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12th May 2014
He sipped freshly made iced lemonade, beneath a large white parasol, as Anca stepped into the pool and waded up to her waist.
“It’s not as cold as you’d think,” she called to him before launching herself fully into the water. She wore the black and white one-piece bathing suit she’d bought in Budapest, two years previously. She always looked particularly cute in it.
He lay back and watched her swim up and down. On the table beside him were the books he was currently reading: Jim Marr’s Crossfire and Jim Garrison’s On the Trail of the Assassins.
When he’d pulled them from his rucksack, Anca had looked at him tenderly. Running her palm gently down the side of his face she’d smiled, softly. “Again?”
He took another mouthful of lemonade and pressed the cool glass against his forehead like he’d seen her do sometimes. She always made it look like a sensual wonderland. It was cold and wet, he concluded, wiping his face with the towel. He’d expected more.
They’d been lucky getting a place at such short notice. He’d been hanging around Liverpool waiting for the next job, idly surfing holiday locations when he saw the villa in the mountains with its own pool, magnificent views and solitude. It was perfect. As if it were fate, Simon called him saying everything was on hold and he was free to go home. It’d been too much to resist.
Having bumped into Terry at the airport, he thought he’d have to abandon the idea of leaving direct from Liverpool, making up the story of meeting a friend as a means of escape. But then he met Dieter Ackermann.
The idea had formed only when he’d overheard the young German in the pub, explaining to a relative on his mobile phone that he doubted he’d be home for the funeral because he didn’t get paid for another week.
Telling Dieter he’d already bought a ticket for a flight to Berlin but couldn’t now use it, he explained someone had done something similar for him when he was younger and he felt he had to carry on the ‘vibe’. All that had to be done was the change of name and the ticket was his.
Dieter was only too pleased to accept and promised to do the same, one day if he were able. He even complimented Nicks on his German and on the strength of this Nicks had booked him extra legroom. Returning to the airport to buy the ticket he deliberately sought another encounter with Terry. Nicks had to hang around for only fifteen minutes before he’d appeared, almost on time.
He was a nice guy but tended to talk a bit too much, having all the hallmarks of a gossip genuinely enjoying the experience. Nicks wasn’t sure SB was the safest place for him, concluding he probably hadn’t been asked the right questions in his interview. The name Drayton had been vaguely familiar to him on their first meeting, but it was only when Terry mentioned his working at the MIT that the penny had dropped. Knowing Terry’s primal urge meant he would tell whoever he liked of their encounters, Nicks was fairly certain he now had it covered.
“Come on in, sweetheart!” she called, waving excitedly. “We can have a race!” He smiled and waved back. Peeling off his T-shirt, he descended the steps from the terrace to the pool.