what do you want to eat?’
Lindsay studied the menu with delight. There were all the traditional favourites like black pudding with scrambled eggs, mutton stovies and haggis. But there were also vegetarian dishes, and new variations on old themes, like spiced chicken stovies – a mixture of potatoes, onions and spiced chicken pieces. Just reading the list made her mouth water. What a change from pasta and pizza, she thought happily. Eventually she settled on haggis with mashed potatoes and turnips.
While they were waiting for Cosmo to return, Sophie turned to Lindsay and asked, ‘Have you given any more thought to what you’re going to do for a living?’
Lindsay shrugged. ‘Not really. I don’t think I can go back to being a journo, though, even if they wanted me. My heart just isn’t in it any more.’
‘You could always become a private detective. After all, you’ve solved two murders so far. I can just see you with the snap-brimmed trilby and the bottle of Jack Daniels in the desk drawer. And just think of the perks! All those beautiful blondes falling at your feet,’ Sophie teased.
Lindsay pulled a face and shook her head. ‘No thanks. I’m looking for a quiet life these days.’
‘You came to the wrong place then,’ Cosmo interrupted. ‘What can I get you ladies – sorry, women – to eat?’
Having given their order to Cosmo, Sophie steered a path through the crowded bar towards a doorway at the rear. Lindsay followed her into a remarkable room. The far wall and the sloping roof were made of glass, and the other walls were covered from floor to ceiling with plants trained over trellises. Chattering groups of people sat on white garden furniture with brightly coloured cushions. Before she had a chance to take it all in, she cannoned into Sophie who had stopped dead.
Sophie turned on her heel and tried to usher Lindsay out of the room. But she was too late. Lindsay had already spotted the reason for her abrupt, awkward halt. Sitting at a table on the far side of the room were two women, deeply engrossed in conversation. It was obvious to the most casual observer that they were a couple. She had never seen the slender blonde before. But the woman sitting opposite her was as familiar to Lindsay as her own face in the mirror. She felt her stomach lurch and fought the desperate urge to be sick. Without even realising she was doing it, she shrugged off Sophie’s restraining arm and purposefully crossed the room.
Neither of the two women registered her presence till she was only feet from their table. Even then, it was the blonde who looked up first. When she saw Lindsay, a series of reactions flashed across her face in a moment. Curiosity was overtaken by bewilderment, bewilderment by shock, and shock by a strange mixture of relief and amusement. Her companion was slower to realise they had company, since Lindsay had approached from behind her. She turned in her chair and her eyes widened. ‘Lindsay!’ she gasped, pushing her chair back and getting to her feet. She gave a nervous half-smile, apparently incapable of further speech.
‘Hello, Cordelia. Fancy meeting you here. That explains why I couldn’t find you in London,’ Lindsay said with ice in her voice.
The blonde woman got to her feet and extended a slim hand. ‘Hello, Lindsay. We’ve never met before, but I’ve heard a lot about you …’
‘I bet you have,’ Lindsay interrupted savagely, ignoring the outstretched hand.
Undaunted, the other continued. ‘I’m Claire Ogilvie. Jackie – Jackie Mitchell, that is, told me a lot about you. That’s how I came to meet Cordelia.’
‘How fascinating,’ Lindsay said with heavy sarcasm, mentally slotting Claire into place. Jackie’s girlfriend, the lawyer. Portia with a Porsche. Cordelia had obviously had her fill of working-class heroes and reverted to type, Lindsay thought furiously. In a cold voice she said, ‘Well, don’t let us interrupt your intimate little tête-à-tête. Come on, Sophie,’ she added, turning away. ‘We’ll find somewhere more congenial to eat.’
‘No, wait,’ said Cordelia, finally finding her tongue. ‘Don’t go, Lindsay.’
‘Why not? You’ve obviously not been counting the minutes till I got back, have you?’
‘I think you’re being a little unfair, Lindsay,’ Claire said. ‘Why don’t you calm down and sit down and we can discuss this like adults?’
‘Discuss what?’ Lindsay demanded, her voice rising. ‘Discuss your relationship with the woman I have just discovered is my ex-lover?’
‘Lindsay,’ Sophie said in the soothing but firm voice she’d developed years ago to deal with drunks in casualty. ‘Cool it. Either let’s go now, or else sit down and have a drink.’
Lindsay, struggling with a mixture of anger, disappointment and hurt, abruptly sat down, followed by the other three.
‘When did you get back? And where have you been?’ Cordelia asked. Even to herself, her questions sounded empty and irrelevant. But she didn’t know what else to say. Seeing Lindsay again so unexpectedly had left her floundering in a welter of emotions that she could neither separate nor identify.
‘I got back a week ago,’ Lindsay replied in weary tones. ‘I tried to phone a couple of times en route, but I kept getting the answering machine, and it didn’t seem the appropriate way to break the silence. When I got to London, I went straight to the house, but you weren’t there. I rang your mother, but she didn’t seem to know where you were. Your agent said you’d gone away for a couple of weeks, she wasn’t sure where either, so rather than hang about in London on the off-chance that you’d be back, I drove up to Yorkshire, gave Deborah her van back and collected my MG. Then I went to see my parents and came back to Glasgow. I’ve been in Italy. By myself, which is more than I can say for you,’ she added bitterly.
‘My God, you’ve got a nerve,’ Cordelia said. ‘You vanish off the face of the earth for nine bloody months and you expect to come home like the prodigal daughter and find everything exactly the way it was?’
‘Obviously I was wrong, wasn’t I? You knew exactly why I went to ground. For God’s sake, I left a letter explaining what the hell was going on. And I sent you a card to let you know I was safe.’
‘One poxy card in nine months! I could recite it from memory. “Weather stunning. Natives friendly. Hope to get over to London to see you soon, but life is hectic right now. Be patient!”’ Cordelia flashed back sarcastically.
‘I was trying to protect you. I didn’t want them leaning on you to turn me in,’ Lindsay replied defensively.
‘How noble!’ Cordelia retorted, grey eyes cloudy with anger, generous mouth uncharacteristically pursed.
‘I did what I thought was right. I didn’t expect you to jump into bed with someone else the minute my back was turned,’ Lindsay accused.
‘What the hell was I supposed to do? Answer me that! How long was I supposed to wait before I started to put my life back together again? Have you any idea how much time, energy and money I spent trying to find you? I rang everyone I could think of, I went everywhere I thought you might be. I even went to bloody New York!’
‘And how long did it take you to steal Jackie’s girlfriend?’
Both Claire and Cordelia looked shocked by Lindsay’s question. But it was Claire who collected herself first and said in conciliatory tones, ‘It wasn’t like that. I was looking for you, and a mutual friend introduced me to Cordelia, who was in Glasgow at the time, also trying to get a lead on your whereabouts. So we joined forces and spent a lot of time trying to track you down. But you made a good job of your disappearing act.’
‘And what the hell business of yours was it where I was?’ Lindsay snapped, stalling while she took in what Claire had said.
‘Jackie asked me to find you.’
‘So why couldn’t she look for me herself if she was so desperate?’ said Lindsay defiantly. She remembered Jackie Mitchell well – a hardworking, hard-bitten journalist, well capable of fighting her own