Globusz^® Publishing 

fter the flight up from London and a taxi to the hotel, Peter checked in before deciding to take a walk. It was his first visit to Edinburgh and the city appeared to be rather interesting. The walk however had prematurely terminated in a cafe as light rain began to fall. He was drinking coffee, gazing out through the window and contemplating the words of his manager, “find out all you can about dams and hydro electricity power generation.” Peter knew ‘diddly swat’ about dams, his projects so far had only covered a couple of small projects financed by the commission. After he had pointed out this omission they had sent him off to this architects symposium. “Have a break and make it a bit of a holiday. It will help you get over the rail crash,” his manager had said. Well, he was due to attend a lecture the following day on ‘The future of dam design’ and given by David Mirand. This guy, the lecturer, was the chief designer of the South American dam in Cordilla. The very dam that ‘the grape vine’ in ‘the firm’ said they had problems with. So it was a fair bet that this was where his boss was thinking of sending him next. Peter was hoping the lecture would be informative and anticipated having a few words with the guy and any of his contemporaries that he could button hole afterwards. In an attempt to hide his complete ignorance though, he had been doing a lot of reading, boning up, throughout the last few days, most especially on the flight up from London this morning. ‘Perhaps he will use this latest project as an example to demonstrate several aspects of the design of dams. Maybe! After all the last project is usually nearest to the future.’

His coffee was still warm whilst outside dusk had set in and the rain appeared to be easing. Making up his mind he gulped down the rest of the coffee and was soon on his way. He needed the exercise and so on leaving the café, turned right, and at a brisk pace began to stretch his long legs, occasionally glancing to the left at the park and the castle beyond which dominated the city’s skyline. He hadn’t gone far however before the rain came back heavily, causing him to dive into a convenient shop doorway. The window lights came on as he looked around. ‘A shoe shop! Well I have been intending to get some new boots for fell walking. May as well see what they have and the boots could be useful in South America too if I end up there.’

Fifteen minutes later he was standing on the first floor of the shoe shop again gazing out at the rain filled scene. Princes Street was now awash with a shower of multicoloured umbrellas waving in the wind amidst the sparkle of the streetlights and reflected in the water on the road’s surface. A vehicle went by throwing up rooster tails of water into the air whilst tyre tracks left by its passage were washed away before the next vehicle could re-lay them. Peter gazed at the castle on the hill before him and imposing though it was, he didn’t see it. His mind was elsewhere, the picture he saw was a mountain-side somewhere in South America and the castle was the concrete face of a dam. He was wearing the boots that he had just purchased... despite the fact that these boots were now in a box in a plastic-bag in his hand. Were the boots water proof or were they giving him a blister because they leaked and his socks were wet? Were the boots comfortable? No! They would be okay after he had put some silicone waterproofing on them and that he had back at his London flat. ‘I’ll have to wear them in with a couple of good hikes over the dales,’ he thought. He still had a twinge in his shoulder though it felt better, only occasionally noticed now, but he needed this break. A proper holiday would be better, to fully get over the rail crash which had shook him up more than he had at first acknowledged. A holiday or just a few days off, drive up to Derbyshire, visit his sister! A stroll or two over the dales or maybe the high peaks would soon put the spring back in to his step. Get this Scottish rain and the London grime from his lungs.

Returning to reality he turned away from the window and with the plastic-bag in one hand, made his way through the litter of shoes and unshod feet, to the stairs. Time to kill with a lonely evening ahead of him in the hotel, he pondered on the immediate future. At the foot of the stairs stood a lady doing a sort of pirouette. She had short brown hair framing a pleasant open face and wore a long grey coat. The lady was trying on some red shoes. Now standing looking at them in front of the mirror, stepping first this way then the other. On her left hand she wore a glove clutching the other black glove and handbag. With her right hand she swished her coat open as she turned revealing a maroon pencil skirt, nice legs and trim ankles. A snap shot now hidden again by the grey coat. He couldn’t resist a comment when passing.

“They look nice, very nice indeed.”

This observation was rewarded by a pleasant smile and he caught a twinkle in her eyes as they met his across the passage. “Why thank you.”

“You're welcome,” he replied but, as he opened the door to leave the shop, added. “The shoes look nice too.” The giggle of mirth that this brought fourth was abruptly cut short to his ears as the door closed behind him.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later and Helen was still smiling as she left yet another shop with the shoes in a plastic-bag in one hand and a parcel under her other arm. Splashing her way over to the taxi rank, she again asked her self. ‘Did I buy the shoes because of that comment from the stranger?’ Then immediately answered her unspoken question. ‘Certainly not! I’d made up my mind to have them before he spoke. I wonder what David’s comment will be when I mention it tonight?’

* * *

Peter didn't bother with a taxi. He had time to kill. Nonetheless, in contradiction, he stepped out briskly through the rain with head down and collar turned up, making his way through the wet streets. By the time the hotel foyer came into view the bottom of his trousers were damp, flapping around his ankles and his feet were wet from the puddles. The promise of a warm shower and dry clothes were making him hurry. Less than a hundred metres from the hotel however, he paused as a taxi drew in at the curb and he saw her for the second time. The concierge covered her with an umbrella as she fumbled with her parcels whilst paying of the taxi, next moment she was gone, stepping inside without noticing. Peter was left standing in the rain, he was sure it was the lady from the shoe shop.

‘Things are looking up, that woman is in the same hotel. Maybe the evening won’t be so boring after all,’ he mused. ‘She appears to be on her own too. So far so good!’ A new bounce came into his stride as he covered the last few yards to the foyer only then having to wait and endure further delay as a group of people came out the door. When at last he reached the lobby she was nowhere to be seen.

Some time later freshly dried and groomed, yet another cup of coffee was going cold in front of him. Perched on a stool at one end of the bar from where he had a view of the lifts and the foot of the stairs, he waited. The hotel restaurant was doing a brisk trade but there was no queue to be seated. He was well aware that he would need to be quick when, or if, she put in an appearance, hence the near empty coffee cup which could be discarded. ‘I’ll give her another ten minutes, what the hell! I’ve nothing better to do. She’s probably married anyhow,’ he told him self. ‘If she is going to dine in the hotel, then almost certainly, she will appear with a husband and possibly even one or two children. So why am I bothering? Why? Well... she looked... rather nice, pleasant... interesting even and I’ve nothing better to do.’

He was on the last dregs of his cold coffee and debating whether to order another when she put in an appearance. Radiant in beige slacks, white top, high at her throat, bare shoulders and arms. A white woollen draped in her left hand half hiding the same black handbag which hung from her fingers. She briskly bounced off the last step of the stairs. Alone! Peter slid of the stool then paused as she made her way towards the check in desk. The timing, which was originally critical, now made much easier if she walked direct from the check in desk to the restaurant. His aim was to arrive just behind her as she asked for a table but before the waiter could whisk her away. Replacing the coffee cup he picked up the menu then as she left the check in desk he left the bar, taking a last look at the menu when she passed before followed her to the restaurant.

The head waiter, looking all penguined and servile, was waiting. “Good evening madam.”

“Good evening, a table for one please.”

“Certainly, if madam would...”

But the waiter got no further as Peter, stepping forward interrupted. “Excuse me but I was wondering... I don’t like to dine alone. Perhaps the lady would care to share a table in exchange for some pleasant company and conversation?”

Though her demeanour appeared implacable Helen raised her hand slightly in a gesture to stop the waiter. Then a slight smile began to play around the corners of her mouth. “Why it’s the man from the shoe shop. Are you following me sir?” A twinkle appeared in her eye and without waiting for an answer added. “Do I have a stalker to contend with?”

“I assure you, I am not stalking anyone. I reserved a room at the hotel some days ago and checked in long before I saw you in the shoe shop. Did you buy those shoes by any chance?” 

Helen thought quickly, ‘If I answer yes he will think it was because of that silly comment,’ so she ignored the question. “Only some days ago?” She answered instead. Then leaning to one side and pretending to look beyond him, she added with grave propriety. “And pray, where is this... pleasant company, you mentioned?”

“Touché.” Peter replied with a grin. “But perhaps the lady wishes to dine alone in splendiferous solitude?”

“Ouch! But, what a wonderful turn of phrase! I presume it is only my... table, you are proposing we share?” She said, raising her left hand to her cheek whilst feigning surprise, and at the same time revealing the gold wedding band on the third finger as her wrap slid down her arm.

Peter, noticing her emphasis on ‘table’ and seeing the wedding ring coloured slightly, took a step backwards and raised both hands in supplication. “Excuse me; I seem to have been a little presumptuous.”

“Coward!” Helen muttered, pausing for a moment whilst contemplating the issues and still undecided on seeing his changed attitude. ‘He seems harmless enough... and we will be in public. It could be fun to see how hard he tries.’ Then she added, “You give in too easily.” Before turning to the waiter who, whilst listening to their banter, had a beaming smile on his face. “Perhaps we could make that a table for two... But only if the bill can remain separate. I won’t allow myself to be put under any obligation.”

A few moments later they were seated at a secluded table in the corner. The waiter departed, leaving them with the menu. After draping her wrap over the back of the chair Helen quickly opened the menu and hid behind it. ‘Why did I agree to sit with him? Why did I say he could join me? Still it could be fun. I don’t think David would mind very much even if he came in now and found me talking to a stranger. So why not?’ She had a quick look at her watch. ‘Two hours, maybe more. So what happens now, do we introduce ourselves?’ This and much more was dashing through her head when she risked a quick glance over the top of the menu.

Peter had laid his menu on the table and was unashamedly looking straight at her. When she raised her eyes he caught the glance. She couldn’t immediately look away, that would be too rude. There was a pause before both began to speak at the same time.

“I’m sorry...” Peter began.

“I suppose...,” said Helen.

There was another significant pause with each gesturing one to the other to continue.

Peter took the lead. “I was going to say how sorry I am. This is embarrassing for you. Would you prefer me to get another table?”

“Oh lord no! Not now. What would the waiter think? ... No I didn’t mean that, I meant what would it look like. No! That isn’t right either...- err!” Her voice tailed away in confusion.

“Perhaps I should introduce myself...”

She raised a hand to interrupt him again flashing her wedding ring, in case he hadn’t seen it first time. “Let’s make it first names only. – I’m Helen.”

“That makes it much more melodramatic,” he commented as his smile deepened. Whilst thinking. ‘That’s the second time she has demonstrated that she is married.’ Then gallantly he half rose from the table before pushing out his hand and offered. “I’m Peter... the same as the saint.”

Helen took the proffered hand glanced above his head and muttered something about ‘this type of saint being called Simon’ before ducking back behind the menu. Then just loud enough for him to hear she added. “And was this supposed to be a saintly gesture. Trying to pick up a married lady?”

Peter lost some of his smile. “Believe it or not I wasn’t trying to pick you up... well not really. I just wanted some company and at that time I didn’t know you were married. Although I did guess that you may be. Are you expecting company soon?”

‘So now he wants to know how long he has to seduce me,’ she thought, again peaking over the menu. “Company? ... My husband? ... Yes! Later this evening, he was delayed... business. He’s flying up.” She looked at her watch again, for emphasis. “About now!”

Peter glanced down at the menu to hide his eyes and cover his thoughts from her gaze. ‘I wonder if that is true, or is she just trying to warn me off,’ he pondered. ‘I’ll give her another chance to duck out if she wants to.’... “Err! I could easily leave the table before we order if you would prefer, I could dine later after you have finished.”

For the third time she peaked over the top of her menu to lightly admonish him. “Now, not only are you being a coward... Peter, but you’re repeating yourself.” Then in an attempt to soften it even more she added. “Besides, if you did leave I would be putting some other solitary woman at risk. Could I ever forgive myself?”

This brought the agreeable smile back to his face and he relaxed slightly, saying no more but looking at the menu on the table. ‘She’s full of ups and downs. She wants to flirt and has already told me the rules. It may turn out to be a pleasant evening after all if she would only stop playing peek-a-boo with that menu.’

Next moment Helen did just that and set down her menu whilst glancing at the ring finger of his left hand. ‘No ring and no marks that one has recently been removed.’ She had more time to look him over now whilst he was deciding what to order. Strong hands, blue open necked shirt and she remembered grey slacks and polished black shoes. “Mrs Peter,” she enquired, “is there such a lady?”

Peter looked up at her. “Mrs...? Oh! No I’m not married. Would you share a bottle of wine with me? On my bill... Or do we have to order separate glasses?”

“Oh! I don’t think we need go that far. Yes, I’ll be delighted to share a bottle with you.”

At this point the waiter arrived for their order and diverted their attention. Helen gave her order to the waiter, emphasising that they were to be put on separate bills. Peter seeing the waiters raised eyebrows said. “Expenses, you know,” before giving his order.

By this time Helen had certain ambivalence towards Peter who was doing his best to appear charming, though nonetheless, she still thought he was trying to pick her up. Peter on the other hand was only trying to enjoy her company after the anticipated disappointment of finding her married. The conversation then continued in a light vein through out dinner. They talked on many subjects, films, theatre and shows, even the weather but never anything of a personal nature. It was only after they had both finished eating and coffee was on the table that Peter casually asked. “Your husband is due soon. Will he perhaps be annoyed to find you having dinner with a stranger?”

“No, I don’t think so. – He’s not violent anyhow so you’re quite safe.”

“And are you here in Edinburgh on holiday Helen or is it business that brings you this far north?”

“In my case a little of each, David my husband is due to give a lecture tomorrow. I’m his ‘P.A.’ and though he doesn’t really need one for this trip; well we arranged it through the firm.”

Peter immediately picked up on this. ‘David! A lecture! Tomorrow! David Mirand is to give one of the lectures that I have to attend. Should I guess? Do I surprise her?’ He leant forward slightly, trying to suppress a smile. “Well Mrs Mirand that sounds interesting, I’m up here on business myself.”

Helen’s reaction to the ‘Mrs Mirand’ was immediate. It was like a smack in the face and she visibly recoiled as colour rushed into her face. “How did you know my name? – What’s going on? I never gave you my name... Who are you?”

Peter surprised at how effective his little guess had been began to reach out and put a hand on hers to reassure her, but at the last moment withdrew it. “It’s okay,” he started. “I’m a sort of investigator come trouble shooter for the (IMAF). I’m here to attend...” But before he could go further she interrupted.

Helen hearing the word ‘investigator’ and feeling slightly perturbed about sitting down to dine with this stranger, heard no more. She stood up and in a petulant manner threw her napkin on the table before rounded on him. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but you have chosen the wrong person to investigate. Goodnight Mr... whatever your name is.” And with that turned grabbed her wrap and almost ran out of the restaurant.

Peter floundered. He was so astonished at her reaction and, not having time to go after her, just sat there dumbfounded. At the table next to him someone sniggered whilst further afield heads were pointedly turned away. ‘Damn! And Damnation! What in hell made her do that? What did I say?’

The waiter hurried over. “Is there anything wrong sir? Will the lady be coming back?”

“No! I don’t think she will. Not tonight.”

“Do you have the ladies room number please? For her bill I mean sir?”

“No I don’t have her number... just add it to my bill would you.”

* * *

Helen ran up the stairs to the first floor, along the corridor to her room and quickly closing the door behind her, leant against it. Her face was red, more from embarrassment than exertion, she was vexed and her hands were shaking. ‘The audacity of the man trying to pick me up; having dinner with me then calmly saying he was investigating me. What is it all about? Is David checking up on me? Surly he can’t believe he need do that.’ She took a couple of deep breaths trying to calm down as the impropriety of her action in dining alone with this man struck home and she determined to mention it to David as soon as he arrived. ‘Maybe the man was just trying to pick me up and then use the investigator line as blackmail or something.’ She walked over to the bed and sat down. ‘But he seemed such a nice guy. I have to tell David? If I don’t this man probably will and then it will sound much worse. Besides what have I done wrong, I’ve only had dinner with a stranger and we had separate bills, so... did I give the waiter my room number? It doesn't matter; David will sort it out when he arrives. But what will be his reaction?’

A little while later she was to find out, having still not fully recovered her composure as she first recounted the incident at the shop to David when he reached their room. ”Cheeky sod! He was probably just trying to pick you up.”

“Well... may be. But he didn’t wait around in the shop David, he left before I could think of a suitable reply.”

“Just to keep you interested dear. I wouldn’t be surprised if he makes another approach when he sees you again.”

“You’re exactly right. He saw me in the hotel entering the restaurant for dinner and asked if I would care to share a table with him.”

“Oh! That’s so predictable... And did you?” Asked David, pausing in his unpacking.

“Yes! I thought it would pass the time and I didn’t want to eat alone anyhow. He seemed friendly enough.”

David catching the nuance of ‘friendly enough’ stood and turned to look at his wife.

“We only introduced ourselves with first names, he said his name was Peter, but later, when we had finished eating he addressed me as Mrs Mirand and said he was an investigator. Now I never told him my second name so how could he know it... Do you know him? Are you having me watched or something?”

David looked astonished. “Having you watched? Why would I want to do that? No I don’t know what this guy is about, but if you point him out to me. I will damn well find out that’s for sure. Did he say who he was working for?”

“Yes he said that he worked for the... (IMAF)... Oh! That’s the International Monetary Aid Foundation isn’t it? They paid for that dam in Cordilla didn’t they, the one you designed?”

“Got it in one girl... I had to call the office earlier on. Apparently the (IMAF) are having some trouble with that dam. They will be sending someone out to investigate it... The problem is with the power output and distribution from the dam. I believe there are some money problems too, so they’re creating a fuss. Money has gone missing and because of the delays they’re not getting a proper return on their investment.”

“Yes! That must be it. That Peter man, he must be investigating me... or us... Have they lost a lot of money on the contract do you think?”

“Probably, they are always losing money Helen. On a project that big you can reckon on losing up to ten percent. It all goes on kickbacks, short measures and things. Don’t worry about this Peter guy, he’s just sniffing around for any dirt that he can pick up... Unless he’s newspaper, in which case he’s definitely digging for dirt.”

“Do you think they suspect us of being involved or something?”

“No Helen! Not suspect... they’re probably just fishing. Forget it. Everything we do goes through our company’s books and they have a fixed contract with the (IMAF). Anyhow the office asked if I would go out there again and have a look see.”

“Would you like me to come along too?” she asked hopefully.

“If I go, yes! In fact I insisted on it. I turned them down this time, but if there are any more problems... we’ll be going, and I’ll need my personal assistant along with me to take notes... and to keep my bed warm.” he added with a grin.

For that comment she gave him a push, he fell on the bed but managed to grab her arm and pulled her down on top of him. She rested her arms on his chest, pushing her hips into him. “At this time of the year it’s going to be warm enough. As I recall last year in Africa, we slept on top of the bed, but the air-conditioning wasn’t working... The temperature should be about the same as it was there. But we must take a mosquito net this time I don’t want to be eaten alive.”

“Yes! They were hot sweaty nights.” A smile played over his face as his mind drifted back to those exciting times before they were married. “Anyhow, the man they are sending is a bit of a 'gofer, come investigator, come manager’. He has some training in geology, engineering and finance, an odd mixture but they think a lot of him at the (IMAF). He’s one of their top trouble-shooters. Goes by the name of Harding, so it may be your friend Peter.”

“He’s not my friend, he’s an insufferable bigot,” she replied quickly. “If it is that man, and if we go, I suppose we will have to talk to him.” Then brightening a little she added, “Could we fly via Mexico City? If there’s a chance of getting away a couple of days early then we could stop off there and get acclimatised for one or two nights? It may be fun to explore and it will be quite a bit warmer than London at this time of year.”

“Now that’s a good idea, we wouldn’t have this rain either and you will be able to do a bit of shopping too,” he said grinning.

She thumped him lightly on the chest. “I don’t do that much shopping, why I haven't been shopping now for... Ohooo! ...”

“Half a day?” He said, glancing at the plastic-bags on a chair.

“That doesn’t count. It was only for those shoes... I needed them to go with that outfit I bought last week... Besides you wouldn’t want your assistant to look down at heel and underpaid.”

“No chance of that.” He muttered sotto voice but with a smile on his face.

* * *

The following day Peter attended the lecture. Arriving early, his reasons were two-fold, to obtain a decent seat and possibly introduce him self and have a word with the architect before the lecture. He found a seat in the second row but failed in the later case, David Mirand was nowhere to be found. Suffice to say the lecture was informative and well received, but also conjecturable, so much so that on its conclusion David was surrounded by both questioners and admirers. Peter couldn’t get near him to introduce him self for some time. At last an opening appeared and stepping forward he put out his hand.

“Hi! I work for the (IMAF) I’m Pete Harding and I would like to say how interesting your talk was. Particularly so as I may be going out to South America soon to sort out the completion of the contract for that dam in Cordillera.”

“What was it you said you did for the (IMAF)?”

Careful to avoid the term investigator Peter answered. “I’m a completion’s manager; I sort out any problems that may have arisen during the contract before it’s finally signed off.”

“You mean you investigate how it’s been run?”

Just then, before he could reply, he felt a tap on the shoulder and turning around was confronted by his table companion of the night before.

“Mr Investigator,” Helen said, “you really don’t need to tell my husband about our dinner last night. I have already informed him and he considers your behaviour objectionable too.”

“Mrs Mirand! I assure you there has been a misunderstanding. I have no intention of...”

He was interrupted by another tap on the shoulder, this time from the architect. “Are you the guy who tried to hit on my wife last night?”

“Excuse me,” he said to Helen, before turning again to face David. “No! I...”

Without letting him finish David continued, “Well you have good taste mister but sorry she’s already taken. Good-bye. And don’t bother us again.” With this comment he stepped past Peter. Helen gave her husband a peck on the cheek before taking his arm and together they walked off.

Peter watched their exit with a look of exasperation, whilst Helen glancing over her shoulder as they left through the door had a smile of triumph on her face.