Don't Call Me Baby

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Lola Meets Adonis

The next morning was pretty much déjà vu. Toast, pink bunny slippers, and banana. Mum had woken up just as I was leaving. I gave her a quick peck on the cheek goodbye and headed for the tube station. The London weather didn't disappoint. It was slightly warmer than yesterday, but only because of the fine drizzle that was too light to open an umbrella. It still managed to dampen the spirits and one's clothes. The sun was struggling valiantly to remind everyone it existed, but I have to say it failed miserably, remaining invisible behind a blanket of grey clouds. Standing room only on the tube, and the smell of damp clothes pressed close to my own equally damp ones, was enough on normal days to depress even the most cheerful of people.

Today however, I was excited and nothing was going to dampen my spirits. Not even my hair which had bushed in the drizzle, the tightly curled ringlets standing out in a halo around my head. People tended to stand a tiny bit further from my personal space due to my hair because, otherwise, it was prone to tickle their faces. If it weren't so useful for this reason I would be very tempted to crop it short. It couldn't quite be categorised as an afro, but it gave a damn good imitation of one.

As usual Pete was already in the office and greeted me with a gruff "Mornin'." Must be a good day I thought otherwise I'd normally be lucky with a begrudging grunt. He wasn't the world's best morning person. I popped the kettle on. Caro came in fifteen minutes later carrying a carton of milk, which she put away in the small fridge behind her desk. The morning passed quickly.

After lunch it passed slowly. I was waiting for my 'partner' to arrive at 2:00pm. Pete called me into the office at 1:30pm. "Lola," he barked, "Come into my office please. I want to brief you before that bloke gets here." Dutifully, nay eagerly, I bounced into his office and sat down in the rigid and uncomfortable chair in front of his messy desk.

"Right," he said, "The other firm is called Baxter and Makepeace an old investigation firm based in Bond Street." My eyebrows raised in surprise at the address. Bond Street could only mean money. Somehow I couldn't quite see how a Bond Street firm was working with ours and I told Pete this. "An old army mate contact of mine. Well, actually, my commanding officer, decent bloke considering." As if being an army officer was something that should count against you in life. "He's a partner in the firm and he thought of me, seeing as we're in the same line of business." Same line of business, I thought, but light years apart I bet. I kept my mouth shut. Something told me Pete was a little anxious at feeling out of his league and it's not a good idea to rattle your boss's cage too often.

"Bloke he's assigned to the case is called," he looked down at his notepad squinting, "Julian Davenport," I could tell from his face that he found this name 'poncey' as he liked to call anything that smacked of upper class. "Hmm," I helpfully responded.

"Yeah well, guess a bloke can't help his name. Guess we'll reserve our judgment for when he gets here." Pete, despite his prejudices and his awful manners, was fair. "You'll be working together, but separate, if you know what I mean," no I didn't. "This Julian bloke will be working as a Director in the company, while you'll be," he looked away, "filing and such." Great no change there then.

"The aim is to get to know as many people as possible. Find out what the gossip is about the, umm, death and report back to Julian."

"Won't it be a bit obvious if we, like, socialise?" I asked. I could see Pete thought this a good question. "I'm sure, umm, Julian has an idea on that." I could see that even saying the name Julian was difficult for Pete. In Pete's world men weren't called Julian unless they were army officers, in which case, they were called Sir. "In fact," he continued, "the Baxter firm will be leading the investigation."