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We are sitting in a tree that provides a good view of the grass area in front of us and effectively conceals us from view. It is, in my considered opinion, a near perfect tree. The only fly in the ointment is the fact that Remy LeBeau is busy explaining to me exactly what is going on. This means, at some point in the relatively near future, I'm going to have to explain to him why he is sitting in a tree. And then it's quite possible I'm going to die.
"So Mick rang Remy an' say da fille ha' been spot'ed down on de sout' bank and Mick was goin' to 'ave to go down dere an' pick 'er up. And he didn' wan' you in custody parce'que who knows wha' happens to da fille den. So Remy goes down dere to set up a rescue fo' da fille." As he tells me this he keeps his voice soft enough that it won't carry to the ground. It's unbelievably sexy, which isn't helping me at all, since I'm about to reveal an utterly harebrained scheme and look like a complete idiot.
"My name is Amanda," I mutter, pretending to be pissed off with him.
He ignores that and continues, looking down at his hands as he does so. "So Remy se' up un petit surprise. Dat's all. It wasn' 'Ro back dere, jus' Remy's surprise goin' off. An' dat gave Mick enough time to let da fille go. An' now we're 'ere. So, fille; why are we 'ere?" At this last, he looks up towards me. I feel a lump of nervousness rising in my throat.
"Amanda," I reply more forcefully. I mean, really, what right does he have. I don't call him garcon, do I? I could probably work up a good head of rage around this one given the incentive.
"Amanda," he replies, looking at me through his fringe. Shit. How dare he call me Amanda? How am I supposed to get pissed off with him now? The man's sex on legs. What a bastard.
Oh wait, I've got it!
"My God you're a condescending son of a bitch aren't you," I hiss at him. Damn I'm good, I can manufacture rage with hardly any provocation at all.
"Wha's de ma'ter now?" Remy asks throwing up his hands all injured innocence. Hah. I'll give him injured innocence.
"Like I needed your help. Like I'm some helpless damsel in distress vat couldn't have gotten away perfec'ly well on ma own. Who d'you think you are, Danger Mouse? Rescue da fille. Like you could even rescue your own arse. Ah'm the one doin' the rescuin' 'ere. Ah'm ve one wiva plan, 'ave you go' tha'?" Shit. I got carried away and mentioned the plan.
"So wha' is de plan, fille? Dat's wha' Remy wan's to kno. 'Es told you everyting you asked. Now it's your turn." His voice is holding a trace of perfectly reasonable irritation now. Unlucky for me the irritation doesn't make his voice any less attractive. Fortunately, I know for a fact that my hiss is about as attractive as that of a spitting cobra.
"Hah, wel' you probly won't wanna hear abou' it, since you're all in your macho rescue mode over there," I spit at him. He is macho, and sexist, and that does annoy me, but he isn't being any of those things at this present moment. I mean, seriously, when you want people to be out of order they go all reasonable on you. I've got nothing to work with here.
"Come on, fille. Amanda. Please. Remy's sittin' in a tree," he says. I roll my eyes. Fine. I suppose I can't avoid it any longer.
"Okay, look," I begin in a calmer tone, "when I worked for Pete his signal for run was 'What the hell are you wearing,' right?" I pause and look at him. There is a sudden lump in my throat and I have to swallow a couple of times before I can continue. This is so not going to be pretty. "But there's no point having a signal for run if you don't know where to run to, see?" I murmur.
"Okay," he says. I can see cogs turning. He's thinking this is actually pretty clever, that Mick and I have a pre-arranged meeting point and maybe things really are going according to a plan.
"Right. So Pete and I were working in Sheffield, right?" How long can I drag this out?
"Okay," he repeats.
"And Sheffield's got these Botanical Gardens, see?" I can see the cogs still spinning in his head, but the optimistic look has vanished.
"Hang on a minu' fille," he says, holding up one finger.
"And that used to be our meeting point in case of emergency, yeah?" I whisper. I think I might be sick.
"Fille, are you tellin' Remy," his voice is rising.
"Shhh, you can't shout," I hiss desperately at him. "Look, it seemed logical at the time, and the train stopped at Richmond, and I knew that was quite close to Kew Gardens. And these are like, totally botanical, right, so I brought you here. And anyway I didn' 'ear you comin' up wiv anyfin' be''er, didja, so you can jus' shu' up, okay!"
After which, quite predictably, we sit in silence for a while.
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Still can't edit online. Grrr. Stupid computer. PLEASE review (and thanks if you did, you know I appreciate it!)