Barbara Silkstone - Wendy Darlin 02 - London Broil (6 page)

As I leaned in the passenger side window to negotiate the rate I was hit with the smell of incense and stinky bodies. The cabbie was a swarthy looking fellow with Rastafarian dreadlocks, crooked teeth, and dark sunglasses. The little hairs on the back of my neck did a jig, but I was desperate. It was a long hike to the hotel. Plus I was getting the creepy feeling someone might be tailing me. Maybe that Algy Green guy.

“That will be thirty-two pounds,” the cabbie said.

“What? That’s robbery.” I guessed the fanciness of my destination dictated the price.

“My mistake, mum… forty-two pounds.”

As I didn’t have another option, I agreed. I opened the back door and shoved my designer trash bag onto the seat and followed it in. Disgusting, creepy, ick. I tried to wedge my short dress between my thighs and the battered, germy, leather seat.

The driver did a wheelie and headed into traffic in the opposite direction from Hyde Park.

“Going the wrong way, fella!”

He ignored me.

“Stop!” I yelled.

We made eye contact in his rearview mirror. He was licking his lips.

“What do I have ‘kidnap me’ stamped on my frigging forehead? Let me out!” I demanded as he accelerated through the light and round a corner.

“Ain’t gonna happen!” I yelled.

He was forced to slow down and fall in line behind a row of cars. I judged his speed to be not quite fatal. I decided to jump.

Grabbing my trash-bag luggage and my purse with my right hand, I yanked the handle with my left and battered my shoulder against the door. Had he locked it? I choked on the sandalwood sweat-scented air as panic kicked in. The door squeaked in protest as it grudgingly opened. I rolled from the seat and fell cleanly away from the taxi, scraping my knee on the road and getting blood on my pretty tea dress. Blood. That would be impossible to remove.

The vehicle screeched to a stop. For a second, I thought the cabbie might run after me. Curious pedestrians stared at us, which must have scared him off. He pulled into traffic and disappeared. No one offered to help, they just cast half-glances my way. What is this, New York? I adjusted my clothes and stepped onto the sidewalk. I was in the middle of a sticky mixture of the antique air of London and diesel exhaust.

Slogging a few more blocks, carrying my bag, my purse, and an attitude from hell, I made it to the green of Westminster Bridge. I scurried across like a rat with a bleeding knee. My tongue was stuck to the roof of my mouth. My Cole Hahn jewel-toe ballerina flats were slipping off my feet from the sweat. My eyeballs were spinning and my heart was pounding. I looked like a typical American tourist.

I leaped a zebra crossing, thinking briefly of Benny’s skins and … where was Benny? Where was Samuel? Was that really blood in the kitchen?

I ignored the startled look from the doorman at the Mandarin Oriental Hyde Park Hotel and limped into the air-conditioned lobby. It was probably eighty degrees inside but it felt good. I adjusted my grip on my trash-bag luggage and staggered to the reception desk. Roger was standing there.

“Like your luggage,” he said.

“Shut up. This is no way to tote designer clothes and Gucci sandals. I grabbed a tissue from my purse and blotted my knee. “You still have impeccable timing. By the way, Benny’s disappeared.”

“You were supposed to check in here.”

“I didn’t have any choice.”

He reached for my trash bag. “Let me get that.”

I handed him my bag. “Let’s go find Benny. He might be in trouble.” I told him about the bloody knife on the floor and how I escaped from the second floor.

“The heat’s gone to your head. You’ve embarrassed me in front of my client by scuttling out his window. Is that a Miami-thing? One simple task and you blow it out of proportion.”

The smoke coming out of my ears had nothing to do with the heat. Mr. Know-It-All was refusing to listen. I hate when he does that. Which, unfortunately, is most of the time.

“We’ll call Benny when we get to my place. I’m sure there’s an easy explanation. He has a security system, so you were all safe. Maybe it was just curry on the floor.”

“I know the difference between blood and sauce.”

Chapter 14

I
worried about Benny for the whole hour we taxied to Roger’s flat, which was in a converted river warehouse. The apartment building sat on the seawall overlooking the Thames.

We hiked the stairs to the third floor. The door to his place was a rich cherry wood with a brass number “8.” The walls of his apartment were exposed brick, with light oak floors and darker oak beams that hung low and supported the loft above our heads. There was a contemporary-style fireplace and a white fur rug in front of the hearth. Greenery filled every corner and ledge. I wondered who watered them when Mr. Adventure was on his adventures. The place had clean lines, simple but posh, with an etched glass divider between the kitchen the main room.

There was a lovely view of Tower Bridge and the Thames. And best of all, it was a good distance from Harvey Nichol’s designer floor. Now that I was on a serious budget, it was important to keep my distance from Harvey and Harrods.

The master bedroom was a loft above the living room, with a floor to ceiling panorama of the river. A door to the left was open and revealed a study with an uncluttered desk. On the opposite end of the flat was a small guestroom facing the water.

Dropping my purse and bag, I collapsed onto a Swedish-style tweed sofa. Roger grabbed my hand, pulled me from my seat, and waltzed me around the room. I was dizzy from the heat and embarrassed to have melted off all my makeup. “What are you doing? Call Benny!”

“I’m dancing the happy dance with you. I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Have you been drinking? Call Benny!”

He kissed me on the cheek. “I’m sure it’s nothing, and Benny will insist I come right over. Do you know I’ve loved you since the first time I saw you?”

“Bull puppies! And, if you care so much, why don’t you believe me about Benny?”

“You have a tendency to dramatize things.”

“And you don’t, Dr. Drama?”

We both laughed. His reassurances about Benny were reducing my anxiety. It felt good to be with him again. Was it just our shared survival at sea, or was it something more? We made a good antiquities recovery team.

Seeing him in a different setting was playing havoc with my heart. It would be nice to have some private time together, to get to know him. I hesitated. An adventurer like Roger Jolley was not the safest place to invest my love. It would be hard for me to trust a man who led a globe-trotting life.

I glanced around his flat, “Are you American or British?”

“Would it matter if I were British?”

“Hell, yes! Say something in British.”

“I believe I have a Spotted Dick.”

“Take me. I’m yours.”

We crumbled onto the floor in silliness, but soon we were locked in an extended hug. A little nuzzling felt good. The afternoon sun lit up the room with a watery golden glow, adding to the magic of our stolen moments.

“Prepare to be boarded!” Roger laughed.

“If that is supposed to be romantic, I am so out of here,” I giggled.

He batted his killer eyelashes as he caressed my face. “Oh, Wendy, I’ve waited so long for this moment.”

“You’re laying it on too thick,” I said as I laugh-moaned. “Too hokey…”

“I guess I’m a bit of a cock-up.”

I roared as I rolled away from him. “You did not just say that.”

“What? Cock-up?” He kissed me and we both broke into hysterics.

“This will never do. You have to stop clowning.”

“Come here, you vixen!”

“That takes it! I need a shower!” I said as I pulled away from him. “I’m a sweat-ball from my hike across London. It will just take a sec.” I scrambled to my feet. “We have to get serious. Call Benny. Something might have happened to him. And a taxi driver tried to kidnap me.”

He rolled his eyes. “I’ll see what I can find out. Benny Hannah is not going disappear. He was probably running an errand. Imagine his surprise when he discovers you jumped out the window.”

He kissed my cheek. “The shower is in there.” He nodded his head toward a door to my right. “While you’re cleaning up, I’ll call him and explain that you’re in my custody now.”

As I turned, Roger grabbed me again. His fingers entwined with mine. “See how well our hands fit together. When I woke up this morning on the plane from Cairo, I was dreaming of being with you. It was so real, I was briefly confused.”

“Only briefly confused?” I said. Roger trying to be romantic was cornball, but I could imagine us together, a candlelight dinner, dancing the night away. The wretched man had me off-balance. My emotions were a labyrinth of unfulfilled promises I’d made to myself and then discarded. No more romances. And yet here I was, ready to fall again.

“Wendy, I’m a good lover. At least, I think I am. It’s been a long time.”

“Ah… a celibate archaeologist. Just what I was looking for.”

I let him kiss me full on the mouth, trying it out for size. I was just about to return the favor with an extra dollop of passion when the sound of a key turning in the lock sucked the gusto back down my tubes.

Roger slumped. “This is like being on Hook’s yacht. Never any privacy. Nothing but interruptions.”

My laugh was husky. “I have a little red call buzzer I push just to frustrate you.”

The lovely cherry wood door swung in, revealing a very large blonde. Balanced on high-heeled strappy sandals, she was at least four inches taller than me and had me by forty pounds. She could have eaten apples off of Roger’s head. She was wearing a pair of silicone boobs that should have applied for statehood. It was loathing at first sight.

The blonde looked at Roger. “You’re finally home. I thought you’d never get here. Who’s your little friend?”

Chapter 15

R
oger dropped his arms from around me. He was caught red-handed…wedged between a set of blondes.

Any warm fuzzies I felt turned into itchy caterpillars. I binned all the good feelings. They were in my mental trash container ready to be crunched.

“I told you about Wendy,” he said to Brunhilde.

“This is Wendy?” She said, snark dripping from her surgically enhanced lips.

Roger took a step back from me. His body language said it all. I arched one eyebrow and cut him a dead meat look. He would have stammered if he could speak. His mouth moved, but nothing came out. He looked as if he had sprained his jaw opening a jar of dill pickles with his teeth.

Blondie swaggered to Roger and threw her arms around him. “He can be such an adorable dork,” she said to me as she extended her hand. “I’m Darcy Bone, Roger’s partner.”

I cut my eyes to my Indiana Jones. “Dork.” It was a statement not a question. A hot flush rose in my cheeks like a vitamin-rush. “Excuse me.”

Time to catch my breath and swallow my tears. I headed for the loo. All my possessions I salvaged lay in a black trash bag on the floor of Roger’s living room. No way was I going to collect that bag and exit like a street person in the presence of Darcy Silicone Bone.

Closing the bathroom door, I stared in the mirror. I wanted to perform the Heimlich maneuver on myself to dislodge the piece of my heart wedged in my throat. I was surprised that annoying jerk had gotten to me like that.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Roger Jolley isn’t the one.

I sat on the edge of the tub, my stomach flip-flopping. I hadn’t eaten since last night at the Savoy. Had it been that short a time? My world was spinning. My head was spinning. Cry later. Get out of here now.

Roger wasn’t in sight when I came out of the bathroom. I heard that coward on the phone in his study. Checking on Benny, I hoped.

Darcy was on me like a dog on a pork chop. “He’s mine. You can’t have him.” Her eyes spun like cheap pinwheels. Something about her creeped me out. Even without the Roger factor, something would be truly wrong. Bonkers, maybe?

“Back off, slim. I don’t want him. Roger asked for my help.”

“You? Aren’t you a real estate hustler?”

“You’re pushing my buttons, lady.”

“I’m heading back to Egypt and I’m taking Roger with me. We’re going to find the burial place of Cleopatra. What have you got to offer him? Your multiple listing service?”

“For an archaeologist you’re very rude.”

“Roger was in Egypt. What do you think he was doing there? Surely not looking for the last Lost Boy? The team of Jolley-Bone is on to bigger things. He’s fascinated with me and my mind. Always has been. I’m his intellectual equal.”

She kicked open the French doors, taking a deep breath of the river air. “And besides, we make a dazzling couple.” Hands on her hips, she faced me as she spoke, “Did you happen to catch the royal wedding on Yank telly?”

If this was a segue, it needed some serious editing. It was clear I was dealing with an unfocused loony.

She flipped her long blonde hair over her shoulders. “I was there on special permit to observe the cleaning of the Cosmati Pavement before the wedding.”

When I didn’t respond, she shot me what I guessed was intended to be a condescending look.

“It’s the medieval tile in front of the High Altar in Westminster Abbey.”

When I still didn’t react, she said, “It’s where the Duke and Duchess stood to take their vows.”

“So… you’re a cleaning woman is what you’re saying.”

Darcy snarled and grinned. It was a spooky sight. “Join me on the patio.” She stepped onto the slate veranda motioning me to follow as she tossed her long hair, again. I had to admit it was thick and healthy looking. Whereas mine was a sweaty mess.

“I think not. My mama didn’t raise no fool,” I said. It was a long way down. By the size of Darcy Bone, if she pushed me over the edge, I’d bounce for a week.

She hesitated.

I could imagine the tumblers spinning in her peroxide-dinosaur brain.

Her eyes lit as she found a snide remark that seemed to please her. “I must dash to the museum. That’s a place where we keep old things.”

“I can see where you’d fit in,” I snapped, proud of my retort. “Watch you don’t poke anyone in the eye with those boobs while you’re canoodling with your fellow relics.”