Falloir (Passion Noire Book 2) (19 page)

She said I don’t know what I’m talking about and that he needs to be handled more carefully. Then, she said that just because I’m his uncle, it doesn’t mean that I get to take over his care. She was almost growling by the end. I tried to reassure her that I hadn’t even thought about that and that I had no plans to change anything. She gave me a look that said she didn’t believe that for a second before she delivered her parting shot, implying that I’d dropped an emotional bomb on him and then I was fucking off.

I didn’t bother to point out that I was going to try to find a way into Thierri’s compound that didn’t break her rules. I’d just hightail it over there when the dogs were preoccupied—they need to eat! Then I’d break in either into the ground floor or if the dogs came running, I’d climb a drainpipe and break in upstairs. Either way would work for me. Unless it was a mission where my presence was to be concealed, even after I’d left, the simplest methods were always the best, and never underestimate the benefit of the element of surprise.

But no, Veuve wouldn’t let me do anything that might be too shocking for Thierri. It had to be low key and low drama. I argued the point that it could take much longer to do things her way but she won’t budge. So here I am, doing her bidding and wondering where I get to spend the night. There’s no getting away from it—my options are severely limited. I’ve got less than £50 in cash and I can’t use any of my cards at a hotel or to withdraw cash. If they did see me do a runner, using my cards would flag up instantly at HQ and I’d be surrounded within minutes. The local area would be flooded: a game of hide and seek in my honour. Even if I manage to leg it, they’re not stupid—they’d track me on security cameras—my shaved head and dodgy plates wouldn’t fool them.

Finding somewhere to tuck my car away, out of sight was probably my only reasonable option. Although I’ve not slept in my car before, I’ve slept in much worse environments so it wouldn’t be that bad. Hopefully, Veuve will take pity on me and allow me to shower and wash my clothes—this hot weather will exacerbate that requirement. Otherwise, I’ll have to peruse a charity shop for some spare clothes and pop into the local leisure centre, pay for a swimming session in order to obtain a shower. Then, a trip to the local launderette to freshen up the clothes I’m wearing. With less than fifty quid in my pockets and the need to buy food and drink to keep me going, I know that I don’t have more than a few days without looking and smelling like a wild thing.

I notice the younger girl placing her handbag on the reception desk and putting a cloth bag inside. I recognise the type of bag. My eyes flick to the building at the end of the precinct. She’s off to the bank to make a withdrawal. Maybe they pay some or all of the staff in cash. Whatever. I can’t miss the opportunity to speak with her away from the eyes and ears of the battle axe.

I exit the car and jog over the road towards the bank. I look in the window of the estate agent next door until I see her exit the office—you couldn’t miss that bright ginger hair, especially when the sun’s on it. Shit! I remember that I’m wearing brown contact lenses. I’m not sure how much difference it will make but the fairer sex usually go wild over my natural eye colour. I turn away from her and attempt to fish the things out without either dropping them or poking myself in the eye. I manage the first but not the second. Fuck, that hurt. She’s almost upon me and my eyes are bloodshot and watering like you wouldn’t believe. As I try to wipe them dry, I curse the fact that I’ve left my sunglasses in the car. I must look a right fucking state—I’ll probably send her running for cover. Vanity induced karma.

I turn and, before I have chance to cover her in charisma, I see a look of compassion flood her pretty face.

‘Are you okay?’ she says, her hand reaching out to rest on my upper arm. She has a cute voice, especially since it’s full of genuine concern.

I give her a tight smile then shake my head. She rubs my arm and asks whether there’s anything she can do to help. I almost grin as an idea begins to take shape.

‘I was looking to see whether they had anything with a low rent for a single guy who’s down on his luck. I caught my girlfriend cheating on me with my best mate and, since she moved out, I can’t afford my flat. Typically, I’d left my job because we were supposed to go off on a world backpacking tour for a year—her idea, I’d only agreed because I’d do anything to make her happy. So no job and an airline ticket sitting there mocking me. Well, it would be no fun to go alone now, would it? And I think it would bring up the memory of finding them in bed together ... Sorry, that’s the hardest part. Anyway, if I lose my flat, how on earth can I find work?’

As I’m speaking, her brows have raised and then plummeted into a sad frown. She’s pouting in pity as she shakes her head. Her kind-hearted commiseration is so sweet that I can’t help but feel a bit guilty for feeding her a pack of lies and tugging at her heart strings.

‘Sadly, with all the cut backs, there aren’t many openings for a well-qualified male nurse. I’ve managed to get some shifts in a care home, covering for staff on their summer holidays but there’s nothing for the next couple of weeks. I was going to try the nursing agency,’ I nod my head, ‘but the receptionist scares the hell out of me. I’ve walked up to the door twice but bottled it.’

She laughs. ‘Yeah, Pam intimidates most people but she’s okay once you get to know her. Her bark is worse than her bite.’

I gasp like a first year in stage school. ‘You know her?’

She smiles and her whole face beams. ‘Yeah. I work there. As you say, summer holidays cause staffing shortages. I have a pile of applications after we advertised last week ... but you’ve had such a terrible time lately. I’d like to help, if I can. I know it won’t solve your problems because it won’t be much but it might help you to keep your flat while you find something permanent.’

I reach out and take her hand in mine. ‘Really? You’d do that for me?’

She gets all bashful, lowering her eyes as she smiles into the burgeoning blush on her cheeks. ‘You’d have to fill out an application form and we could do an Adult First check until your enhanced check comes back from the Disclosure and Barring Service. We use the Adult First system all the time for new starters, so you can start before we get your check back. We have a high staff turnover. I must warn you, the pay’s not great and you’re responsible for your own travel expenses. But it’s better than nothing, I suppose. Oh, have you had one done in the last six months? For the care home you worked at maybe?’

I nod but don’t want to commit. I’ve not had to get a fake DBS certificate yet, they’re too new, so I’m not too sure how difficult it would be.

‘I’ll take a look at home but wow! Are you sure? Do you have any jobs for a male nurse at the moment? I could do with something as soon as ... I’m already behind with last month’s rent. I don’t think I’m going to get much more time from the landlord before I’m evicted. Oh, do you pay weekly? Monthly? Cash or bank transfer?’

‘Weekly in cash for casuals. I’m just on my way to the bank now to withdraw wages. Come on, you can keep me company. I hate walking out of the bank with a load of cash. It properly creeps me out. I’d feel safe with you.’ Her eyes lazily take in my physique before hastily flicking back to my face as though she’s just realised that she’s openly ogling my body.

I give her a huge smile. ‘I think I like the idea of making you feel safe. I like being able to do something for you to repay your kindness.’ I hold out my arm. ‘Shall we?’

She smiles shyly, her cheeks still holding the remnants of her blush. Then she puts her arm through mine and we walk the short distance to the bank. As she gets served, I stand back a little, giving her some privacy. I need to find out who it is that visits Thierri. If I can’t persuade her to let me do it instead, I’ll have to find some way of putting him out of commission for a day or two.

We walk back to the office. She couldn’t seem more grateful if she’d tried—all I did was walk a couple of hundred metres with her. She is obviously very scared of being set upon for the cash and I’m not surprised. She’s a young, shy, slip of a thing. They should send the receptionist instead—nobody would tackle that lipsticked Rottweiler in a hurry. She’s glaring at me before she snaps, ‘Yes?’

I ignore her but ... I realise I haven’t asked for the girl’s name ... she tells her I’m here to see her.

‘There’s nothing in the diary,’ Battle Axe moans. ‘It would be nice if people would follow procedure.’

‘Yes, Pam. I agree and I’m sorry. It was purely an oversight. With Jerry on holiday, I’m juggling everything but I’m doing the best I can.’

The human Rottweiler pulls a face before bringing a lipstick up to her sour face and slathering on even more of that disgusting bubble-gum pink shade she seems to think makes her look attractive. I get the picture: she sits there doing precisely nothing while Jerry, who I guess is the boss, is sunning himself on a beach somewhere, leaving Little Miss Coppery Hair to do everything. I feel even worse for manipulating her and I vow to make sure that there’s no fallout for her if and when it blows up after I’ve been face to face with Thierri’s sister. I’m a hard case but I’m not a complete bastard ... not unless I have to be.

I follow her into an office that’s so small it can barely contain the two desks and the bank of filing cabinets that dominates one wall. She takes a seat behind one of the desks and I slump into a chair facing her. I note the plastic nameplate on her desk ... Miss Brittany Jones. At least her name will be easy to remember, well, the surname anyway. I note how well labelled the filing cabinets are and that they all have the key left in the master lock in the top corner. Brittany distracts me when she picks up a thin sheaf of papers.

‘These are the applications for casual work over the summer. I’ve not gone through them properly yet but I know there are a couple of males. I doubt they’re as well qualified ... or as lovely as you.’

She blushes furiously when she says those last few words.

‘Thank you, Brittany ... what a lovely name you have. Are you named after the place of the same name? If so, you’re well named. It’s a beautiful part of France.’

Her face turns a deeper shade of puce as she shakes her head. ‘No. I don’t think my parents have even been to France. I think a couple of weeks in Spain on the Costa del Sol is about all that they’ve managed.’ She laughs awkwardly before admitting shyly, ‘I’ve not even been out of the country. I’d love to go to New Zealand. There’s something about the scenery that intrigues me. I watch Lord of the Rings over and over, just to admire the place.’

Time to cut the chat and move this on a pace.

I nod and then frown. ‘That was one of the places my ex and I were going to see on our big adventure.’ I speak deliberately quietly ... in my humble opinion, it sounds suitably sad.

Her hands fly to her face. ‘Oh my God. That was so insensitive of me ... I’m always opening my big mouth. I didn’t mean anything ... oh shit.’

I wave it off. ‘I’m okay. I mean ... could you give me a moment to get myself together? This is so embarrassing. You must think I’m a complete wimp. Maybe a cup of tea would help ...’

She’s out of her seat and heading back towards reception, where I’d seen a kettle and assorted drink-making paraphernalia.

‘Of course ... I mean ... I don’t think you’re a wimp. I mean I’ll make some tea. Give me two minutes.’

‘A decent sized mug if you have one. White please. Two sugars.’ I don’t want you coming back in before you need to.

She nods furiously then disappears into reception and I’m reaching forward for that pile of applications. I daren’t get up yet—she may come back while the kettle’s boiling. I doubt it since I asked for a moment. I find an application from a guy who’s only a few years younger than me. He’ll have to do. He looks respectable enough. His name’s Phillip. Phillip Mortimer. I memorise his address and date of birth before folding his application and tucking it in my jeans pocket. Sorry Phillip, needs must.

Then I’m up. From the looks of it, if the labels on the cabinets can be believed, I have two ways of finding out the information. Thierri’s file and the file of the nurse who’s seeing to him. For the purposes of getting inside, I need the nurse’s information but I have no idea of his name so I go for Thierri’s file in the appropriate cabinet marked current clients. It makes for very interesting reading but I don’t have time to read it all. I tear out a few pages and pocket them before locating the nurse’s file.

Irritatingly, I notice that the nursing staff all have passport-sized photographs attached to their files. I need to find a way past that. I locate nurse Gareth’s file. I memorise his name and address and take a good look at his photograph. He fits with the guy I saw through binoculars while scoping out Thierri’s but, after committing his close up to memory, I would know him if I saw him on the street. I shove his file back and, just as my arse has made contact with my seat, the door opens and Brittany pops her head around it.

‘Is it okay to come back in now?’ she asks. I mean, it’s her office for God’s sake. God knows what Battle Axe out there is making of this.

I nod and give her a smile as I jump up to hold the door open for her. She smiles her thanks before placing two mugs of tea on the desk. She seems keen to get on with business ... either the lipstick-wearing Rottweiler has said something or she’s keen to get this over with before she upsets me again.

She fills me in on the terms and conditions of the job. I pay attention so that I don’t slip up in conversation, but other than that, I don’t care. As soon as I’m inside Thierri’s, that will be the end of my employment ... or rather, Phillip Mortimer’s. I’m given an application form to take away, complete and then return with a passport-sized photograph, my passport and my driving licence. I expected this ... they’d be a pretty shit nursing agency if they didn’t follow safeguarding procedures. But Brittany is young, impressionable and easily manipulated. Jerry should know better than to swan off and leave her in charge.

I should know better than to take advantage. Yeah, I know. My only defence is that I need to speak to Thierri urgently. This isn’t about his will. This isn’t about Helene or Veuve’s feelings. It’s about keeping Veuve safe from that monster ... and, after learning about Thierri’s past from Mack, it’s also to find out what, if anything, Thierri knows about this Ross, who is responsible for the kidnap, child prostitution and murder of my sister. If, at the time Sandy disappeared, he was such a big fish in a medium-sized pond, he might well know something.