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I look up, hoping he’s going to have some useful advice for me about the messages.
“I dinnae have a clue what to say about that,” he finishes apologetically. “Sorry, Emerald. It really is a right mess, though.”
“Jack says it’s probably just some crank,” I tell him, glancing at my phone as if the crank in question might emerge from it, like a genie coming out of a bottle. “He says it’s happened to him before.”
“I wouldnae be surprised,” says Brian. “When I worked at the bank, we had a few clients — rich ones, ye ken, like your Jack — who would sometimes attract the attention of pure bampots, if ye catch my drift. They would try anything to get money. Bribes, extortion, pet-napping… you name it.”
I’m not totally sure whether I’m reassured or not by this, really. On the one hand, bribes and extortion don’t sound like much fun, really, but, on the other, I guess it’s good to know that this kind of thing has happened to other people — Well, otherincredibly rich people, I suppose — so Jack might be right: itcouldjust be some random chancer, who doesn’t know anything about us at all.
(And, of course, Jack and I don’t have any pets to be “napped”, so there’s that, too. I might just tell Mum to keep a closer eye than usual on Jude Paw for now, though.)
God, I really hope whoever ‘s sending the messages is about to try to bribe or extort us. That would beawesome. Or, at least, significantly better than the alternative, which is that either Jack reallyishiding something from me (Impossible), or, as McTavish continues to insist, I’ve somehow attracted the attention of a literal psychopath.
On balance, I’d prefer to go with the extortion, thanks very much.
“I just don’t understand why anyone would tell me not to trust Jack,” I say, chewing the ends of my hair thoughtfully, before Brian slaps my hands away. “Jack is the most honest person I know. I’d trust him with my life. We tell each other everything.”
“Ye cannae possibly tell each othereverything,” says Brian. “No one tells their partner everything. That would bewild.”
“We do, though,” I insist. “Literally everything. We talk all the time.”
“That’s not healthy,” sniffs Brian. “You need to have some mystery in a relationship. A bit of mystique. To keep the romance alive, ye know?”
“Our romance is very much alive, thanks,” I tell him, sitting up a bit straighter. “Just last week we had a candlelit dinner on the beach. Well, I mean, I forgot to bring the candles, so it was really just a dinner on the beach. And we couldn’t see much of it once it got dark. But still. We do things like that all the time.”
“That doesnae mean anything,” says Brian, who seems to want to add “relationship guru” to his resume. “Anyway, there must besomethings you don’t know about him? Maybe if ye make a list of all the things ye don’t know, ye’ll be able to work out what these messages are getting at? I know how much ye love a list.”
“I guess,” I say doubtfully. “I don’t think it would be much of a list, though.”
“Worth a try,” says Brian. “The main thing now is that you’ve told Jack about the messages. So at least you’re both on the same page this time; it’s no’ like that time you pretended to be Scarlett Scott so ye could—”
“Thanks, Brian,” I say, cutting him off quickly. “I’ll let you know if anything else happens.”
“Aye, do that,” he says eagerly. “Ye ken how much I love a bit of intrigue.”
“I do my best to deliver,” I tell him, remembering what Jack said yesterday about me always bringing the drama. Even though we made it through our first big argument without sustaining any major damage to our relationship, it still upsets me that he apparently thinks of me like that. I thought we were past all of the ‘impostor’ stuff. I thought he actuallylikedthat I can be a bit… well,chaotic, at times. He always used to say I made him laugh with the stories of all the stupid messes I get myself into (Electric fences aside); but now I’m starting to wonder if he was laughing with me oratme.
I can’t let myself think like that, though. Jack loves me. So much that he wants to marry me next month. He wouldn’t do that if he thought I was just an overly-dramatic ditz, would he?
“I best be getting back,” I tell Brian, accepting the printed workout schedule he hands me, and eyeing tomorrow morning’s 7am run with horror. “I want to speak to Jack again and see if he’s managed to find out anything about the messages. He said he’d get someone to look into it today.”
“How’s he going to do that if you’ve got your phone with the messages on it?” Brian asks immediately.
“Er, good question,” I admit, pulling my car keys out of my bag. “I guess I’ll find out.”
Or not.
I say goodbye to Brian and head for the car, stopping just as I reach it when my phone pings loudly inside my bag.
Please let that just be one of those spammers who sometimes message me, claiming to be deposed princes who need to transfer several million dollars to my account as a “favor”.
I pull the phone out with one hand, while juggling the car key with the other, then almost drop both of them when I see the message on the screen.
UNKNOWN NUMBER: You shouldn’t have told him. Now he’ll know he has to cover his tracks.
* * *
“I genuinely don’t know what you want me to say about this, Emerald,” Jack says when I show him the latest message as soon as I get home, my hands shaking so much I can barely hold the phone. “It’s so obviously just a wind-up. Everyone thinks so.”
