Paparazzi by Jo Fenton (best free e reader .txt) 📕

I do another quick survey of the surrounding area, to make sure I’ve not missed anything, but nothing else seems awry.

Feeling a bit more rational, but still with a frantically thumping heartbeat, I force myself to get out of the car. The rain has let up a bit, so if anyone was to ask, I could use that as an excuse for not getting out immediately. I walk with steady dignity up to the front door and ring the bell.

A full minute elapses, during which raised voices reach me, but too muffled to make out exact words. Then Joanna answers the door. She looks white and strained. A man is standing behind her, a couple of feet back. He’s of medium height, medium build, maybe in his forties. He’s clean-shaven and has no significant features. An ideal candidate for secret service work.

“Mrs Wiseman?” His voice is also unremarkable, but the tone is sharp and formal.

“Mrs White now, but yes, I was Mrs Wiseman.”

“Come in and shut the door behind you.” I obey, and follow him and Joanna into the lounge. He sits on the armchair that Joanna occupied yesterday. She sits on the sofa, and I take the other chair.

“Matthew told us you changed your name to protect your identity after you left the police force last summer.”

“Yes.” There’s no point in asking how he knows Matt.

“So how do you know Joanna?”

“Surely your research of Matt and Joanna must have found me as a mutual connection – even if neither of them were aware of it?”

“The operative who found your husband and your friend missed the connection. So perhaps you could answer my question. How do you know Joanna?”

“We met whilst I was at university, through a mutual friend. We stayed in touch afterwards but drifted after a couple of years. It was before the days of Facebook, where it obviously became much easier to stay in touch with old friends.”

“Such a strange coincidence.” He stares at each of us. If he’s hoping to evoke further information with this strategy, he’s dealing with the wrong women. We both remain silent and impassive for a few moments.

Joanna is the first to break, but only to ask if anyone would like a cup of tea. To my surprise, the visitor nods.

“Thanks. Milk and no sugar for me.”

I smile reassuringly at her. “In that case, please can I have a coffee?”

“Sure,” she says, giving me a weak grin. She shuts the kitchen door behind her, and a second later, I hear the faintest whir starting up. I hide it with a cough.

“Sorry – tickly throat. It’s this awful weather.”

“It is grim. Your friend was wise to absent herself for a few minutes. I need to ask you something else.”

“Go ahead. I have a few questions of my own too.”

“I’m sure you do, Mrs White. First, though, can you tell me how you found out about my existence, and what you know about me?”

“Matt told me briefly that he’d got involved in some government project, and that was how he met Joanna. He said it was top secret, and he couldn’t tell me any more. But he was under extreme pressure to tell me even that. When he first saw Joanna in my company, he had a heart attack. I’m sure you can imagine how that looks to a wife. In order to save our marriage, he needed to reveal something of the truth. I was in the police force. I’m no stranger to secrecy.”

“Of course. And what about Joanna? What did she tell you?”

“When I told her what Matt had said, she corroborated his story, and then revealed that she was running away from her ex-husband’s messes, and that she’d forgotten to advise you of the fact. I suggested she rectify that as soon as possible, so I assume that’s why you’re here.”

“Interesting.” He resumes his staring tactic.

“Do you have a name? Perhaps not your own, but something by which we can address you?”

“Very funny.” He doesn’t even smile. “I usually go by the name Roger Taylor. I’m a big Queen fan.”

“Me too.” I hold out my hand, and he shakes it grudgingly. “Nice to meet you, Roger. I’m Becky.”

“I know, but thank you for permission to use that name.”

Joanna apparently considers that’s a good point to enter, as the door opens and she emerges with a tray of drinks and biscuits. Putting the tray on the coffee table, she hands Roger his tea, and me the coffee, before taking a mug of pale green liquid.

“I prefer green tea these days,” she says, sitting down. “It’s healthier.” As she takes a handful of chocolate fingers at the same time, I’m mildly sceptical, but Mr Taylor appears to accept the statement at face value. It’s not terribly important, after all.

“Joanna, Becky has just been telling me that you were about to rectify your omission.”

“Yes, it was on my list for this morning, actually. I was just about to look through my papers to identify the best contact, when you turned up. Quite a coincidence, but you’ve saved me a job. Thanks.”

“As I’m sure Becky has told you, you can’t go off and leave us wondering where you are. We’ve spent more time and resources than we can afford in tracking you down. I’m sure that wasn’t your intention; however, there are penalties.”

“What penalties?” She sits up straighter and spills tea on the new sofa. “Damn, I hope that comes out.”

“That won’t stain. It’s the same colour as the fabric.” I smile at her, then turn to Roger. “The circumstances were unusual. Joanna needed to get away from her ex-husband’s contacts. She had more pressing things to think about than you, particularly as you’d been leaving her alone since she left her job.”

“So she told you more about us than your husband had done?”

“I told you, she’d explained that she’s not involved any more.” I glare at him and set my mug down hard on the coffee table. “I have no idea what this is