Paparazzi Jo Fenton (the first e reader .txt) 📖

take a minute to process this, as a waiter brings our food. When he’s gone, I look at Finn.

“You think maybe Troy, for all his protestations of love, might have been beating her?”

“I’m sorry, Becks, but that’s the obvious answer.”

“It doesn’t feel right. It might tie in a bit with the story of one of his fans, but to be honest, we had her down as an over-imaginative liar.” I tell him about Sarah, and her apparent conviction that Troy wanted to have an affair with her.

I’m about to add in the details of the visits to Dean and Gemma, when Finn’s phone rings. He takes the call, going instantly into the professional mode that I remember so well.

“What’s happened?” I ask as he puts the phone down on the table and shakes his head.

“Troy’s parents have been found dead in their home. Sorry, I need to sort this out. I’ll call you later to fill you in. Sorry about lunch.” He leans across and gives me a quick peck on the cheek before grabbing his phone and his jacket and leaving me with two plates of salad.

Rather than eating alone and wasting food, I call Joanna and invite her and Will to join me. They agree and arrive ten minute later to polish off Finn’s untouched salad, and to join me in demolishing coffee and sundry desserts. It feels naughty ending lunch with sticky toffee pudding and custard, but my disappointment at being abandoned by Finn is greater than it should be. Serious carbs are required to compensate. Seeing Joanna devour tiramisu and Will eat a huge chocolate fudge sundae helps to relieve some of the guilt. While we indulge, I update them on the latest developments, both with Cheryl and Troy.

We’re leaving the restaurant when I spot a familiar figure in the corner. We seem to have been under observation.

“Guys, meet me back outside my house in about twenty minutes, will you? That way I can drop this car off and pick mine up. I just need to deal with something first.”

I see Joanna glance across to our observer, and she looks back at me with raised eyebrows. I nod.

“Sure. We’ll pop home and pick you up. Make it half an hour.”

I wait for a few minutes until they’ve gone, then walk up to Roger, who’s pretending to read the newspaper.

“May I join you for a moment?”

“Please do.” He waits while I sit on the chair opposite him. “You’ve been busy.”

“How long have you been watching me?”

“Since we parted, I’ve kept an eye on your activities. You’ve got a finger in a lot of pies right now, haven’t you?”

“There are a couple of things going on. Have you been hiding in bushes near my house? Or if not you, maybe one of your underlings?”

“That’s a lovely word – underlings.” He savours it for a long pause. “No. We’ve got more comfortable ways to observe people of interest.”

“Like sitting behind newspapers in foodie pubs?”

“I wanted to speak to you. I thought you’d notice me eventually.” He folds up his paper and folds his arms. “Can you go to London? We have a proposition for you, but it involves one of my colleagues who’s unable to travel just now. She wants to interview you in her flat tomorrow afternoon.”

“What sort of interview?” I rub my nose. “I’ve not had an interview for about five years. I’m out of practice.”

“No need to worry. It’s not the sort of interview you can prepare for. Sylvia just wants to meet you. She’ll know if you’re the right person for the task.”

“Okay. Will she also tell me what this is all about?”

“If it’s appropriate.” He reaches into his wallet and hands me an envelope containing a rail ticket for tomorrow at 10:15 – Manchester Piccadilly to London Euston. Standard class. Off-peak. There’s also a slip of paper with a printed address in Kensington, a travel card for the Underground, and two twenty-pound notes. “That’s to cover expenses: lunch, a taxi from the tube station if the weather’s awful, that sort of thing.”

“What time am I expected?”

“Half past two. Your ticket is flexible, so you can do some shopping afterwards if you like. Theoretically, you could stay down there if you have friends or family, but we would prefer you to return the same day.”

“That’s fine. I have friends in London, but they would be happy meeting me for dinner. Then they’ll see me on to the train. If I park at Piccadilly, in the proximity car park, could I claim back the cost?”

“Of course. Particularly as it appears that someone has been lurking in bushes watching you. Perhaps one of your old enemies. You must have made a few in your line of your work.”

“Thank you. Do I need to take anything?”

“Just whatever paraphernalia you’d normally take on a day trip to London. It would be sensible for you to find a good reason to visit the capital. We don’t want to publicise this more than needed.”

“I could visit Troy’s record company. That could be useful.”

“Absolutely. Excellent idea. Would you like us to make the arrangements? I could ensure an appointment with his producer if that would help?”

I thank him and get my thoughts together, while he taps messages into his phone. These people seem capable of everything. A moment later…

“Perfect. That’s all sorted. You’ll be meeting Troy’s producer at half past four. I’ll text you his name and address. That will give you time for some shopping and lunch when you arrive in London, then you can meet your friends for dinner afterwards. A very productive day.”

I tuck the envelope into my bag and thank him. I’m about to leave when a thought occurs to me.

“Am I allowed to tell Matt?”

“Yes. As he’s one of us, you’re welcome to share information with him. However, be careful in case anyone is listening. All such discussions must take place indoors with the windows closed, and out of earshot of visitors or your offspring.”

By the time