well look after it. Don’t spend it, or anything daft like that.’
    She gave me a woman’s smile which made it clear that there was no chance of that happening.
    It was Thursday, and so, although it was evening, the city was bustling with shoppers. We walked arm-in-arm, up towards St Giles, turning on to the Mound and down the long flight of steps which led down to the National Gallery and to Princes Street beyond. The pavement outside the record shops and bookstores towards the West End was thick with people and so we turned up Castle Street and along Rose Street, until it opened out into Charlotte Square.
    ‘Drink first?’
    She nodded. ‘I could slaughter a pint.’ ‘Oh Jesus,’ I thought, ‘this woman gets better and better!’
    We walked along the square’s south side and down the few steps to Whigham’s. As usual it was thronged. I excused my way up to the high counter and ordered a pint of lager for the lady, bartender if you please, and the same of the day’s guest beer, Old Throgmorton’s Embalming Fluid or something similar, for me. We found elbow space at a shelf beside the bar. Prim closed her eyes and took a deep swallow. ‘Not the same as champagne, but not too damn bad either,’ she said. ‘Okay, Osbert. Out with it. Tell me about your life.’
    I jammed my knuckles against my forehead. ‘Where shall I begin?
    ‘It’s pretty dull really. I’m twenty-nine years old, staring the big Three-Oh in the face. I was born in Cupar. My Dad’s a dentist and my Mum was a teacher, so I’m a real middle-class boy. When I was four, we moved to Anstruther, and my Dad lives there still. I meant it about my Mother being dead. That happened nine years ago. Dad was doing her teeth one Saturday morning, and he took an X-ray He found a shadow on her jawbone. From being perfectly well that day, she was gone in seven months.’ I