Tilda shook her head. ‘No names. But Jodie says it’s pretty awkward for Ed because he’s personally friendly with the person or people involved.’
‘Oh, my God, do you think he’d try to cover it up?’
‘I hope not,’ said Tilda. ‘But Tom needs to make sure all his ducks are in a row if he wants to go public. A few bits of circumstantial evidence aren’t going to cut it.’
It was enough to make me want to rush into the meeting and implore Tom to be careful. Since when was I so invested in his career? It was ridiculous. But the idea of Tom getting into serious legal trouble gave me palpitations.
I tried my best to read through and fact-check an article about the history of a local stately home, but all I could think of was Tom, closeted mere feet away from me.
When he came out, his face was dark but determined and he failed once again to look for me before banging through the doors to the lift.
I was distracted for the rest of the day, and my distraction carried on to the pub and then the burlesque-show bar.
I took the very first opportunity I could find – whilst waiting for Miles to bring the drinks over, with Tilda lending a hand – to question Jodie about the whole affair.
‘How’s Ed today?’ I asked casually. A compere, in the biggest false eyelashes I had ever seen, was performing some faintly rude magic tricks on the stage, finding all kinds of interesting stuff in her spangled bra. Jodie seemed interested in the act, but I was determined.
‘How’s…oh, OK,’ she said, clapping as the compere bent over and blew smoke rings through her thighs. ‘Well, not OK really. He’s been a nightmare all afternoon.’
‘Oh, no, why?’
‘Let’s just say I need this drink.’ She looked over to the bar, but Miles was still waiting to be served. ‘He’s been all tense and sweaty since he had a meeting with Tom Crowley. Something’s really rattled him.’
‘Really? What do you think it is?’
But Jodie could tell me no more than Tilda had been party to, and I had to turn my attention to the compere, who whipped off her spangled bra to reveal giant rosettes blooming from her nipples. I wondered if a move like that would impress Tom in the bedroom. Then I wondered where Tom was tonight.
During an act in which two women basically made out with each other, I was interrupted in my hot-and-bothered squirming by the buzz of my phone in my pocket.
Maybe it was him!
I grabbed it in shaky hands and read the message. It wasn’t from Tom. It was from Pet Katie, to whom I had emailed my number earlier in the day.
Hey there, Ellie, hope ur havin a gd evenin.
(I had made the slight adjustment to my name on ‘just in case’ grounds.)
There’s a munch on at The Plough 2moro pm, thought u might like to meet there as is both public & safe & a ‘scene’ event – u might find it interesting! Starts at 3 if u want 2 come. I can meet you b4 if u like and we can go 2gether? Let me no. K xxx.
Oh, God. This was actually on. But what the heck was a munch? Somehow it didn’t sound like the kind of thing one could do in public – but it must be.
I needed to talk to Tom.
‘I’m just
going for a wee,’ I told Tilda, nudging her aside.
‘What?’
Tilda, who was blushing furiously, looked as if she didn’t recognise me.
‘Now?’ she added, turning her eyes back to the stage.
It did seem as if the act was approaching its climax, in more than one sense. One performer was on all fours, burying her face in the crotch of the other, who sat on a chair with her legs akimbo, feeling up her breasts. The action was clearly choreographed, and yet even in this stylised form – perhaps especially so – it was sensationally hot.
I forgot myself for a moment, transfixed, then remembered my mission.
‘Sorry, nature calls,’ I said, shuffling past.