Part 3.
I battled through the traffic in the middle of Bristol and out through the north of the City until I reached the motorway to London. I had seen Jenny drive off first across the high downs heading past the airport then south to Taunton. The traffic was comparatively light and I was making good time. I had done the journey from my house in Bristol to the apartment in Chiswick in a little over two hours once, but that had been very early on a Sunday morning and getting through Bristol had taken less than twenty minutes. I still thought I would do it in two and half-hours.
The engine of the Morgan was purring gently. The Speedo read just under seventy. Fast enough for me today. The sky had never really cleared all day. It had darkened and rained at times then brightened slightly but never really cleared. My mood was sinking into the greyness that surrounded me.
It was raining again now. I switched on my wipers and headlights. It was suddenly becoming very dark.
I looked at the dashboard clock. One-thirty. Jenny would be there by now. I turned on the radio. Horse-racing. Not really an audio sport. I pressed one of the preset buttons. Music. Pop music. I began to sing along.
Why had I agreed to go? There was little I wanted to do less than fly half way around the world. Spend a night in a Hotel and then fly all the way back again. It could be worse I supposed. But at the present I couldn't see how.
I turned up the volume on the radio to drown out the pit, pit, pat of the rain on the fabric cover above my head. The windscreen wipers were moving at full speed but didn't seem to be having much effect on the rain. I slowed to fifty-five and pulled in behind a large lorry.
The effect of his spray and the rain cut my visibility even more so I pulled back out again and accelerated past him. It was foul weather to be driving in. Perhaps a few days in the sun wouldn't be too bad after all.
It was getting lighter suddenly. The rain was easing. I could just see the massive walls of Windsor Castle to my right. Then it was gone. A movement to my right caught my eye and I saw a jet airliner lifting into the air from Heathrow airport. This meant I would be there in thirty minutes.
I yawned and stretched. There was never enough room in this car. It was great for short trips onto the downs on warm summer evenings with the roof down. It was great sitting in the passenger seat with Jenny riding up and down upon my prick. But it was cramped for driving any distance in.
I left the motorway at its last junction and turned onto the road that led to my apartment. Or block of apartments to be precise. My great uncle Alistair had bought one in the late twenties after he had married his long time love Natasha. Slowly, over the years, they had acquired all six in the block. When Natasha had died she had left them all to me. Four were currently let; Hudson, who had been my father's Sergeant during the war, used one. He acted as a kind of caretaker. One of the top-floor apartments we kept for our own use or to impress clients of my father's accountancy firm. It could be a lonely place if you were staying in it alone. Still, the income I received more than paid for their upkeep.
I turned off the main road past the restaurant and again into the car park at the rear of the apartments. It was only two-thirty but there were lights on in every apartment, including ours. Hudson must be stocking up the cupboards and fridge.
I parked the car, took my imitation black leather coat off the front seat and my suitcase from the boot, locked the doors and walked around to the front entrance. Three steps up to the twin glass doors that opened onto the foyer. Hudson had insisted on a small counter in front of the door to his apartment. Opposite were the stairs leading up to the apartments above and the door that hid the flight that led down to the cellars. Next to the stairs was the lift, its doors stood open. I went to Hudson's counter and pushed the button that rang the bell inside his apartment. I heard it ring and waited. He didn't show after a minute so I carried my suitcase into the lift.
"Hold it please." A voice called.
A young woman of perhaps five feet eight in height and similar age to myself stepped into the lift. She had bouncy, curly hair. A shade too dark to be called blond. She had green eyes. I couldn't remember seeing a woman before with green eyes.
She looked down at my suitcase.
"I'm going to the top." I said.
"Same here." She replied.
It was hard to place her accent. Home counties with a slight brrr to her rs. Not as pronounced as Jenny's Gloucestershire or my Somerset accents.
She looked down at my suitcase again as the lift started to rise. I supposed an explanation of some sort was due.
"My name is Paul Wagstaffe." I said. "I'm staying in the flat tonight."
"Oh." She seemed impressed. "That must mean that you are the owner of the building." "Yes." I agreed. "I suppose so."
"I'm Heather."
The lift stopped and I opened the doors.
"I'm just visiting with my sister." She continued. "Will you want me to pay rent as well?"
"No." I was shocked she should suggest it. "No. Not at all."
"Well I have been here a little while and Sandy wasn't too sure of the terms of the lease."
I had met Sandy once or twice. She would be around thirty and had written a romantic novel. Her husband, Greg was a banker or something in the city. He was American and was on a fixed term contract for three years and his company had leased the apartment for them. Come to think of it, I wasn't too sure of the terms of their lease.
"Well. It's nice to meet you Heather."
I turned the key in the lock and pushed open the door to my apartment.
Heather was still there watching me.
"Do you want to come around for a drink later?" She asked suddenly.
"I don't know what I'm doing tonight yet." I replied, not sure that I really wanted to make any commitments.
"Don't look so worried." She laughed. "I'm not trying to pick you up. It's just that Sandy and Greg are away for a week and I would be all alone."
Her voice suddenly sounded all little girl and helpless.
"I'll see what I can do." I said. "I have to make some phone calls."
I backed into the apartment and into the lounge. She was following me.
"It's much bigger in here then it is in Sandy's," she observed. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have come in uninvited."
"That's alright." I stumbled over the words whilst looking around and hoping Hudson would be there. "Make yourself at home."
"You don't mind if I?" I continued and indicated the door to the main bedroom with my suitcase.
"No. Carry on." She walked over to the piano at the far end of the room. "I'm told you play very well."
I opened the door to the bedroom and threw my coat and suitcase onto the bed.
"I do play." I confirmed. "Can I get you a drink?"
"What are you going to have?"
"Just tea." It suddenly felt inadequate.
"Tea would be lovely."
I went into the kitchen and filled the kettle and plugged it in to boil. There were mugs on the wooden tree so I took two down and placed a teabag in each.
I went back into the lounge.
"Do you take sugar?"
"No thank you." She replied examining one of the oil paintings that hung on a wall. "They say I'm sweet enough."
She smiled at me.
I went back into the kitchen and made the tea. When I returned her coat was hanging on one of the hooks in the passage from front door to lounge and she was sitting on one end of one of the two large sofas the stood facing each other over a large glass-topped coffee table.
"It's very nice here." She remarked, taking the offered mug and holding it while I fetched two coasters from the top of the sideboard that stood between two of the bedroom doors.
"Why are you only here for tonight?" She asked. "Tell me off if I'm being nosy."
She kicked off her shoes and lifted her feet onto the sofa beside her.
"I have to go to South America." I explained. "To collect my grandfather and his friend."
