We got up late the next day. Well, I did. Quill could barely move. I left him, bleary-eyed and silent with fatigue, drinking a cup of tea and went home to get changed. It was peculiar strolling through London, mid-morning, in evening gown and rapier, but hey. It's not like I'd ever worn an agent's uniform.
Holly had left me a note. Hope you got home safe. If you need to talk I'm here.
That was sweet. Maybe talking would be good. I did have some things I wanted to ask her about, some rather delicate things I'd not want to discuss with the skull.
I picked the skull off the windowsill. "Hey, buddy. "
No reply. Well, it was daytime. He'd be back later, doubtless wanting to know the gory details of my night with Quill. Which I was definitely not going to supply.
I showered and changed, and checked my answer phone for messages about work. There were a couple of jobs on, plus the hotel one tonight.
There was one silent message, or rather, a message which started with a masculine cough and then ended.
Wrong number or prank call. It had been left in the wee small hours of the morning. Cheeky beggar. It was just as well I was at Quill's: I would not have appreciated being woken up. Although -
I replayed the message. The tiny tape whirred, and there was the cough again. Oh. I knew who that was.
I thought of the ghost's summary of the evening after Quill and I left. Vicious amounts of champagne. Oh dear. Had I really had a late night drunken phone call from Lockwood?
I shook my head and deleted the message. Whatever he'd been going to say, he hadn't said it. And I hadn't been there, anyway.
I looked around the flat. Quill was coming over later. I'd better start tidying.
Quill and I met in late afternoon, and caught a taxi to the East End. It dropped us off a street away from the hotel. In the fading light, I wanted to get the lie of the land, including scoping out escape routes in case our initial reconnaissance went badly wrong. The skull was in my bag, and I was expecting the ghost to show up any moment.
Quill still looked knackered. The effect I had on men, clearly. Opposite the hotel was a small square, its grass flattened by winter cold, its paths still slimy with the remains of fallen leaves. As we walked across it, I gave Quill a smile. The previous night seemed like a dream, and it was all right to be here, the week before Christmas, with a boyfriend and a nice juicy haunting to fix. "I know we're working, but not even a kiss hello?"
He took my arm, a strange, old-fashioned gesture. I laughed, and went with it. Why not?
"Well, look at us, walking out," said Quill.
"Walking out?" I laughed. "Yes, that's us, going steady, courting."
He shrugged.
"Still tired?"
"After the debacle of last night? I could sleep for a week." He scowled.
"You're embittered today, something up?" I slipped my arm around his waist.
He twitched. "No. Arms now, right, yes, arms."
I let go of him. "Quill. What's wrong?" How had I bungled things this time?
"Nothing."
I touched his arm. "Well, that's obviously not true. Come on. Tell me."
He shrugged.
I sighed. "Fine. Don't tell me. But remember, whatever it is, I want to help."
"That's what you do," he said. He frowned. "You help. Try to, anyway. You want to help and you go and try."
"Um. Yes. I guess." What the hell was up with him? We honestly had not drunk that much champagne.
He was staring at me with an odd, dark intensity. It was as if he'd never seen me before.
"Starting to freak me out here, Quill."
"Mmn." He opened his mouth to say a reflective sorry - I saw it clearly - but nothing came out. Instead he leaned in, very warily, and kissed me on the cheek. For a second I thought I saw tears in his eyes.
"Oh Quill." I hugged him. A tremor ran through his whole body, a weird judder as if my hug was repulsive, or something. I stepped away. "Come on. Things to do, ghosts to vanquish."
I let go of him and walked on. After a moment he followed, caught up and walked beside me, casting uncertain sideways glances all the while.