Bumping Uglies

Chapter Seventeen

I spent the remainder of the day tidying the bedroom in the farmhouse for its unexpected guest. It wasn't a huge job, but I was making a dog's breakfast of it, largely as a result of prevarication and ineptitude in equal measure

I assumed that Sophie would, rightly, want to go to the police and to report events. I wasn't at all sure what she would report, exactly, other than my informing her of suspicions relating to a murder.

That put me in a pretty difficult position, truth-be-told. On one hand, I wanted to keep her safe and to receive her gratitude. Alternatively, I was in no rush to lay bare my as-yet undisclosed presence at a murder scene, my involvement with the Tunnel of Love and my involvement with Elira.

Oh God, Elira.

I had been forced to reassess what my immediate priorities were by Sophie's abrupt intervention. Just a day ago, I had been resolved to get Elira out of The Tunnel of Love somehow and as soon as possible.

For all I knew, she might have already boarded that black-painted narrowboat and arrived at the abandoned foundry, or another location, and left it shortly thereafter wrapped lifelessly in a roll of carpet.

I couldn't bear that.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Sophie's voice made me jump. She must have crept up the stairs without me hearing. I played-up being startled for just long enough to move past the question. She would have to provide me with significantly more than a penny for me to spill what I had just been thinking.

"I'm nearly done here," I said, waving around the spartan room with its ancient oak-framed single bed and badly-tucked cotton sheets.

"Yes, about that," Sophie gazed out of the single thick-paned leaded window at the sun, now dripping below the horizon in a sea of golden light. "I don't think that I want to be alone, I wouldn't feel safe. I think I would like to stay in the hayloft. With you," she added in case I hadn't fully grasped the picture. I thought I might even have detected the faintest degree of eyelash flutter.

"I'm sure we are absolutely safe out here, but OK, no problems," I replied. "Let's get some grub," I deflected, and squeezed past her body in the door frame and headed straight down the stairs and out into the courtyard, where I set about lighting a decent cooking fire.

Sophie followed me out and stood over me, her arms crossed under her breasts, lifting her chest slightly.

"How long do you think I need to stay here?" Sophie asked. I didn't detect any tone of regret or frustration.

"Oh, I'm not sure. I suppose for as long as it takes for the police to sort the whole business out with The Tunnel of Love," I mused. "Is chicken OK?"

"Police? You haven't contacted the police, have you?" she replied, alarmed.

"No, but really we must. You seem to be in danger now and..."

"No! I don't want the police involved, not until we have found Richard and determined how he is involved in all of this awful business."

Well, well, well. I thought. Here's an interesting development. It certainly suited me, or I thought it did. I was none-the-wiser, however, as to how I could extricate myself from the tightening web of threads, even if gifted an amount of additional time.

"Sophie, the police can find Richard and they can determine the extent of his involvement. You said yourself that you didn't think you wanted him back," I said.

"He just, he wouldn't cope very well under the kind of pressure that would cause. I couldn't bare to see him hurt," Sophie replied, tears welling in her eyes.