The Becket Approval by Falconer Duncan (best big ereader .TXT) 📗

together they cleaned their wounds.

‘Do I need stitches?’ she asked.

He took a look at it. ‘I’ll tape it. Dry it off.’

He dug the tape out of his first aid bag, tore off a strip and faced her as she dabbed the wound with a towel. ‘Move your hands.’

She was suddenly conscious of the fact her only clothing above her waist was a flimsy bra.

He closed the cut and placed the strip across it. A brief check satisfied him. ‘Add cosmetic surgery to my skills.’

He went back to his own wound as she pulled on her jumper. ‘I need a drink.’

‘Couldn’t think of a better reason.’

She went to the fridge and examined the contents. ‘No scotch. They all look like local brands.’ She selected two, grabbed a couple of glasses, unscrewed the bottles and emptied their contents into them. ‘Here.’ She offered him a glass.

They raised them in a brief cheers. She slammed hers back. He was surprised but duly followed her lead.

She inspected her extended fingers. ‘Still shaking.’ She went back to the fridge and dug out two more bottles. ‘Ek-ri-ga or Maf-ou-sa?’ she asked, reading the labels.

‘You choose.’

‘Same glasses okay?’ She cracked the bottles and poured them anyway.

Another salute and they downed them in one.

‘Has there ever been a better all-round medicine in the history of the world?’ she declared, flopping into the chair.

He finished taping his dressing. ‘I’m curious,’ he said.

‘About what?’

‘In the street, outside the bar, you held a dustbin lid threateningly. What were you going to do with it?’

She swung her arms out and slammed her hands together mimicking the crash of cymbals. ‘You know, hit him so hard on the side of his head he vibrates. I’ve seen it done somewhere.’

‘The cartoon network?’

‘Why’d you think they backed off?’

‘Captain America. That’s who you reminded me of.’

‘Captain America’s long lost sister,’ she corrected, going to the fridge again. She read the labels on several bottles. ‘Not sure if we should be drinking any of these without food. Or at all in fact. This stuff’s probably illegal in most countries. Oh, my. These are perfect. Vomitka or sheet-pees?’

‘Difficult choice.’

She hid one in each hand and held them out. He closed his eyes and tapped one.

‘Sheet-pees. Excellent choice.’ She unscrewed the tops and poured them into the glasses. She grimaced at the smell of hers and they emptied them in one.

‘That’s got to be ninety proof,’ he winced, feeling it burn his throat.

She suddenly felt the buzz and found herself looking at his strong body, in particular a couple of scars. ‘They all come with a story?’ she asked.

He felt self-conscious half naked and pulled on a shirt. ‘And they get better with each telling.’

‘What’s the story behind the rash?’

‘Rash?’

‘Your neck?’

‘Oh. I was recently hung.’

‘Is that one of those comments that’s so bizarre no one would believe it when it’s actually true?’

‘Can’t fool you, can I.’

‘And the wound on your side?’

‘A Russian fighter jet bombed me.’

‘While you were hanging by your neck I suppose.’

‘Too much?’

‘Not after a shot of Albanian sheet-pees. What are you doing here? I mean, I have no idea what I’m doing here, but do you know why you’re here?’

‘I’m looking for clues.’

‘To what?’

‘A secret.’

She smiled and, feeling a little drunk she picked up her jacket. ‘That about sums it all up ... I’m sorry about this evening. The walk through the town. It was reckless of me.’

‘We survived.’

‘I bet you say that a lot. Actually, I feel quite special. Not everyone gets into a scrap with a secret service man.’

‘Or Captain America’s sister.’

She opened the door and looked back at him. ‘Bye, secret service man.’

‘Tell the entire hotel why don’t you.’ He smiled.

So did she as she left the room.

He found himself still smiling after she’d gone.

 

 

Chapter 12

An unmarked police car drove through the City of London, Gunnymede and Bethan in the back. The driver pulled into the kerb.

‘Thanks for dropping me off,’ Gunnymede said as he opened the door.

‘Will I see you again?’

‘That would be nice. Give me a call if you need anything.’ He grabbed his bag, climbed out and closed the door.

The car re-joined traffic. Bethan couldn’t resist looking back. She was pleased to see him watching the car go.

Before it was out of sight, he walked away. Minutes later he entered the Fulham and Hammersmith hospital and went to the reception counter.

‘I’d like to see Megan Henderson,’ he said to the receptionist.

‘Do you have an appointment?’

‘No. I was here a few days ago. I think you were here. I’m Devon Gunnymede.’

‘Let me just check,’ she said, smiling sweetly and looking at her computer. ‘One moment please.’ She picked up the phone and keyed a number.

Gunnymede looked around while the receptionist talked on the phone. ‘Mr Gunnymede? Would you take a seat and someone will be with you.’

‘Is everything okay?’ he asked.

‘Someone will be with you shortly,’ she assured him.

Gunnymede took a seat.

It was fifteen minutes before an administrator arrived and explained that Megan was receiving treatment and wouldn’t be available for the rest of the day. Gunnymede left the hospital consumed by thoughts and walked the short distance to Hammersmith underground station. The realisation that Megan was quite possibly gone from his life was confusing. She had become an integral part of his world, the only human being to have stuck by him throughout his trial and banishment. The only thread to string a future too. She had not been a deep rooted part of his game plan before his freedom was cut short but her love and loyalty had earned her a permanent place in his life. She had won