I bent down to stroke Noodle. Nick had a bloody nerve getting pissed off at me. If anyone had a right to be angry it was me. The stairs above me creaked, and both dogs took that as a cue to investigate. As they trotted out, Nick came marching in again.
‘Did it ever occur to you that Marcie drinking might not be a good idea?’
My blood pressure spiked. ‘Of course it did. What do you take me for?’
‘So why suggest it?’
I let out a hollow laugh. ‘Christ, Nick. How little you know your own client. She was half-cut when I got here.’
‘I don’t believe you.’
‘I don’t care what you believe.’
‘Ronan’s under strict instructions to make sure Marcie doesn’t drink.’
‘Then you should be talking to him, not me.’ I didn’t mention that Ronan had been too busy with the dogs to know what Marcie was up to.
‘I spoke to her an hour before you arrived. She seemed fine.’
My anger swelled. ‘Then you weren’t paying attention. She was drunk before I got here. Don’t you dare try to pin this on me.’
A look of doubt flickered across his face. He broke eye contact to adjust his cuffs. I waited for him to acknowledge his mistake, but as the seconds ticked by, he didn’t speak.
I was just about ready to explode. ‘You’re the liar, Nick. Marcie never agreed to an interview, did she?’
‘I got you in the same room with her. If you didn’t win her over then that’s your problem.’
My patience snapped. ‘So now it’smyfault? I lack the necessary charm? You’re supposed to be her publicist, you’re supposed to facilitate things, but it seems you lack the necessary skills.’
He bristled. I’d obviously hit a sore spot. Maybe I was being unfair, but his words had hurt. I didn’t need my interview subjects to like me for me to be able to do my job properly, but it was always a nice bonus if they did. Right now, I’d have swapped everyone’s good opinion to have Marcie’s. That I hadn’t charmed her enough to give me an interview was a difficult pill to swallow.
Nick hadn’t responded yet. He smoothed down his tie, then stroked the back of his neck. When he reached for his cuffs a second time, I’d had enough.
‘Thanks for the clarification,’ I said drily. ‘If you think that Jonny interview is still going to press, you’re dreaming.’
‘Well, I guess we’ve got nothing else to say to each other. You know where the door is.’
*
Exactly one hour after I’d been granted entry, I found myself reeling on the pavement outside Marcie’s house, frustrated and lost.
I dug out my phone and sent a text to Mike:
We need to talk.
Almost an hour later I was only just beginning to relax. The Crown was an old-fashioned boozer near Paddington where Mike got the train home. If you ordered anything other than a pint you got weird looks. I’d got a few tonight because I’d ordered wine – white or red were the choices – but out in the beer garden, most people were minding their own business. The ‘garden’ part was a bit optimistic: we were on a tiny patio and the only flash of green sprang from the moss growing in the cracks between the grey paving slabs.
Mike was nursing a pint of bitter and reflecting on what I’d just told him. It had taken me the better part of forty-five minutes to recount my meeting with Marcie. I’d kept going back and adding details I’d forgotten and he’d questioned some of the more bizarre events.
‘Why did she keep calling you Bonnie?’
‘It’s how I got through the door; I had to say I was Bonnie and I was there to see Clyde.’
‘The name must mean something to her.’
‘I hadn’t really thought about it. I assumed it was something that Nick came up with, but come to think of it, she had a framed poster of Warren Beatty and Faye Dunaway from the filmBonnie and Clyde. She must be a movie fan, because she hadGone with the WindandButch Cassidy and the Sundance Kidposters, too.’
‘Interesting.’
