Page 86 of The Love Letter
‘Fine. Then it might be easier if I drive you to the school this afternoon. I think your son might think it strange if he notices me tailing you.’
‘Okay.’ Zoe bit her lip. ‘And the other thing is, I don’t want any members of my family to know either. It’s not that I don’t trust them, but—’
‘You don’t trust them,’ he finished for her, and they shared a smile.
‘Exactly. Goodness, this is going to be so difficult. I mean, my friend and I are going shopping tomorrow. Do you have to come along with us too?’
‘I’m afraid so, but at a discreet distance, I promise.’
Zoe sipped her coffee. ‘I’ve actually started to have much more sympathy for the royal family and those connected with them. It must be a ghastly feeling, having no privacy in your own home and out of it.’
‘They’ve grown up with it, accepted it as part of their lives.’
‘It can’t be much fun for you, either. I mean, what about your home life? Do you have a wife, a family who misses you when you’re away?’
‘No. A lot of the chaps in this job tend to be single.’
‘I’m sorry you’ve got such a boring posting. I can hardly see international security agencies having my name on their hit list. I mean, nobody even knows about Art and me.’
‘Yet.’
‘Yes, well, it’ll stay that way for as long as I can make it,’ she said firmly, then stood up. ‘If you’ll excuse me, I need to go and do some stuff before I –we– pick up Jamie.’
22
Marcus spent Friday afternoon turning his own flat upside down. He’d looked at the area of wall in the sitting room where he’d remembered the ‘builder’ packing up his tools on Sunday evening, and it was indeed right next to his landline cable.
Eventually, he too found a small, black button-shaped device, hidden in the underside lip of the coffee table. He removed it carefully, marvelling at the minuscule electronics within.
Joanna arrived after work and Marcus put his finger to his lips and showed her a jar of instant coffee, then gingerly picked out the bug he’d buried in the dark brown granules.
‘Now, darling, why don’t you take a shower before we go out to dinner?’ he said loudly. ‘And when we get back, I’m going to paint you from head to toe in chocolate sauce and lick it off.’
She grabbed a pen and a sheet of paper from her rucksack and wrote in bold letters,Can’t wait. Then with a raise of an eyebrow, she placed the pen and the note on the side table in full view of Marcus, before heading to the bathroom.
The following morning, after a quick coffee and toast that Marcus had brought on a tray into bed, they dressed and walked along the road to catch a bus to Welbeck Street. Having found seats, Marcus turned to her with a serious expression.
‘I know we’ve had some laughs with this bugging business, but it makes me feel sick that they’ve been listening to every word we’ve said.’
‘I know. Surely it’s illegal to tap phone lines and place bugs? Could we call the authorities and tell them?’
‘Hardly! The “authorities”arethose that placed the equipment there in the first place.’
‘Oh Marcus, I should never have dragged you into this. It’s all my fault.’
‘No it isn’t, darling.’ Marcus felt a pang of guilt surge through him. He looked down at Joanna’s head resting against his shoulder and wondered whether he should just tell her about his meeting with Ian, and the money he’d been given.
No. He’d left it too late already. She’d only be furious with him – might end the relationship . . .
And Marcus simply couldn’t bear the thought of that.
‘Hi, you two, come in.’ Zoe led them inside the house. ‘Shall we go straight off? I’m tingling to get to the shops.’
‘Absolutely,’ Joanna replied as Zoe ushered them both through to the kitchen.
‘Jamie is upstairs in his room, playing on his computer. Should keep him happy for ages. I’ll just nip upstairs to say goodbye and get my coat, then we’ll be off.’ As Marcus lit up a cigarette, Zoe frowned. ‘And please don’t smoke around Jamie.’
‘Christ! I’m doingyouthe favour,’ Marcus said tetchily. ‘Don’t be too long, Jo. I can think of better ways to spend a Saturday than babysitting my nephew.’ He winked at her.
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