LITMIR.BIZ

       Chapter 9

      I thought about how best to approach the subject with Lil all weekend. Several times I picked up the phone to speak to her in her care home down in Surrey, then changed my mind. I’d go and see her in person, I thought. And anyway, I didn’t know for sure yet that she was the Lilian Miles on the ATA list. The only way to find out was to double-check the service record – under the cover of checking Frank Jones of course. If – and it was a big if – I decided to go down that road, I couldn’t do it until I was back at work on Monday and had access to all the databases.

      Work, as always, was busy that week. Filming was starting on the next series of the show and it was all hands on deck to check the last few details. I was kept busy all day Monday and most of Tuesday going over the royal connections of a Sixties’ pop star who was a distant relation of Lady Jane Grey, while Elly raced round trying to find a historian who was an expert in prostitution to talk to a celebrity chef whose ancestor ran a high-class brothel in Victorian Manchester.

      Late on Tuesday afternoon, the phone on my desk rang.

      ‘Helena?’ I recognised those clipped tones immediately.

      ‘Jack,’ I said, ignoring the way my heart thumped. ‘Hello.’

      Next to me, Elly raised an eyebrow.

      I spun round in my chair so I had my back to her.

      ‘What’s up?’ I asked Jack.

      ‘I’ve been doing a bit of research,’ he said. ‘Thought you might like to see it.’

      ‘Research?’ I said, sounding a bit stupid. ‘What kind of research?’

      ‘I tracked down my uncle. My father’s brother.’

      ‘You did? That’s wonderful. Was he pleased to hear from you?’

      I could hear Jack smiling at the other end of the phone.

      ‘He actually was,’ he said. ‘Turns out he’s a big fan of Mackenzie.’

      Mackenzie was the detective show Jack starred in.

      ‘I’m so pleased,’ I said. ‘Are you going to meet up?’

      ‘We are. He says he’s got some photos to show me.’

      ‘That’s great,’ I said, honestly. ‘Do you think he’ll chat to you on camera? It’s always good to get social history from people who have actual memories.’

      ‘I’m sure he’d be game,’ Jack said. I scribbled down a note to mention it to the director of his show.

      ‘… service records,’ Jack was saying.

      ‘I’m sorry, I missed that,’ I said. ‘What was that about service records?’

      ‘I thought we could check them together, to find out more about my grandfather’s time in the ATA,’ he said. Then he lowered his voice, even though no one but me could hear him. ‘We could see if my grandad knew Lilian Miles. Maybe they worked together. Have you spoken to her yet? Did you find out if she’s one of your relatives? Wouldn’t that be utterly amazing?’

      ‘You are the keenest celebrity I’ve ever worked with,’ I said.

      Jack laughed. ‘I’m sorry.’

      ‘Don’t apologise – it’s nice,’ I said. ‘And I understand why you’re so eager. It’s just unusual.’

      ‘So did you speak to her?’

      ‘Not yet,’ I said. ‘But I’m planning to.’

      I paused, aware of my colleagues – especially Elly of course – all around me.

      ‘What you said, about the service records,’ I said, choosing my words carefully. ‘Perhaps we could check them.’

      ‘Of course.’ Jack sounded pleased. ‘I’m guessing it will be better for our cover story if we do it together.’

      ‘I agree,’ I said cautiously, still nervous about the plan. Was I going to regret this? Especially considering the chaos he’d brought with him when he came to the office last week. Though, I thought, he’d been far less disruptive when he came in the second time. And I found I really wanted to see him again.

      Mentally I started checking my plans for the week. I’d finished with the Sixties’ pop star now, so tomorrow and Thursday was more Sarah Sanderson research, and I’d planned to set aside Friday to look into Jack’s research. Maybe Jack could pop by the office late on Friday afternoon and we could look it all up together, and have a sneaky look at Lilian Miles while we were at it. I could duplicate all our findings and make him his own file to take away, so he wouldn’t mess up my own folders. And I could get Mum to collect Dora from nursery and take her back to theirs for our Friday dinner.

      ‘How about Friday afternoon?’ I said. ‘About fourish?’

      ‘Sorry, no can do.’ Jack sounded genuinely fed up. ‘I’m filming on Friday.’

      ‘Oh that’s a shame. I can email you anything I find out …’

      ‘Are you free now?’

      ‘Now?’

      ‘Let’s do the research now. Unless you’re snowed under?’

      Elly prodded me in the back and when I glanced over my shoulder at her, she made a kissing face. I stuck my tongue out at her.

      ‘Erm,’ I said. ‘I suppose so.’

      ‘I can be there in half an hour?’ Jack said.

      ‘Great,’ I said, feeling a little bit railroaded. ‘See you then.’

      It was more like an hour and a half later when Jack strolled into the office. Most of the researchers, including Elly much to my relief, had gone home, and I’d had to call Mum in a panic and ask her to get Dora for me. I was, for the gazillionth time, thankful that I’d chosen to live so close to my parents when Greg and I split up. It may have seemed a backwards step – though not as backwards as staying in Miranda’s annexe while she was between au pairs had seemed – but it had been a good decision.

      Jack looked completely different from how he was last week. His hair was swept back off his face, and he was wearing good jeans, a black T-shirt, and a nice leather biker jacket. He really was gorgeous. I felt slightly wobbly when he grinned at me as he approached my desk. Then his face fell as he clocked that there was no one else around.

      ‘God,’ he said. ‘Am I making you work late?’

      ‘No,’ I lied. ‘I had some things to do anyway.’

      Jack peeled off the jacket, bundled it up and threw it down on the floor under Elly’s desk. I itched to shake it out and hang it up, but I didn’t. Then he sat down in Elly’s chair and spun round so he was facing me.

      ‘What do we do first?’ he asked.

      My head was spinning – and not just from the way he looked or the smell of his aftershave. He was like a whirlwind, coming into my carefully ordered space and

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