Santa

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

This was no way to spend a Sunday morning. A wave of stale-food gas spilled out for her to breathe as she opened the doors of the bus. She’d brought a plastic sack for the trash and started to pick up the packaging. She doubted Max Muswell’s men would show. It wasn’t yet nine-thirty and in any event there was nowhere to plug in a vacuum cleaner. To clean the windows would take at least an hour. She heard a vehicle pull up and looked out. All she could see was a deep-blue Bentley Continental. Max got out and went to the trunk where he found a rechargeable hoover and a bucket overflowing with polishes and aerosol cans. He handed the bucket to Justin and climbed on board.

“Morning.”

“Where’s the two ace car cleaners?”

“This is it. You’re looking at them.”

“You said you’d send the guys who do your Rolls-Royce.”

“Exactly. Did you think I’d let some monkeys with a bit of dirty rag get near my cars?”

“You clean your own cars?”

“Yeah, and we do our own teeth, wash our own clothes, and do our own shopping.”

“I’m impressed.”

“If ever you want to help with the shopping you’re welcome. I’ve had a lot of unexpected trouble in the bagging area.”

She stared at him. Did he remember that he’d filed a complaint against her? Had it registered that she’d lied about Leroy Prentice? She would be in ocean-deep s**t if the complaints bureau caught her talking to him. Yet, here she was chatting to him while he helped her clean the bus. He’d already begun a vigorous attack with the vac while Justin diligently polished the windows. Somewhere, bouncing between the front and the back of her mind was the fact that he’d told his son she was pretty. Then he’d clearly manipulated a situation so that the lad could tell her. She found a surface cleaner spray and worked on the handrails. She couldn’t stop herself taking a few long looks at him. He was strong and powerful. His thick forearms flexed and rippled as he worked. His neck had an aspect of tree trunk and his pale blue T-shirt was tight across his pecs. He took a couple of calls on his cellphone. His manner was curt and decisive. He didn’t raise his voice but seemed to ram the words like fists into the ear of the other party.

“Well done, son, but you’ve missed a bit back there,” he said to his boy.

Justin scampered back and perfected his work.

Should she raise any of their mutual issues? Should she raise the plight of the unfortunate wretches who worked at Meadowchef foods? This was a matter of humanity as much as it was police business. The questions kept churning in her mind.

“Right then, Paula. Job looks good to me. I believe you have to drive the bus over to Tooting? I’ll follow you in the Bentley and drop you back home. Or, if you’re not busy it’s a lovely day and I fancy a stroll along the beach at Brighton. We could all nip down there for the afternoon.”

Was this an invitation to a date or what? Obviously he would include his son.

“I’m on duty at two.”

“I bet you could get off if you wanted to.”

“If I wanted to.”

His eyes scrutinized hers. Desperately she tried to hide the inescapable truth. She did want to. The police owed her several missed rest days on account of extra duties following recent terrorist attacks in London. It was a Sunday so she had no specific appointments. She could call in and see how they were fixed for staff and use one of her days. If she wanted to.

“Max....”

“Paula....”

“I’m not supposed to talk to you. You’ve filed a complaint against me.”

“That’s all in the past. That’s all over.”

“It’s not that simple. I’ve been served with a formal notice and the system grinds on.”

“Nah, I’ve already called a guy. It’s in the trash. The guard was wrong and Meadowchef has signed an apology.”

Paula felt as if her mouth had dropped open.

“Apology? What, you? You wouldn’t eat humble pie if it was the last morsel in the world.”

“A man’s got to do what a man’s got to do.”

“Who did you call?”

“Ghostbusters of course.”

She suppressed a giggle.

“But I know you spoke to Melissa Prentice.”

“Who?” he answered with a wink.

“OK, Max, here’s the deal breaker. As a human being I’m concerned about those poor sods working in your depot. Forget the cops and the immigration authorities. I’m talking about me as a woman. If they’re on the table for conversation, I’ll come with you.”

“Nothing’s off the table, but not this afternoon. Justin needs a bit of air out of London.”

“When will you talk?”

“When you come out for dinner on Tuesday.”

“Is that an offer of a date?”

“I guess it must be. I’m a bit out of practice.”

“It won’t be the sort of place to talk about the McCarthy brothers.”

“So you know the shape of the problem? Great minds think alike. I’ll cook some Thai fish soup with jasmine rice.”

“At your place?”

“Yeah, I’ve got a cooker and everything.”

She pulled out her cell and called the duty officer at the station. It was fixed. She was free.

“Is this the worst mistake I’m ever going to make?”

“That depends on how I cook the rice. Long grain is so much easier, but I hate to chicken out of things.”

This man confused her. He was strong and proud, but could admit to error. He was generous and kind, yet he exploited poor powerless people. There was a dangerous element to his personality, but she felt safe in his company. He didn’t have that coiled spring of violence in him that she could always sense in unpredictable psycho-types. On the other hand he had an anger that paced up and down like a caged lion behind his intense eyes. More confusing than him was the surge she felt in herself. She hated to admit it but his proximity alone made her aware of her body, her breasts, and her s*x. On the bus last night when he’d been behind her she’d become a little damp and OK, she’d thought about him when she’d soothed her tensions and loneliness at dawn. Even worse, he wanted her. She could feel his s****l power when he looked at her, as if he could just will her to give way to him. She was equally fearful and thrilled about what he might unleash in her.

“OK, driver. Take me to Brighton via Tooting.”

Without warning he leaned in and kissed her cheek.

“Thanks, Paula.”

“If you were a government minister I could run to the papers now and get you busted.”

“Not if you kiss me back.”

“I could lie.”

“You’ve got form for that I must admit.”

“Oh, all right then,” she said as she pecked his cheek. “That’s for getting all the kids a meal last night and having the good manners to help me clean up.”

“This is the best Sunday morning I’ve had for years, maybe ever.”

She smiled at him and didn’t say she didn’t feel the same way.