‘Okay, come on and I’ll change the bed for you.’

  ‘Er. Oz …?’ she said.

  ‘Don’t worry about it. The sofa folds down. That’s where I sleep when my Dad’s here.’

  ‘I’ll have that, then.’

  ‘No, because that’ll mean I can’t work at my desk. I’ve got a couple of witnesses to interview this afternoon, and I should go back to see Archer.’

  The deal was struck. She helped me change the sheets — I’ll swear I heard them sigh with relief — making no comment on the stains which were a relic of Jan’s last stopover three weeks earlier. As I shook out the Downie, she asked me quietly. ‘What are you going to say to Archer?’

  I looked at her. ‘I could tell him about Kane. If I did that he might decide he had to go to the police. They’d find out what I was really doing there, and that we told them porkies. Then we’d both be in the shit. Your sister would be too, right up to her nose. Alternatively, I could tell him that when I turned up the street was crawling with polis, so I did a runner. That’s safer but it leaves us with the problem of what to do about the fiver.’

  ‘Yes,’ she said, softly. ‘What about the fiver?’

  I looked down at her, flexing my sincerity muscles. ‘Well,’ I said, ‘if I hadn’t been there you wouldn’t have known what the fiver was all about. You might not even have picked it up.’

  She shook her head. ‘My flat, my fiver. I’d have had it all right.’

  ‘On the other hand, if you hadn’t been there to pull that stunt, I’d never have laid a finger on that note. Archer would have had to go public to get it back. So the way I look at it, Miss Primavera Phillips, we’re partners.’

  She looked at me across the bed. The afternoon sunshine spilled down in a column from the belvedere enveloping her in its light. Slowly, she unwound the towel turban and let it fall to the floor. ‘Partners, eh?’ she said. Then she reached across the bed and stretched out her hand. It was a chubby wee hand, but her grip was strong. ‘Okay, Oz, it’s a deal. You know, I didn’t come out of the bathroom to get my toothbrush. I came upstairs to fetch the fiver from my jeans pocket. When I found that you were gone but that it was still there, I felt really guilty. You’ll do, partner.’

  She glanced up; the beam of reflected sunlight glinted off her damp hair and shone in her eyes. ‘Let me close the trap door if you’re going to sleep,’ I said.

  ‘No, leave it. It won’t bother me.

  ‘So: will you tell Archer that we’ve got the note?’ she asked.

  ‘I don’t know. My gut tells me that the fewer people who know we’ve got it, the better it’ll be for us. You and I have got to face up to some nasty truths about this situation, not least about your sister’s part in it. But not now, eh. I’ve got these people to see, and you’ve got some kipping to do.’

  ‘Okay.’ She was beginning to sound fuzzy. ‘One thing though, Oz, partner.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Figure out the best way to tell Archer, but five per cent isn’t enough.’

  I held up my hands. ‘One step at a time. Let’s just concentrate on getting through today in one piece. Now sleep!’

  I turned and jumped down from the sleeping area. I couldn’t help looking back as I hit the lower level, and caught a back view of Prim dropping the dressing gown on the floor and slipping naked into my bed. A quick shudder ran through me from top to toe. I pinched myself hard, but I didn’t waken up. If I went back up those steps she’d still be there.

  Instead I went across to my desk and began to prepare for my two interviews. Ten minutes later, as I set the telefax to auto answer and picked up my case, soft sleeping sounds floated down from the upper level. She didn’t snore; she simply breathed and it was like music whispering its way around the room. I thought of other people who had slept in that bed. My Dad, with his stertorous snores; Jan, with her snorts, snuffles and occasional gentle farts.

  Suddenly I had a strange feeling that my loft had been invaded by a haunting spirit, and that life there was never going to be the same again.

  In which the Daft Laddie does a deal

  My two witnesses, coming after my adventures of the morning, were almost refreshingly normal. One was an air steward, who was taking his former employer to an industrial tribunal to contest his dismissal on grounds of sexual misconduct. His defence was that as an adult male over twenty-one he was entitled to have private relations with another man.

  The airline’s case was that the male staff shower room at Heathrow could not be construed as a private place. I could see that the publicity accruing to my lawyer client would be worth far more than his fee.

  My second witness was a punter whose claim for fire damage had been knocked back by his insurance company, and who was suing as a result. The fire had been caused by a faulty gas heater. Neutral though I was, even I could see that his lawyers would have trouble coming up with an answer to the key question. Why had the heater been lit on the afternoon of the hottest day of the year? If the punter’s story, ‘because my greyhound was sick,’ couldn’t convince gullible Oz Blackstone, then I could only guess at the likely reaction of the Court of Session.

  Archer was waiting for me in his office when I arrived at 4.20 p.m., twenty minutes late. He was almost on tiptoes with tension as he paced around the room.

  ‘Did you see him?’

  I still didn’t have a clue about what I was going to say to him, so I decided to use the Daft Laddie Gambit as a stalling device. ‘See him?’ I said, wearing what Granny Blackstone used to call my ‘Gowk’ expression.

  ‘Willie Kane. Kane and his bird. Did you see them, and have you got the two halves of the fiver?’

  Maybe the morning had made me paranoid, but there was something about him, an edge of tension that made me afraid to trust the man. After all, someone had rammed that big knife up under Kane’s chin. Someone had searched Prim’s flat, and had failed to find the divided banknote. Someone had taken Kane’s wallet to hold up the identification of the body.

  Suddenly I realised that, if I was to draw up a list of suspects, Mr Raymond Archer would be quite near the top. Nine hundred thousand was a strong lure even to a senior partner, especially if the theft could be blamed on the wee man, and the loss to the firm could be recovered from his assets. Support I had been sent along there just to discover the body, and to fill the time-honoured role of fall guy?

  I tried to stop my eyes from narrowing as I looked at him. Playing safe, I decided on Plan B: when cornered, lie with total conviction. I shook my head. ‘No. I never got that close. All hell was breaking loose on down there. When I got to Ebeneezer Street, the place was full of blue uniforms, and the entry to the close was guarded. I decided not to announce myself. I didn’t even get out the car, just turned it around and drove off.

  ‘I picked up a News this afternoon.’ I threw the tabloid down on his desk. ‘They found a man’s body at that address. There’s no way of telling which flat it was, but you never know.’

  He picked up the paper and scanned the front-page story, which was accompanied by a mugshot of DI Mike Dylan. Either Archer couldn’t conceive of Kane being the victim, or he was a bloody good actor.

  ‘What do we do now?’ he asked.

  ‘Wait till they identify the body.’

  Archer looked at me. ‘Surely it couldn’t be Willie?’

  ‘Is he immune to knives, then?’ I bit my tongue for a second until I remembered that the News story, quoting Dylan, had referred to stab wounds.

  ‘But if it is him?’

  ‘Then we have to wait until the police are well clear of the place, then find an excuse to go back in there to try to find the fiver. Unless that’s what he was killed for.’ That’s it Oz boy, plant as many thoughts in his mind as you can, to steer him away from the thought that you might have it. ‘Even if it isn’t him, we have to let the police get clear before we make contact again.’

  Archer thought for a moment. ‘Okay. Play it that way. You still happy to work on a contingency basis?’ It didn’t take me a second to shake my head. ‘Not now. It’s a new game. I need a fee to cover my time, fifty an hour, plus expenses to Switzerland if we do find the fiver. I want a bigger cut too. Ten per cent’s not unreasonable, given the down-side to you if you don’t get that money back.’

  Archer took even less time to think than I had. ‘You’re a hard man, Blackstone, but okay. If you pull it off it’ll be worth it.’ He ushered me to the door. ‘Keep in touch.’ I was outside in George Street almost before I knew it.

  In which secrets are revealed, there is a chance meeting, and deeply held principles are discussed

  Back at the loft, Prim’s soft sleeping sounds sounded as if they might go on for a while, but they had been joined by the scrabbling of an irritated iguana. Wallace had his own version of ‘Don’t fence me in’. He looked at me with a cold imperious eye as I released him.

  There were no phone messages, but two faxes from solicitors giving me interview commissions on a non-urgent basis. I switched on my Performa and sat down to type up my notes of the afternoon’s interviews. I had almost finished the second, when there was a shout behind me, choked off, followed a few seconds later by a long exhalation.

  ‘Christ, Oz, I was having a dream there about waking up in bed beside that wee man, then I did wake up, beside a bloody lizard!’

  ‘Dinosaur!’ I said sternly. I stood up and jumped up on to the sleeping area. Prim was propped up on her right elbow. Her left breast had rolled out over the edge of the Downie, but she hadn’t noticed, or didn’t care. I sneaked the briefest of glances. It fulfilled earlier promise, bigger than a handful, but not so large that it was heading rapidly south. I perched myself on the edge of the bed as she sat up, pulling the Downie right under her chin and in the process dislodging Wallace. He shot her a look filled with bale, and reached for the first wooden rung of the ladder to the belvedere.

  ‘Feel better for that?’ I asked. I reached out and touched her hand, tentatively. She took mine and gave it a quick squeeze. ‘Yes and no,’ she said. ‘The “yes” part is that you’re still the guy I thought you were before I went to sleep, if you know what I mean.’ I thought I did, and the hamster who lives in my stomach at such moments did another quick lap of the track. ‘What’s the “no” bit?’ I asked.

  ‘That what happened this morning isn’t a movie any more. I have to start treating it as real, and I can’t go on blanking Dawn from my mind.’

  ‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘I know.’ I looked at my watch. ‘Prim, it’s after six. I’ve got some work to finish off, then I have to get it on the fax. While I do that, why don’t you get dressed, then we’ll go out somewhere. A drink and a pizza maybe. In the process, partner, we can talk about Dawn, I’ll tell you about Archer, and we can decide what we’re going to do next.’

  She dragged herself along the bed on her bum, until she was right alongside me, the Downie still up to her chin. Then she leaned over and kissed me, on the lips again, and not quite so chastely this time. ‘You’ve just said the magic words, Osbert. I have spent most of the last twelve months dreaming about a drink and a pizza. Now here I am, back home, about to make it all come true, and with a bloke I quite fancy at that.

  ‘I warn you now though: never on the first date, and I mean never!’

  I didn’t know what to say, so she said it for me. ‘Sometimes you meet someone and you’re attracted right away,’ She grinned. ‘Like you’re attracted to me. So far you’re winning: it cuts both ways. Just remember! First date? Never!’

  I took a hell of a chance. I kissed her, on the lips. ‘You know the trouble with women?’

  ‘Whssat?’

  ‘You just assume that all us guys are easy lays! I have to go out at least twice with a girl before I decide whether she’s worthy of my body!’

  She dipped her shoulder and shoved me off the bed. ‘Go!’ she demanded. ‘Finish your work, while I turn myself into a human being again.’ I did as I was told. Behind me I heard the riffling sound of the Downie being shaken up and spread over the bed. Then Prim’s feet sounded lightly on the staircase.

  I refocused myself on my reports and finished them off, neat and tidy, set out in question and answer form, with a summary attached. I fed each into the fax then slipped confirmatory copies into envelopes. Quick, experienced and thorough, that’s Oz Blackstone, Prince among Private Enquiry Agents, the man most wanted by Edinburgh’s legal community, even if much of his work does bore him out of his scone.

  I pride myself that on each day of my life I try to learn something new. ‘So what’s today’s lesson, Blackstone?’ I asked myself, out loud, as I stamped the two envelopes.

  ‘Stick to the boring stuff,’ I answered, ‘and forget the Philip Marlowe dreams. Dead people don’t look attractive close up, even if the money is good, and the work’s exciting.’

  ‘That’s good, Oz; now what’s the bonus lesson?’

  ‘That’s easy. Don’t give up believing in miracles. Most people find at least one in a lifetime.’

  I turned around, and there she was, Primavera, Springtime in Spanish, standing beside the bed, fastening a single string of pearls around her neck. The jeans and tee-shirt had gone, to be replaced by a close-fitting grey skirt and a sleeveless white blouse. Her sun-bleached hair had been teased into order, carefully but casually, and she was made up with blue eye shadow, a touch of blusher and a vivid red lipstick which sat on her perfect mouth like country wine on a summer evening. She was so beautiful that she made me breathless.

  I stood there, dumbstruck for a while, until the inevitable nonsense sprang to my tongue. ‘Springtime,’ I said, holding out a hand in invitation, ‘would you care to join me in my garden?’

  My loft opens out on to a tiny terrace, on which a few geraniums and a woebegone palm struggle for survival in the heart of my Scottish city. I threw open the double doors, and held out my hand for her as she approached across the big room, passing through a beam of light from one of the four Vellux windows set on each side of the sloping ceiling.

  If I was an aesthete I would say that sunlit May evenings are my favourite time of the year in Edinburgh. Those few days, as the year shakes off the dying grip of winter, can be sublime. They are moments not to be missed, yet all too fleeting, before the Scottish summer asserts itself in all its wet, windy drabness.

  As Prim stepped out on to my south-facing terrace, I felt suddenly full up, and it came to me that this was one of those times in my life that I’ll remember on my dying day.

  My fifth birthday, when my Mum baked a cake, I had a party, and my Dad gave me my first set of real football boots. My first day at primary school. My first Hearts-Hibs game. My first day at secondary school. Sneaking in among my sister’s crowd one night to watch a bootleg video of The Exorcist, and being chucked out for laughing at the bit where Linda Blair’s head spins all the way round. My first, and last, cigarette. My first fumbling, incompetent but affectionate shag with Jan at a party in her house while her folks were away. My Mother’s death. A weekend my Dad and I spent walking in Derbyshire, eating wholesome food and drinking a different beer every night, as part of his emergence from our bereavement.

  Seminal moments all of them; now here she was, this woman I had met in the most bizarre circumstances a few hours earlier, taking her place, perhaps at the head of them all.

  She looked out across the southern aspect of Edinburgh, across Arthur’s Seat, up the ragged line of the Old Town’s rooftops, up to the craggy Castle on its flat-topped hill. She breathed deeply of the evening air. She took my arm, and squeezing it, leaned against me, laying her head on my shoulder. ‘It’s good to be back, partner,’ she said, softly and musically. ‘If only for now.’

  There was nothing I could say to add to the moment, and so, for once in my life, I said nothing. Instead, I eased her gently into one of the two green wooden folding chairs on the balcony. I stepped back into the house and trotted down to the kitchen, re-emerging from the loft a couple of minutes later with two glasses and my prize bottle of reasonably good champagne. It had been a present from a lawyer client, and had been languishing in my fridge since Christmas, awaiting an appropriate moment. I balanced the glass on the balcony’s broad wooden rail and filled them carefully. Handing one to Prim I raised the other in a toast. ‘You’re back; so welcome,’ I said. ‘I hope that it’s for good.’

  She looked at me for a long time, the glass pressed to her lips. ‘We’ll see,’ she said at last. ‘When I left a year ago, it was because I didn’t have anything to stay for. For now though, as I say, I’m glad I’m back.’ She sipped the champagne and nodded in polite approval. We drank in silence, looking out over the park, watching the joggers on the Radical Road, until the sun slipped round the comer of the loft, and the balcony, and my shivering palm tree, fell into shade.

  ‘Come on,’ I said. ‘Let’s go on a pizza hunt. D’you fancy a walk first? Along Princes Street?’ She nodded. I left her outside for a minute or two while I changed into my pub-going gear, then, locking up everything but Wallace’s cage, we headed out and up towards the old High Street. ’You got that fiver?’ I asked as we left.

  ‘Too damn right!’

  ‘Well look after it. Don’t spend it, or anything daft like that.’

  She gave me a woman’s smile which made it clear that there was no chance of that happening.

  It was Thursday, and so, although it was evening, the city was bustling with shoppers. We walked arm-in-arm, up towards St Giles, turning on to the Mound and down the long flight of steps which led down to the National Gallery and to Princes Street beyond. The pavement outside the record shops and bookstores towards the West End was thick with people and so we turned up Castle Street and along Rose Street, until it opened out into Charlotte Square.

  ‘Drink first?’

  She nodded. ‘I could slaughter a pint.’ ‘Oh Jesus,’ I thought, ‘this woman gets better and better!’