HAPPY NEW YEAR!

So this is kind of a commemorative chapter because tonight was the night when #thegirls won the Dempsey & Makepeace Sweatshirt (#thejumper) on Twitter which was donated by Glynis and auctioned off by MND Scotland. What a night!

Also, a big "Hello" to Goroslin who visited London this week and met up with a couple of #thegirls. Hopefully a few more of us will get to meet you this year. Truly amazing how many have met up through this FanFiction website.

Chapter 14

At the hotel, Dempsey explained to the receptionist that he was expecting a phone call any time but that the caller would be asking for his friend, Jim Dempsey who unfortunately hadn't been able to make the trip.

The receptionist, treating him to a tight-lipped professional smile told him that whilst she would do her best to ensure the call was transferred correctly, the Edmonton Hotel was not able to provide secretarial services to its' guests. Despite an overwhelming desire to ram a customer service lesson down the woman's throat, Dempsey instead turned on the charm, pledging eternal gratitude if this little deed could be performed. He also threw in some spiel about it being a shame that the trip had to be cancelled because he and his wife had been hoping that their friend would have been around long enough to meet the new baby.

The middle aged receptionist softened visibly, agreeing that indeed, it was a great shame.

"So the call will be from a client of Jim's," Dempsey filled her in casually. "If she thinks she isn't going to be able to deal with him direct, I'm worried she might turn tail and run so if you didn't mention the fact that she's going to have to talk to the monkey rather than the organ grinder, I'd very much appreciate it."

"I'll make a note," the receptionist assured him, reaching for a pen and paper.

"Oh and if I'm not around but my wife is…"

A tiny frown marred her face.

"… Odette is completely au fait with the situation and will be quite happy to take the call."

A warm and approving smile. He might be an American but he was very charming with it, rather handsome and a definite family man.

"I'll make sure Janie is aware of your request when she comes back off her break and I'll leave this note for the night shift – just in case."

Dempsey beamed. "Pat, you're a wonder," he told her. "Thank you so much."

And then he took the lift up to the rooms to find out from SI-10 if the boys had turned anything up on Inga.

"So, how are you?" Masters asked once Dempsey had safely departed. "How have you been?"

Makepeace could feel the pressure building in her head.

"Look, Paul, I really don't want to do this. You know the truth so let's just leave it at that shall we?"

"I thought about you for weeks afterwards… well, about Harry. Wondered why you'd just disappeared like that, I mean, we'd had a great night together. At least, I'd thought we had."

She refused to be drawn.

"But of course, it all makes sense now…"

Harry sighed, her eyes on the ground, trying to convey disinterest.

"Small world, isn't it?" he said into the quietude with a dash of irony.

She rolled her eyes. "Oooh, yes."

"I don't get it though, I mean, married, pregnant…" He laughed shortly. "Very pregnant! I'm just astounded I couldn't tell. Not that I know much about these thing but even so…"

She looked to him briefly and shrugged.

"Why?" he asked simply

This was so hard; answering for Odette, pretending to have reasons for an entirely different set of circumstances when she wasn't even too sure of her own reasons.

"Look, Paul," she faltered, "it was just one of those things. Christopher and I weren't seeing eye to eye at the time and I was feeling quite down."

"The gambling you mean?"

She nodded. "So can we just leave it at that? I realise I behaved abysmally and I'm certainly not proud of what I did."

"When I heard you arguing just now it crossed my mind that he'd found out… about us I mean."

"Then it probably wasn't the wisest of decisions to come down here," Harry said uneasily.

"It was either that or wait for him to come up, all guns blazing." He smiled gently. "I was displaying a backbone."

"Very macho – or very stupid"

Paul sighed and meandered over to the sculpture which was now on full display. Silently, he looked it over from a fellow artist's viewpoint.

"I'm not going to cause any trouble for you. Your secret is safe with me." He looked across at her. "Suppose I'm just – disappointed."

"I'm sorry," she answered defensively. "I don't know what else I can say."

"You know, I can't quite make your husband out," he replied after a few moments. "He's a real mixed bag isn't he? Interesting sort of fella – just not the sort I'd have put you with."

Without even considering what her reaction to that should be, she felt a stab of pique.

How would he know what her sort was? And besides, he didn't know Dempsey, not the real Dempsey, not like she did.

"Maybe I'm a mixed bag too , Paul."

Unconsciously she fixed him with a belligerent stare.

"Sorry, I didn't mean anything by it," Masters apologised but then he seemed to harden a little. "This was just as much a shock for me as it was for you, you know… more so! At least I am who I claimed to be."

Harry wanted the ground to open up and swallow her whole. This undercover role gave her a fake excuse but it didn't stop her from remembering her real, inexcusable reason for sleeping with him. She had 'used' him; used his physical body to satisfy the desires she denied herself and that was just the uncomplicated, innocent version of events. Hearing Paul Master's simple interpretation made her feel even grubbier and guiltier than ever.

"I've said I'm sorry," she told him flatly. "I can't change what happened."

"Good," Masters smiled, "because I wouldn't want to."

Harry felt her cheeks redden.

"Paul…" she said warningly."

"Don't worry, I realise I'm completely out of the running." He gestured towards her faux belly. "So if you weren't rowing about me, what were you rowing about? Nothing serious? I'd have thought the last thing you need right now is any kind of aggro."

"We've got problems with the builders who are doing the nursery, that's all."

"Ah. I see."

But Harry got the feeling he didn't quite believe that.

Then he said brightly, "Well, you know where I am if you want anything – not that you'll be coming to the studios for very much longer I don't suppose."

Harry followed him as he turned towards the door. "No, not long now. I hope."

"Still don't have a surname," Chas told him.

Dempsey sat down on the edge of the bed with the phone base resting on one knee.

"Then someone ain't been diggin' deep enough. Everybody's got a last name, even God has a last name."

"Has he?" asked the harassed detective.

"Sure. You know, like, God Almighty," yelled Dempsey, "are you foolin' with me here?"

He scooped up the phone and threw himself back on the bed. "Seriously Chas, how difficult can that be? Lemme guess, you got that dickweed Fry on it, right?"

"Frank and Dave, actually."

"Yeah? Well you can tell 'em from me, I'm starting to doubt either of them could find their ass with both hands!"

His attitude was beginning to grate on Chas. "We're doing what we can, Dempsey. This is the legwork plod should've covered days ago. We're playing catch-up at this end."

Dempsey groaned. "Yeah, okay, okay, I get it. Sorry Chas."

He scrubbed a hand through his hair and tried to concentrate.

"You alright?" Chas asked.

"Me? No problem. But I think the broad with the balls of steel may have gone a little soft on me."

He instantly felt a twinge of disloyalty. Makepeace was his partner and deserved his respect at least.

"Strike that Chas," he added quickly. "The art world ain't all it's cracked up to be is all."

He forced himself to smile. "So, the lovely Inga remains a mystery to the Metropolitan Police Force, huh? We'll see if a New York cop can expose her deep, dark secrets."

"I've been looking for you," said Jenna.

"I was downstairs talking to Odette," Masters told her as she followed him back into his studio.

"And?"

"And what, Jenna?" he asked tersely.

She tutted. "Does she know anything?"

"Why would she?"

He picked up a thick pig bristle brush and began wiping it on an already paint besmirched cloth.

"Because they're friends of Charlie's, aren't they?"

"That being the case, they'd have informed the police of anything relevant."

She plonked herself down on the cluttered desk. "Would they?" she asked wilfully.

Masters looked up, fixing her with a critical eye. "I know what you're thinking Jenna."

"So don't pretend you haven't thought the same thing. You know better than most that she's like poison, leaking into the system," she laughed scornfully, "spreading herself about."

"Still doesn't mean the Montgomerys know anything."

Jenna absently tugged and preened at the black elastic bands that held small bunches of hair in an outlandish arrangement on top of her head. "Bet you they know more than they're letting on. There's something about them… I can't quite put my finger on it."

"They're harmless enough."

"How can you be sure? How can you be sure they're not involved?"

Masters returned to cleaning the brushes.

"Because they don't know her. They don't know anything about her. Christopher was asking me questions yesterday while he was looking at the paintings I did of her."

"And ask yourself why he'd do that, Paul," Jenna said with childish sarcasm as she switched to twisting the bangles on her arm. "Why was he asking questions about Inga?"