âAs if,â he said. âSo tell me what you know.â
âMadonnaâs people are having hush-hush talks with estate agents about her buying a property on Loch Lomond. In the Drymen area.â
Giles raised one eyebrow.
âDonât do that, you look like Roger Moore in a bad Bond movie,â Rory complained. âItâs straight up. I got it from the horseâs
mouth. Well, the groomâs best mateâs mouth. But I know for a fact that Struther Wilson have been approached, and if theyâve had the word, so have other people.â
âIf itâs true, itâs not a bad little tale,â Giles said cautiously.
âItâs me youâre talking to, Giles. When you stand it up, itâs a guaranteed splash and you know it.â
His smile conceded. âHow much are you looking for?â
âA generous tip fee. Iâve got to split it with my source. Iâll leave the details to your sense of propriety.â
Giles pushed his dark blond hair back from his forehead. âVery trusting.â
âHey, I know youâre the only person under this roof who knows the meaning of the word.â Rory dropped her feet to the floor and stood up. âIâll leave you to it. Some of us have got work to do.â
He snorted. âCappuccinos to drink, more like. By the way, Sandra tells me you think youâre in with a chance with the woman across the landing.â
Rory shook her head. âIf you guys worked as hard at getting stories as you do at spreading gossip, Iâd be out of a job. Let me know how you get on with Madonna.â
Before he could reply, Rory was out the door. She had more than cappuccino on her mind, but that was none of Gilesâs business. She still couldnât quite believe in her encounter with Lindsay; it felt too good to be true. Her freelance business had begun to generate more business than she could handle alone, but she hadnât wanted to share with just anyone. Sheâd always been a loner, hiding her self-sufficiency behind a mask of easy charm, letting few people see the vulnerability and damage behind the façade. Sandra was one of a handful who had been allowed past the barrier of her public face, but Sandra was too much in love with the buzz of television to consider giving it up for the slog of freelancing. And there was nobody else that Rory had ever seriously considered working with.
But something had sparked between her and Lindsay Gordon, and it was something more than hero worship. Theyâd made an instant connection, and Rory still felt faintly baffled by the speed with which sheâd offered Lindsay a share in her closely guarded
world. She had no conviction that Lindsay would take up the invitation without more work on her part; her self-belief couldnât quite carry her that far. So somehow Rory was going to have to figure out how to entice her in.
Â
Lindsay dipped another crispy chip into the bowl of relish and turned another page of the paper. Sheâd been waiting over an hour for Rory, but it hadnât been a problem. Somehow, the restlessness that had afflicted her earlier had dissipated in the congenial atmosphere of Café Virginia. And besides, sheâd made good use of the time.
Sheâd limped in, her eyes roving round the bar area, taking in the décor that somehow managed to be stylish without being impersonal. Trance music played, not loud enough to make conversation uncomfortable. A handful of patrons sat on high stools at tables built on to the square pillars that supported the ceiling. A few glanced up as she walked in, but nobody gave her a second look as she made her way to the zinc-topped counter. Behind the bar, a woman with cropped black hair was stocking cold cabinets with bottled beers. As Lindsay approached, she turned and stood up. âWhat can I get you?â she asked.
âIâll take a cappuccino.â
The barmaid nodded and moved to
Learning to Kill: Stories