Absent Friends

Welcome to our regular feature showcasing the talents of the nation’s best writers.

Jesus, Sandy this better be good. Isn’t there a horse race somewhere you should be at? What about Bridget, can’t she deal with whatever it is?’ ‘Not this, no.’ ‘Well spit it out then.’ Harper looked down at the man at Sir John’s feet who was devotedly pinning a capricious hem.

‘Wilfred should probably have a higher security clearance than you, Sandy, so come on, what is it?’

‘I bumped into an old friend of mine from Five yesterday. Name of Frank Cassatto mean anything to you?’

‘No. Should it?’

‘He’s an American. Hack working in Hong Kong. Friend of mine ran into him over here. Drunk as a lord and terribly talkative.’

‘I’m sorry Sandy, what has any of this to do with me? If you’re going to come and harangue me every time a friend of yours meets a drunk journalist, well, I don’t know, I shall have to find a new tailors.’

A pained Mr Pettigrew looked up from pinning a wayward trouser leg.

‘Of course I would never do that, there’s a good chap. Look Sandy, you’ve upset Wilfred. Go on, what did your drunk American have to say?’

‘He was asking a lot of questions.’

‘I thought you said he was a journalist? That’s what the blighters do isn’t it?’

‘About Landslide.’

Sir John stiffened and looked long and hard at himself in the shop’s mirrors. ‘Pettigrew, give us a moment would you, there’s a good chap?’

‘Is everything alright, Sir John?’

‘Quite alright thank you. Sandy here is just bleating on about a long dead friend, nothing to concern you. I just need a quiet moment that’s all. If you wouldn’t mind?’

‘Naturally, Sir John,’ Mr Pettigrew smiled obsequiously then made for the door, pausing as he passed Sandy Harper. ‘I could probably measure you up for something a little smarter, sir, once I’ve finished with Sir John of course?’

But before Sandy could answer, Pettigrew had turned and vanished leaving the two men to talk in private.

‘What does he know, your Yank?’

‘Not as much as he thinks he does. Just doing a spot of fishing. Nothing concrete.’

‘But he’s been talking to someone?’

‘Ewen Connolly.’

John Alperton would tell Mr Pettigrew he didn’t want the suit now. He’d pay for the man’s time, that would be expensive enough, but quite suddenly Sir John Alperton never wanted to see that suit ever again. ■