Chapter Twelve

There's a spy in the sky

There's a noise on the wire

There's a tap on the line

And for every paranoid's desire

there's always someone looking at you

"Someone's Looking at You" - the Boomtown Rats

An hour later Will and Jimmy had still not managed to calm Nan down. She was perched on the edge of the sofa, hands clutching her elbows, her breathing ragged. Will was trying to force a cup of sweetened tea down her throat, but she wouldn't take it.

"Please, love," he begged, handing her the tea and a chocolate biscuit. "Please take it. You've had a shock, you need it."

"No, I'm fine, Granddad, really."

"Please, love. It's what we did during the war. It's for shock."

"No thank you!" Her voice came out in a rapid burst.

"Anna Rose Kenworthy, you drink this tea and eat this biscuit right now." Will's tone was hardly above a whisper, but managed to convey stern authority.

Meekly, Nan reached for the tea and biscuit. She began to sip carefully at the hot liquid. Jimmy was at her side, staring at her in concern. At last Will seemed to notice him and he said politely, "I beg your pardon, Mr—Hickok, was it?"

"James Hickok," Jimmy nodded. "I work with Nan on the AMIT."

"Oh." Any hope Will may have had that Nan had found herself a nice, ordinary boyfriend were dashed, but he didn't show it. "I apologise for my abrupt greeting earlier, Mr Hickok. I'm Will Kenworthy."

"Good to meet you, sir."

Then both men focused their attention on Nan. Theories forming in their heads, they each spoke simultaneously.

"It's Pete, isn't it?" Granddad said, at the same moment Jimmy proclaimed, "I think Binchy did this."

"What? No! Absolutely not." Nan's response was vehement. "Pete did not take those photographs. He did not send that letter."

"Who else could it be?" demanded Will. "I hate to point it out to you, love, but you hurt him terribly and he still hasn't quite got over it."

"I've seen the way he talks to you at work, Nan. I've seen the way he looks at you. It's disturbing. I wouldn't put it past him to do something like this."

Nan glared at Jimmy. "Thank you so much for adding your two pence worth, Jimmy." Then she encompassed her grandfather in the gaze. "Both of you seem to forget that Pete was in some of the photographs!"

That stopped them for a moment, each recalling the shots of Nan standing with Louise, Pete, and Jimmy in Covent Garden after speaking to Nigel Atherton. Then Will said tentatively, "Perhaps he had someone else take those?"

"Granddad, really! What do you think he did? Pulled a friend aside and said, 'Look, mate, I'm stalking my ex-girlfriend, but I need your help taking some snaps in Covent Garden'?"

"It could be something like that. He could be trying to throw you off-track," said Jimmy.

She fixed him with another steely look. "Forgive me, but I do know Pete a little better than you do. This just isn't like him."

"Nan, you're a police officer! You of all people should know that 'This just isn't like him' are the most famous of famous last words," he scoffed.

"You're really not helping, Jimmy, you must know that," she intoned sarcastically.

"Darling, I think Mr Hickok is just trying to help. He's obviously very concerned-"

"Look! Thank you—both of you—for being here and for being concerned. But Pete didn't do this, I know he didn't do this."

"Then who? Darling, who else could have or would have wanted to do this?"

"I don't know, Granddad! I'm a police officer; I make enemies every bloody day!"

Will sank down opposite Nan. Jimmy noted that the white-haired man seemed even more distressed than his granddaughter. "I knew something like this would happen one day," he was murmuring, as if to himself. "I just knew it."

With startling tenderness, Nan put her hand on her grandfather's knee and squeezed it affectionately. "It'll be all right, Granddad. Don't worry, okay?"

"How can I not? Nan, this is the sort of thing I've always feared. Jamie said I was an idiot to worry so much, but look! I've been justified!" Will wrung his hands and didn't look at all pleased at being proved right.

Nan sighed. "You're going to work yourself up into a frenzy, Granddad. Now who needs the tea and biscuits for shock?"

To Jimmy's surprise, Will smiled at that. He said, "I know I'm just a silly old fool, but you know I worry. I worry all day, every day. Why couldn't you have been something nice and safe like a journalist...or a doctor, or something? You could have been an assertive woman of the 90s as a journalist or a doctor, surely?"

"I think you ought to go home, Granddad," Nan said softly. She leaned forward and kissed him.

"But—"

"Paulie needs you more than I do, and Uncle Jamie's probably scraping a can of tinned beans out for supper. You know that when you get home too late to fix supper you always regret it."

Grimacing, Will nodded. "The man has no discerning taste whatsoever. Now your Aunt Elaine—that woman had the palate of a true gourmand." He was full of admiration.

"Run along, then."

"No, I'm staying here with you."

Nan gritted her teeth and willed herself not to scream. Closing her eyes, she counted to ten. "I'll be fine."

"That's what you've always told me, but look at these photographs, Nan!"

"Granddad, I'm a police officer! I can take care of myself."

"Can you protect yourself against a camera?"

"Jimmy will stay with me."

Jimmy, who had been following the exchange between grandfather and granddaughter with quiet interest, took a moment to realise what Nan had said. He gaped at her. Will turned to him, painfully grateful, his face suddenly flooded with relief.

"Won't you, Jimmy?" She shot him a hard, 'Just play along' look.

Jimmy cleared his throat. "Um, right. Right. Absolutely."

"Splendid. Splendid. Thank you so much, Mr Hickok." Will pumped Jimmy's hand in exuberant appreciation. "Oh, that's such a relief, you can't imagine."

"No problem," Jimmy lied. "Anything for a fellow officer."

Will didn't catch the abrupt nudge in the ribs his granddaughter gave her co-worker, or the wince that followed from Jimmy. "Well then, I ought to be going."

"Yes, Granddad. Wrap yourself up, it's quite cold outside."

"I can't tell you how much I appreciate this, Mr Hickok, truly. Take good care of her."

Jimmy plastered a smile on his face. It felt unnatural and false, but Will seemed to buy it. "I promise, sir. My pleasure."

Escorting her grandfather to the door, Nan put an arm across his back and leaned close to him. "He will be sleeping on the couch, won't he, Nan?" Will whispered.

"Yes, I promise."

He stopped to draw her into his arms again, and this time Nan welcomed the hug, pressing her face against his warm woollen overcoat, smelling his familiar scent of spices and London air, the inexplicable Granddad-ness of him. She felt as safe and comforted in his arms as she had been when she was a little girl. She hugged him hard. "I love you, Granddad. I'm sorry for being so difficult."

"Nonsense." Will kissed her forehead. "You're just like your father. Wouldn't have you any other way."

With more profuse thanks to Jimmy, Will finally left. Jimmy and Nan walked to the window and watched as the lone figure emerged from the building in the fading light of evening and headed in the direction of the tube station. Then, remembering suddenly, Nan snapped the curtains shut.

"Thanks for backing me up, Jimmy. I really appreciate it. I'll be all right now."

"I'm sure you will," Jimmy replied, pulling off his overcoat and hanging it on the coat rack. "What should we have for dinner? I'm starving."

Nan stared at him. "Jimmy, you don't have to stay. That was just something I said—"

"To get your grandfather off your back, I know. But I told the old guy I'd stay and I can't go back on my word."

"He won't know the difference!"

"Ah, but I would. I promised him I would take care of you." His eyes were twinkling. "And I never break my promises."

"You can take care of me by leaving. That would suit me just fine."

"Probably. But I'm not leaving." Trying hard to keep his voice light, Jimmy smiled again. He did have every intention of keeping his promise to Nan's grandfather, but the truth was it was a welcome excuse; he was frightened for Nan. Whoever this stalker was, whatever his intentions—it had to be a 'him', Jimmy was sure of it—they were sinister and possibly harmful to Nan's well-being. He had seen the fear in her eyes, he had felt it in his own heart. Someone was out to hurt her.

"Jimmy..." she said threateningly.

He pretended not to notice. "I don't feel like going out. Can we get something delivered?"

"Jimmy..."

With a thoughtful glance at the ceiling, he mused, "I'm kind of in the mood for Chinese. Are there any good Chinese places around here?"

"I'm going to kill you."

"Then again, there's nothing like good pasta. What about Italian?"

He was looking at her with determination in his eyes. Nan saw that he was not going to back down. He had some misguided notion that he was protecting her, which was very sexy, but irritating as hell.

Still, she couldn't honestly say that spending another night with Jimmy was an entirely unappealing thought...even if the circumstances weren't exactly similar to Sunday night's. He was gorgeous and intelligent, with a lovely smell about him, and he obviously wanted to stay, for whatever reason. There were far worse ways to spend an evening.

"I know a great Indian take-away," she said.

Sometime in the middle of the night Jimmy found himself wide awake. He had been sleeping soundly on Nan's incredibly comfortable sofa when suddenly his eyes flew open and stared into the dark of night. Nan's room was just on the other side of the wall by the sofa, and he heard her stir restlessly, murmuring softly to herself.

Remnants of the evening's feast lay scattered around Nan's otherwise neat and orderly flat. Half-empty cartons were strewn across the table, a bottle of Hudson Blue sat on the floor, warming. The moonlight flooded the room, illuminating everything clearly.

Neither of them had talked much. Mostly they had watched television, and then Nan had slipped a video in. Around nine they had both fallen asleep, exhausted. Jimmy, who had been expecting heartburn at the very least from the spicy meal they had imbibed, was pleasantly surprised to find that it had settled well on his stomach. In fact, he was hungry again. He remembered setting the chana masala on the corner of the table; that would make a nice snack.

Too late he remembered the bottle of cider. His foot collided with it, sending it streaming across the carpet. "Dammit!" he exclaimed. "God!" He wiped his bare toes against the dry patch of carpet and hopped into the kitchen on his other foot. Misjudging the distance, he walked smack into the counter protruding from the tiny kitchen. He heard the sharp crack of his shin against the rough surface. "Dammit!" he roared.

The hallway light flipped on. Jimmy winced in the sudden brightness and saw Nan's approaching figure. She yawned and folded her arms across her chest. "What have we here?" she asked. Her eyes squinted in the bright light and she looked amused. "A comedy of errors?"

"Very funny. Help me sit down, would you?" She helped to manoeuvre him onto the barstool by the counter. He glared at her chuckle of mirth. "Thanks."

"What on earth did you do to yourself?"

"Just spilled some stuff and then stepped in it and then cracked my shin," he mumbled, his words barely discernible.

Nan laughed again. Jimmy's eyes were adjusting to the light. He could see that she was dressed in a pair of baggy, blue-and-red-checked pyjama trousers that hung low on her hips and a ratty old t-shirt that barely covered her stomach and was emblazoned with the Manchester United logo. Her hair, which she had braided before bedtime, had escaped from the confines of the plaits and stuck out at odd angles here and there. For someone made out like a tomboy, she looked remarkably sexy, Jimmy noted darkly.

"Can I get you anything?"

"Just my dignity."

"Sorry." She grinned impishly. "We're fresh out of dignity."

She knelt down before him and lifted the leg of his trousers, peering at the wound. She made a face. "Ooh, that's a nasty one." Quickly she lifted the First-Aid kit from the loo and within seconds she had expertly applied ointment and a plaster to his shin. "You'll live," she pronounced finally.

She smelled like soap and the faintest traces of some flowery perfume. She was so different from Lou, earthier, more attainable somehow. Lou had always seemed to him some ethereal creature, impossible to reach, too perfect for someone like him. Nan, for all her sophistication and savvy, was somehow more real to him than Lou had ever been. Maybe deep down somewhere, he had always known that Lou could never be his.

"Well, I'm wide awake now, I don't know about you," Nan murmured through a yawn. She was rifling through the white cartons on the table. "Was there any Bombay potato left?"

She flipped on lamps as she went through the living room and soon the room was awash in bright yellow light. Nan found the carton she was looking for and dug in. Jimmy joined her, limping slightly.

"Don't be such a baby," she said upon seeing his pained expression. "Be a man, Lieutenant, it's only a bruise."

"Here, let me show you exactly how I got this bruise." Jimmy lifted her leg and made as if to bang it against the edge of the coffee table.

"No, no, no!" she shrieked, falling back against the sofa with a giggle. A stray bit of potato flew out of her mouth.

"Charming. Haven't you ever been taught not to talk with your mouth full?"

"I don't think it applies when someone is threatening you with bodily harm."

"I wouldn't hurt you, Nan, you know that."

His words were light-hearted, but Nan sensed something deeper and she blushed. She took another big mouthful of cold potato to cover her growing confusion.

Jimmy had picked up another carton and was spearing the food eagerly. "I'll probably regret this later on, but this is damn good food."

"Spices don't agree with you, Lieutenant?"

"It's good for a man to walk on the wild side every now and then. And what's with calling me 'Lieutenant' all the time? I think once you've slept with someone you can drop the titles and go on a first name basis." Her blush spread further. He laughed appreciatively. "I really enjoy doing that." He gestured to her pink cheeks. "Making you blush. It's a hell of a lot of fun."

They ate in silence. Somehow Jimmy felt it was one of the cosiest moments he'd had in a long time. Nan stirred the food around with her fork. She seemed on the verge of saying something, but Jimmy didn't push.

"Jimmy?"

"Hmm?" He tried not to look too interested.

"Those photographs...they really scared me."

It wasn't so much the words as the tone of voice, so quiet and hesitant and filled with fright, that caused Jimmy to set the food aside and draw her into his arms. Nan knew this wasn't right, to be sitting here like this with this man she barely knew, but it felt so safe to be held and she needed to feel safe again. Burying her face in the expanse of Jimmy's soft cotton t-shirt, she fought back the tears and the memories of those photographs, capturing moments of her life—insignificant moments it was true, but her life nonetheless.

Jimmy said nothing, and it was extremely comforting to her, just to be held, her messy hair stroked gently under his broad hands. He seemed to understand, she could feel that in her soul, though he never said so.

"Seeing those photographs...someone's watching my life, Jimmy. It may not be much, but it's mine! I felt so..." She couldn't find the word.

"Violated?"

"Yes, exactly." A tear spilled from the corner of her eye, joined quickly by others, wetting Jimmy's shirtfront. "How dare they? Why? Why me? Who cares about me, Jimmy?"

"We'll find him, honey, I promise you. He won't get away with this."

'Honey.' The endearment had slipped so easily off his tongue; he himself hadn't even noticed it. But Nan had. Her ears rang with the one simple word.

Jimmy held her as she trembled softly in his arms. He felt ridiculously protective, certain that he could take care of this frighteningly independent woman if only she would let him. She was so fascinating and mercurial, with so many very different, very human sides to her. There were layers to Nan, layers upon layers, and he had only just begun to skim the surface. He wanted to know more—why she went through the trouble to erect such high walls around herself, and then made herself so achingly vulnerable for those she loved enough. Why she had been such a pliant, tender creature on Sunday night and then by Monday morning was a stranger again. And most of all, he wanted to know why those last photographs had shown her crying at her window, her face so heartbreakingly sad.

Maybe he could ask her tomorrow. Maybe things were changing. Maybe he was falling in love. He didn't have the answers; he so rarely did. Right now, he would just settle for holding her.