acceptable.’
The shoot supper proved less disastrous than Myers feared. The meal was a buffet as Sir Maurice had requested. ‘I prefer it this way,’ he explained to Myers. ‘Gives everybody a chance to circulate and chat, if anyone can talk above this racket.’ He winced as a fresh wave of sound from the DJ’s speakers assailed them.
‘Led Zeppelin not to your taste?’ Myers asked in a muted roar.
‘Not bloody likely,’ the baronet screamed back. ‘Give me The Beatles or The Beach Boys any day.’
With typical generosity Sir Maurice paid for most of the drinks. Myers didn’t abuse the hospitality. He wasn’t used to drinking, and although he’d only had a couple of pints, he knew one more would have him on the edge of indiscretion. As his gaze turned towards the door of the function room he noticed a couple standing by the lift. He stared at the man’s face which was in profile. He couldn’t be sure, yet the resemblance was uncanny. His senses swam. It couldn’t be the same man. He felt physically sick. As the man entered the lift he turned full face towards Myers.
Myers’ eyes dilated as a cold murderous rage overcame him. He began to walk through the foyer, his eyes fixed on the closing lift door. Someone attempted to speak to him. They were saying something, he wasn’t sure what. He pushed them aside as if they weren’t there. At that moment nobody existed for Myers except the man he’d just seen. The man he hadn’t seen for nearly nine years.
He reached the lift and watched the indicator. It passed the first-floor mark, and continued smoothly towards the second. It passed that, and Myers knew the couple’s room was on the top floor of the building. He turned and sprinted towards the stairs. He took the shallow treads two at a time in his haste to reach the third floor; in his haste to get to the man he was going to kill.
It had been the worst possible Christmas for Lisa Andrews. She found herself working the oddest hours and returning home at the strangest of times. She couldn’t really object. She knew that Nash and Superintendent Edwards were working even longer shifts. With no easing of the staff problems, the position was getting worse, rather than better.
She certainly wasn’t expected home at midday two days after Christmas. If she had been, her boyfriend Donald would surely not have invited her neighbour Jackie into Lisa’s bed. The row that followed was witnessed by the other occupants of the flats. Donald was flung out on to the pavement, wearing little but anexpression of pain from the kick in the genitals that Lisa had delivered. Jackie bolted into her own flat and locked the door before Lisa’s wrath turned on her. Lisa had flung Donald’s car keys and clothing out of the window to him whilst he squirmed with embarrassment. No, Christmas had certainly not been good. Her only respite came from having to work the long, busy shifts, distracting her from the desire to strangle her ex-lover and her ex-friend.
Donald phoned her several times. Begging for forgiveness, reconciliation, a meeting, a chance to explain. Eventually, wearied by his persistence, she agreed to meet him for a drink in the bar of The Golden Bear on the evening of December twenty-ninth.
The meeting wasn’t a success, only the public place preventing Lisa from starting a slanging match. Tersely she told him, ‘Donald, why don’t you piss off back to Leeds? I don’t want any more to do with you. You can come to the flat tomorrow morning at 9 a.m. Your belongings will be outside on the pavement. Be there; or they go in the nearest skip.’
After he walked disconsolately away, Andrews finished her drink and stood up to leave. As she moved towards the door of the public bar she glanced across the foyer and recognized the man heading for the lift. It was another man who’d broken a promise and lied to her. ‘I want a word with you, Mr Myers,’ she muttered. When he turned and raced towards the stairs,
The shoot supper proved less disastrous than Myers feared. The meal was a buffet as Sir Maurice had requested. ‘I prefer it this way,’ he explained to Myers. ‘Gives everybody a chance to circulate and chat, if anyone can talk above this racket.’ He winced as a fresh wave of sound from the DJ’s speakers assailed them.
‘Led Zeppelin not to your taste?’ Myers asked in a muted roar.
‘Not bloody likely,’ the baronet screamed back. ‘Give me The Beatles or The Beach Boys any day.’
With typical generosity Sir Maurice paid for most of the drinks. Myers didn’t abuse the hospitality. He wasn’t used to drinking, and although he’d only had a couple of pints, he knew one more would have him on the edge of indiscretion. As his gaze turned towards the door of the function room he noticed a couple standing by the lift. He stared at the man’s face which was in profile. He couldn’t be sure, yet the resemblance was uncanny. His senses swam. It couldn’t be the same man. He felt physically sick. As the man entered the lift he turned full face towards Myers.
Myers’ eyes dilated as a cold murderous rage overcame him. He began to walk through the foyer, his eyes fixed on the closing lift door. Someone attempted to speak to him. They were saying something, he wasn’t sure what. He pushed them aside as if they weren’t there. At that moment nobody existed for Myers except the man he’d just seen. The man he hadn’t seen for nearly nine years.
He reached the lift and watched the indicator. It passed the first-floor mark, and continued smoothly towards the second. It passed that, and Myers knew the couple’s room was on the top floor of the building. He turned and sprinted towards the stairs. He took the shallow treads two at a time in his haste to reach the third floor; in his haste to get to the man he was going to kill.
It had been the worst possible Christmas for Lisa Andrews. She found herself working the oddest hours and returning home at the strangest of times. She couldn’t really object. She knew that Nash and Superintendent Edwards were working even longer shifts. With no easing of the staff problems, the position was getting worse, rather than better.
She certainly wasn’t expected home at midday two days after Christmas. If she had been, her boyfriend Donald would surely not have invited her neighbour Jackie into Lisa’s bed. The row that followed was witnessed by the other occupants of the flats. Donald was flung out on to the pavement, wearing little but anexpression of pain from the kick in the genitals that Lisa had delivered. Jackie bolted into her own flat and locked the door before Lisa’s wrath turned on her. Lisa had flung Donald’s car keys and clothing out of the window to him whilst he squirmed with embarrassment. No, Christmas had certainly not been good. Her only respite came from having to work the long, busy shifts, distracting her from the desire to strangle her ex-lover and her ex-friend.
Donald phoned her several times. Begging for forgiveness, reconciliation, a meeting, a chance to explain. Eventually, wearied by his persistence, she agreed to meet him for a drink in the bar of The Golden Bear on the evening of December twenty-ninth.
The meeting wasn’t a success, only the public place preventing Lisa from starting a slanging match. Tersely she told him, ‘Donald, why don’t you piss off back to Leeds? I don’t want any more to do with you. You can come to the flat tomorrow morning at 9 a.m. Your belongings will be outside on the pavement. Be there; or they go in the nearest skip.’
After he walked disconsolately away, Andrews finished her drink and stood up to leave. As she moved towards the door of the public bar she glanced across the foyer and recognized the man heading for the lift. It was another man who’d broken a promise and lied to her. ‘I want a word with you, Mr Myers,’ she muttered. When he turned and raced towards the stairs,
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