Clara Robertson took a seat in Artimus’ office and scanned the mess on the desk to her side. With a disgruntled huff, she crossed her legs and peered straight at Neil. She was not a striking woman, but she did possess nice lines and good legs; traits she maximised by wearing tight fitting suits jackets, with the minimum skirt length she could get away with and still be taken seriously. Her make-up was subtle, its application and tone clearly the result of tutoring and her hair was tied back, its length knotted into a braided ponytail.
Artimus paid her no heed, as he strolled around the long rows of files, occasionally stopping to open one and peer at its contents before putting it back.
As the seconds turned to minutes, Miss Robertson’s fidgeting became ever more exaggerated, until she was checking her watch with almost every breath.
Neil could not help but smile. Artimus was putting Clara firmly in her place. Not only had she been forced to come to the office of a man she knew nothing about, but the order had come from her superior. What must be going through her mind as she tried to determine who the strange person in the tweed jacket was clearly had her perturbed.
Before Clara arrived, Artimus told Neil that he was about to be very abrupt, and that Neil should try to quell his usual instincts to be nice. Neil had agreed, but if this was what Artimus meant, it was going to be far easier than he thought.
“Almost there, Miss Robertson.” drifted Artimus’ voice, partially muffled by a bank of folios. “Be with you momentarily.”
“I have a proposal to write up before the end of the day. It would be nice if…”
“Your boss told me your diary would be cleared for me.” said Artimus, cutting Clara short. “I assume you had no chance to fill it again between his order to do exactly as I ask, and you arriving here?”
Neil watched as Clara turned red, averting her gaze as she folded her arms over her chest.
A few more minutes silence later, Artimus walked out from his cabinets carrying nothing, much to the obvious disgust of Clara. “I’ll find that file sooner or later.” he mumbled, heading for his desk and pouring himself a drink. “Do you like whiskey?” He offered the bottle up, gulping one and pouring another when she shook her head. “Suit yourself. I assume Nicholas has been good enough to explain why you are here and what I need from you?”
“I was briefed on the reasons for my arrival, but I…”
“Spare me the bullshit Miss Robertson.” said Artimus, running his glass between his hands. “Let’s not drag political spin into what should be a straight-forward exchange of information, shall we?”
“Mister Crane!” said Clara, taken aback. “I do not think…”
“Of that I have absolutely no doubt.” said Artimus, chortling, “I believe you may be under the impression you hold some sway in what is to happen here. You do not. Tell me what I want to know or I…”
“Or you what?” said Clara, steel forming behind her eyes. “You think you can threaten me? Is that it?”
“There are no threats, Miss Robertson.” said Artimus, clasping his hands behind his back and beginning to pace. “You are here to tell me everything I wish to know and you will give me said information of your own volition.”
“And if I want to leave?” said Clara, perplexed.
“You know where the door is.” said Artimus, waving toward it.
“Then I bid you good day gentlemen.” said Clara, rising.
“I have to tell that we have paperwork showing you bought a house in Belsize Park about a year ago, Miss Robertson. I also need to tell you we found three bodies at that address yesterday morning. I’m not sure how those sorts of things work out for politicians, but my experience tells me badly; very, very badly indeed. Tell me, has it been a good career?”
Clara stopped at the door, still holding the handle. She spun, weighing up if this were not just a tactic to get her to stay. “You’re lying.”
“If you feel you can take that risk, you can leave. If however, you wish to help us clear your name, I would take your ignorant little arse and park it back in this seat.” said Artimus, twisting the chair toward the door. “My colleague here is from Scotland Yard. The evidence we have is easily enough to arrest you on the spot. Your choice, sit down or go down. I do not have all day.” Dramatically looking at his watch, he pursed his lips and pretended to count seconds.
With a light growl, Clara made her way over to the seat. Slumping in and re-folding her arms. “Let’s get this over with. I have never bought a property in Belsize Park.”
“Oh, my good lady, I know this full well.” said Artimus, circling her chair. “What I really need to know is what association you have with the masonic lodge run by Master Noel Grayson out of the Prospect of Whitby.”
“Noel Grayson?” said Clara, genuinely surprised. “My PA’s brother-in-law?”
Artimus stopped his pacing and placed his hands on the arms of the chair Clara was sitting in. Forcing her to lean away, he peered straight at her. “You genuinely don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?”
“What are you talking about?” asked Clara, disturbed by how close Artimus was.
“Can I then ask,” said Artimus, letting go of the chair and beginning his revolutions once more, “if you know the home address of your PA, Missus Grayson?”
“Off the top of my head?” said Clara, thinking hard. “I… er… Their house is in Hatfield somewhere. Surely you can’t expect me to remember…”
Neil caught the location as quickly as Artimus. That was where the Grayson’s had their previous house.
“Has Missus Grayson taken any time off over the last six months? For holidays, renovation work to their house, any extended breaks?”
“No.” said Clara, her eyes now following Artimus everywhere he went. “She takes very little time off at all. The last time she had more than a long weekend was…” Her voice trailed away, and she looked pensively at Neil. “Are we talking privately?”
“Absolutely not.” said Artimus, waving his hand in a circle. “Tell me everything, means tell me everything. No gaps. Continue.”
“Mister Grayson had an affair.” said Neil, his eyes widening.
“What?” said Artimus, stopping his pacing.
“He’s right.” said Clara. “How..?”
“Your assistant said Missus Grayson helped her after her relationship collapsed because her boyfriend cheated on her.” said Neil, blurting the information out in his excitement. “However, she said Missus Grayson almost seemed like she was talking to herself. She’s a woman who works hard because she doesn’t take many holidays, but you didn’t want to tell us about the only instance she has, because she took the time for a personal matter. I’ve seen her record, there are no family deaths or illnesses, which means it’s likely to be a relationship issue. Therefore, she probably needed it to get her head straight after Mister Grayson had an affair, and moreover, the fact she talked about it with a colleague means she hasn’t got over it.”
Artimus looked stunned. “You get that, but not that a girl who gives you her number on a whim is a sure bet?”
“A sure bet?” asked Clara, not knowing what Artimus was talking about.
“Your clerk.” said Artimus, distractedly, all his focus on Neil. “Gave Neil her number with zero effort; I mean, not even a question. She’s obviously just looking for rebound sex, but Neil never picked up on it. However, he just noticed something emotionally complex I had missed. How, I wonder?”
“I don’t know.” said Neil, staring worriedly at Artimus as he began to slowly creep over. “What are you doing?”
“Are you seriously using my clerk to satisfy your sexual needs officer?” said Clara, aghast.
“No!” said Neil, now trapped between the advancing Artimus and an angry MP. “He was the one who asked for her number.”
“Only because you looked like you were two wanks shy of a nervous breakdown.” said Artimus, still creeping up on Neil like a cat stalking its prey.
“Artimus please!” said Neil, loo
king embarrassed and turning to Clara. “I made no improper advances at any stage Miss Robertson.”
“We will see about that!” said Clara. “I will speak with my clerk as soon as she’s back in the office tomorrow.”
“It just came to me, OK?” said Neil, as Artimus reached touching distance. “I was thinking about what Miss Robertson was saying and I…”
Artimus raised a finger to his lips and silenced Neil with a light expel of air. “Maybe it’s not sexual congress you require. Maybe it was just the correct stimulus. The meal might be a bad idea.”
“Pardon?” said Neil, as Clara stared quizzically at the pair.
“Nothing!” said Artimus, straightening and smiling. “Miss Robertson, thank you for your time today. If we have any further questions, and I am certain we will at some point, I will ensure you are dragged here to answer them. Goodbye.” With that abrupt statement, he poured himself another whiskey and disappeared into his banks of folios.
“He’s a very rude old man.” said Clara, standing and glaring at Neil.
“Rude, but not fucking deaf, you squalid little heifer.” drifted Artimus’ voice, between the shelves. “Please remove yourself from my office as quickly as possible. I fear the continued proximity of your repugnance to my potation may be curdling it.”
Neil tried to smile. It was a terrible attempt, and he knew it. He motioned apologetically, ushering Clara out of the room before Artimus could abuse her further.
“What in the name of hell was that all about?” asked Neil, as soon as the door was closed. “Have you any idea how insulting you just were.”
Artimus’ head poked out from behind a bank of shelves, a beaming smile spread far across his face. “I take it that was good?” he said, expectantly.
“Good for what?”
“You know. Good enough to make her upset; do something stupid in her anger.”
“Probably.” said Neil, unsure what Artimus was doing. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she was outside the door trying to light a fire as we speak.”
“Outstanding!” said Artimus, walking back to the desk and putting the glass down. “Then it’s off the Cittie for our daily recap and our planned assignation with Dawn and John.”
“We’re going back to the pub?” said Neil, only just beginning to feel human after the exploits of the previous evening.
Artimus checked his watch. “It’s half four already Neil, and I told Dawn to get there for six and John for seven. If we’re quick, we can go through where we think we are with the case before they arrive.” Before Neil could protest, Artimus patted him on the back, grabbed his jacket, and headed for the door. “Come on Mister Townsend, if we are genuinely lucky, Sir George will still be in attendance, and we can ask for his assistance with what we need to do tomorrow.”
Sighing, Neil picked up his own jacket and trudged after Artimus. No matter how bad the cola was, it would be all he was drinking tonight.
Chapter 26
Questions, Questions, Questions
Out of Time Page 25
