Nightmare

56

‘You haven’t finished your coffee,’ said Nightingale, dropping down on the sofa next to Jenny.

‘I’m not sure that I need caffeine right now,’ she said. ‘You know what I would like?’

‘A chocolate muffin?’

Jenny laughed. ‘I was going to say a drop of brandy but if you’ve got a banana choc-chip muffin hidden away that would do the trick.’

‘No muffin, I’m afraid, and Starbucks is shut at this time of night. Where’s the brandy?’

‘Kitchen,’ she said. ‘Cupboard over the fridge.’

‘Funny place to store the booze.’

‘I cook with it,’ she said.

‘What a waste.’

He patted her on the leg and pushed himself up off the sofa. In the kitchen he found the bottle and two brandy glasses and took them back into the sitting room. He poured two large measures and sat down next to her. They clinked glasses and she gulped hers down before he could say anything. ‘Hey, careful,’ he said.

‘What do you mean?’ she asked, reaching for the bottle.

He grabbed it and held it out of reach. ‘You’re an amateur when it comes to booze,’ he said. ‘You should leave the hard drinking to the professionals.’

‘You, you mean? You drink that poncy Mexican stuff. Now give me that bloody bottle before I break it over your head.’

‘See? It’s already making you aggressive.’ He laughed and poured brandy into her glass, a smaller measure this time. ‘Try to savour it and appreciate the bouquet. Don’t just throw it down your neck.’

‘I hear and obey,’ she said, taking a sip.

‘Are you okay?’

She shook her head tearfully. ‘It’s going to be a while before I’m okay,’ she said.

Nightingale swirled his brandy around his glass. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘Stop saying that,’ said Jenny. ‘It’s not your fault.’ She sipped her brandy again. ‘Why do you think he did it?’

‘He was getting information from you, about the books. Gosling was well known for buying up every Satanic book he could find, so when he died Fairchild must have figured that, as Gosling’s son, the books would have passed to me. So he hypnotised you to find out where they were.’

‘You think that’s all there was?’

Nightingale took a sip of his brandy. It slid down his throat and he felt the warmth spread across his chest.

‘You’re not answering my question, Jack.’

‘I don’t know,’ said Nightingale. ‘How can we know? He erased your memory so we might never know. And I don’t see him telling us, do you?’

‘Do you think he.?.?.’ She shuddered and didn’t finish the sentence.

She hadn’t said the words but Nightingale knew what she meant. ‘Don’t think about that, kid.’

‘How can I not think about it, Jack? There’s an hour missing from my life. And I was showering. Why the hell was I in the shower?’

‘I don’t know, and I’m not sure it’s worth guessing.’

‘That’s easy for you to say, Jack.’

‘I’ll take care of it, Jenny. I swear.’

‘Take care of it? How?’

He put his arm around her. ‘Don’t worry about it.’

‘What are you going to do, Jack?’

Nightingale took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. ‘Can’t you just leave it, kid?’

‘I have a right to know, don’t I?’ She wiped her damp cheeks with her hands. Nightingale got up off the sofa and went to get her a roll of kitchen towel.

When he got back she was refilling her glass with brandy. He sat down, tore off a couple of pieces of paper towel and gave them to her. She smiled gratefully and dabbed at her face.

‘You didn’t answer my question,’ she said. ‘What are you going to do?’

Nightingale took another sip of brandy. ‘Marcus Fairchild framed my sister for murders she didn’t commit. I’m pretty sure he stole the books from the basement. And he’s done God alone knows what to you. He’s not going to get away with that.’

‘So you’ll go to the police?’

Nightingale shook his head. ‘The police won’t help. And even if they did, Fairchild’s a Satanist. He’s got access to all sorts of powers. I’m sure that the police won’t be able to touch him.’

‘So what will you do?’

‘I’ll take care of it. That’s all you need to know. I’ll do whatever it takes.’

‘Promise me one thing?’

‘If I can,’ he said.

‘Ask him what he did to me. And why. Will you do that?’

‘Don’t worry. There’re a lot of questions I want answers to.’

Jenny nodded and reached for her glass again. Nightingale took her hand. ‘Please don’t,’ he said.

‘It helps,’ she said.

‘How does it help?’

‘It numbs me and that’s what I need now. I need to stop thinking.’

‘Alcohol never helps.’

‘You think I should try smoking instead?’

Nightingale laughed. Jenny slipped her hand around the back of his neck and before he could react she had pulled him down towards her and was kissing him. For a second he kissed her back but then he pushed her away.

‘What?’ she said.

‘What are you doing?’

‘What do you think I’m doing?’ She pulled him back towards her but he resisted.

‘This isn’t a good idea,’ he said.

‘Why?’

‘Because you’re vulnerable. Because you’re in shock. Because you’ve been drinking.’

‘What, you’re worried that I’ll accuse you of date rape?’

‘Don’t be daft.’

‘It won’t be rape, Jack. It’s what I want. It’s what I’ve wanted for a long time.’ She kissed him again and this time he found it harder to resist. Her tongue probed between his lips and he found himself kissing her back, but again he pushed her away.

‘Jenny.?.?.’ he said, his heart pounding.

‘You don’t want to?’

‘No. I mean yes. Yes, I want to. Of course I want to.’ He felt his cheeks redden. ‘This isn’t a good time.’

‘For me? Or for you?’

‘For either of us.’

‘I want you, Jack. And that’s got nothing to do with what’s happened today or because I’ve been drinking.’

Nightingale smiled. ‘And what about tomorrow? What happens then?’

‘Can we cross that bridge when we get to it?’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Jack?’

‘Yes?’

‘Shut up and kiss me.’

Nightingale did as he was told.