Free Lorimer and Brightman - 08 - Sleep Like the Dead. By Alex Gray by Alex Gray

shrugged, his upturned hands expressing his helplessness. ‘I don’t have the sum of money needed to send the rascal packing and the banks are simply unwilling to lend at this time of recession.’
    By the end of that hour, Amit and Dhesi had not just clasped their hands together in recognition of their joint past, but had shaken on a deal that would mean much to them both. Amit would buy out the other partner and invest in this business (once
    he had examined the books. Of murve, Dhesi had said hurriedly, that was understood.)
    And for Amit it had signalled a new beginning. He had a place of business now, a partnership in a thriving restaurant and a friend upon whom he could rely.
    Money had not been a problem. The Hundi, the fixer, had arranged everything just as he had promised. Trust of a different sort had been all important, of course, but Amit had been in a situation where even had he been robbed blind by the go-between, he would have given the man his hefty commission. Nonetheless his funds had been transferred to an account in a Glasgow bank and to his surprise they had not been reduced by more than the agreed fee. Honour was still intact, even in this cold, Western land.
    His rental flat was comfortable but it was time now to make another sort of investment. A place of his own, here in Glasgow’s West End.
    Amit thought of the woman with the long red hair. Marianne. If he could run his fingers through those silken tresses… touch her in a way that brought a smile to her lips … He dismissed the sudden fantasy. She had been useful to him, wasn’t that all? And Amit knew the time was approaching when his friends would expect him to be rid of her for good.

CHAPTER 11
    D’inner’ll be ready in a minute,’ Maggie called out, hearing
    her husband closing the front door behind him. ‘Salad again.’ She turned and made a face. ‘I’ve tried to go easy on the avocados but there’s plenty of chicken and bacon. Okay?’
    Lorimer sidestepped the ginger cat that was attempting to wind itself around his trouser leg and walked across the room to where his wife was putting the finishing touches to a dressing. The scent of oranges wafted from the breakfast bar where she was standing and he sniffed the air appreciatively.
    ‘Smells good. New recipe?’
    Maggie smiled and shook her dark curls. ‘No. Just made it up as I went along. Inspired by what was in the fridge.’ She looked up at the tall man who was leaning against the counter. He was, Maggie Lorimer thought, the sort of person who filled a room just by being there.
    She was suddenly reminded of the first time she had seen him. A crowd of her pals had been gossiping in the students’ union, a few weeks into the beginning of term, when this tall young man had wandered in, his eyes fixed on somebody at the far end of the room. He had walked past Maggie and her girlfriends, and as he passed she had turned to follow him with her gaze. His loping stride atracted her.what had it been? A quality of stillness within, perhaps? So different from the clowning, posturing of so many of the lads trying to impress. Maggie had gone out of her way after that to look for this one. He told the story his own way, of course: she had been sitting alone in the crowded cafeteria and he’d given her that crooked smile of his. ‘Is it all right…?’ he’d asked and she’d gestured for him to sit down beside her. He’d been watching her for weeks, he said, waiting for a chance to say hello.
    That same crooked smile made Maggie’s heart turn over now as he put out his hand and touched her hair.
    ‘Good to be home,’ was all he said but those few words and that blue gaze spoke far more to Maggie than any earnest proclamations of love. Scotsmen didn’t go in for flowery speeches and this one was no exception.
    ‘Just as well it’s salad,’ was all she said, opening the refrigerator door and sliding the bowl back in.
    Later, as she watched him pull on his jeans, Maggie