Star Struck. Val McDermid
gobsmacked that lurking underneath the shambolic dress sense and terrible haircut was a rather attractive man. Scary.
Three months down the line, he was still looking the business, his hollow cheeks and bloodshot eyes fitting the current image of heroin addict as male glamour. I’d even overheard one of Shelley’s adolescent daughter’s mates saying she thought Gizmo was ‘shaggable’. That Trainspotting has a lot to answer for. ‘All right,’ he mumbled, already looking back at his screen. ‘You two want to keep the noise down?’
‘Sorry, Giz. I didn’t actually mean to come in here.’
‘Know what you mean,’ he said.
Before I could leave, the door burst open. ‘And another thing,’ Shelley said. ‘You’ve not done a new client file for Gloria Kendal.’
Gizmo’s head came up like it was on a string. ‘Gloria Kendal? The Gloria Kendal? Brenda Barrow-clough off Northerners?’
I nodded.
‘She’s a client?’
‘I can’t believe you watch Northerners,’ I said.
‘She was in here yesterday,’ Shelley said smugly. ‘She signed a photograph for me personally.’
‘Wow! Gloria Kendal. Cool! Anything I can do to help?’ The last time I’d seen him this excited was over an advance release of Netscape Navigator 3.0.
‘I’ll let you know,’ I promised. ‘Now, if you’ll both excuse me, I have some work to do.’ I smiled sweetly and sidled past Shelley. As I crossed the threshold, the outside door opened and a massive basket of flowers walked in. Lilies, roses, carnations, and a dozen other things I didn’t know the names of. For a wild moment, I thought Richard might be apologizing for the night before. He had cause, given what had gone on after Dennis had left. The thought shrivelled and died as hope was overtaken by experience.
‘They’ll be from Gloria Kendal,’ Shelley predicted.
I contradicted her. ‘It’ll be Donovan mortgaging his first month’s wages to apologize to you.’
‘Wrong address,’ Gizmo said gloomily. Given the way the day had been running, he was probably right.
‘Is this Brannigan and Co?’ the flowers asked. For such an exotic arrangement, they had a remarkably prosaic Manchester accent.
‘That’s right,’ I said. ‘I’m Brannigan.’ I stepped forward expectantly.
‘They’re not for you, love,’ the voice said, half a face appearing round the edge of the blooms. ‘You got someone here called Gizmo?’
JUPITER IN CANCER IN THE 3RD HOUSE
Jupiter is exalted in Cancer. She has a philosophical outlook, enjoying speculative thinking. She is good humoured and generous, with strong protective instincts. Her intuition and imagination are powerful tools that she could develop profitably. She has a good business sense and communicates well in that sphere. She probably writes very thorough reports.
From Written in the Stars, by Dorothea Dawson
It was hard to keep my mind on Gloria’s monologue on the way in to the studios the next morning. The conundrum of Gizmo’s mysterious bouquet was much more interesting than her analysis of the next month’s storylines for Northerners. When the delivery man had announced who the flowers were for, Shelley and I had rounded on Gizmo. Scarlet and stammering, he’d refused to reveal anything. Shelley, who’s always been quick on her feet, helped herself to the card attached to the bouquet and ripped open the envelope.
All it said was, ‘www gets real’. I know. I was looking over her shoulder. The delivery man had placed the flowers on Shelley’s desk and legged it. He’d clearly seen enough blood shed over bouquets to hang around. ‘So who have you been chatting up on the Internet?’ I demanded. ‘Who’s the cyberbabe?’
‘Cyberbabe?’ Shelley echoed.
I pointed to the card. ‘www. The worldwide web. The Internet. It’s from someone he’s met websurfing. Well, not actually met, as such. Exchanged e-mail with.’
‘Safer than body fluids,’ Shelley commented drily. ‘So who’s the cyberbabe, Gizmo?’
Gizmo shook his head. ‘It’s a joke,’ he said with the tentative air of a man who doesn’t expect to be believed. ‘Just the guys trying to embarrass me at work.’
I shook my head. ‘I don’t think so. I’ve never met a techie yet who’d spend money on flowers while there was still software on the planet.’
‘Honest, Kate, it’s a wind-up,’ he said desperately.
‘Some expensive wind-up,’ Shelley commented. ‘Did one of your mates win the lottery, then?’
‘There is no babe, OK? Leave it, eh?’ he said, this time sounding genuinely upset.
So we’d left it, sensitive girls that we are. Gizmo retreated back to his hi-tech hermitage and Shelley shrugged. ‘No use looking at me, Kate. He’s not going to fall for the, “You can talk to me, I’m a woman, I understand these things,” routine. It’s down to you.’
‘Men never cry on my shoulder,’ I protested.
‘No, but you’re the only one around here who knows enough about computers to find who he’s been talking to.’
I shook my head. ‘No chance. If Gizmo’s got a cybersecret, it’ll be locked away somewhere I won’t be able to find it. We’ll just have to do this the hard way. First thing tomorrow, you better get on to the florist.’
Call me a sad bastard, but as I was driving Gloria to the studios, I was busy working out how we could discover Gizmo’s secret admirer if she’d been clever enough to cover her tracks on the flower delivery. So I almost missed it when Gloria asked me a question that needed more than a grunt in response. ‘So you don’t mind coming along tonight?’
‘No, that’s fine,’ I said, not quite certain what I’d agreed to.
‘I’m really buggering up your social life, chuck,’ she continued. ‘If you’ve got a fella you want to bring along, you’re welcome, you know.’
I must have shown how unlikely a prospect that was, since Gloria chuckled. ‘He’s a rock journalist,’ I said.
She roared with laughter. ‘Better not bring him anywhere I’m singing, then,’ she spluttered. ‘I’m too old to be insulted.’
By the time we reached the studios, the sky had clouded over and large raindrops were plopping on the windscreen. ‘Oh bugger,’ Gloria said.
‘Problems?’
‘We’re supposed to be filming outside this morning. When it’s raining like this, they’ll hang on to see if it clears up and fill the time with the indoor scenes scheduled for this afternoon. I’m not in any of them, so not only do I lose an afternoon off but I get a morning hanging around waiting for the weather to change.’ She rummaged in the bulging satchel that contained her scripts and pulled out a crumpled schedule. ‘Let’s see … Could be worse. Teddy and Clive are in the same boat. D’you play bridge, Kate?’
‘Badly. I haven’t played against humans since I was a student, and these days the computer usually gives me a coating.’
‘You can’t be worse than Rita Hardwick,’ she said firmly. ‘That’s settled then.’
‘Two spades,’ I said tentatively. My partner, Clive Doran (Billy Knowles, the crooked bookmaker with an eye for his female employees) nodded approval.
‘Pass,’ said Gloria.
‘Three