Free Fitzrovia Twilight (Nick Valentine Book 1) by James White

Any time you need them, or anything else, just call for them.”
    “Thanks, Stephen.” He helped the old man up. “Now you’d better get to bed.”
    “And so should you.” Stephen wagged a finger at him and Nick cracked a smile.
    “Yeah, you’re right. I’ll be around.” Nick slipped out the front door.
    Stephen stood framed in the doorway, a frail old man in a woolly dressing gown. “Nick, take care.”
    “I will.” Nick waved and watched the door shut then he set off for home.
     
    The door to Nick’s apartment stood slightly ajar. More disconcertingly, he could hear the low crackling sound of a Fats Malone swing number playing on the gramophone. He wondered for a split second if it was the German and Lucia, sending him a message, but then dismissed it. Light streamed around the edge of the door. Surely they’ve had waited for him in darkness and silence? Taking no chances, he gingerly pushed the door open with his foot and held his breath. Perhaps it was Clara? It was too early really, but maybe the club had fizzled out. Nick edged his way into the living room, wishing he hadn’t given the Luger away quite so soon. Every muscle was taut, ready to spring as he paced with measured cat-like footsteps around the corner of the door. Relief surged through him and he felt his muscles relax, but his mind stayed alert.
                  “Hello, Nick. Twice in one day.” Carruthers looked at his watch. “Well, not quite, but you see I haven’t been to bed yet, so I’m slightly out of kilter. I need my sleep, Nick, and you’re not helping.”
                  “You’re in the wrong job,” Nick snorted.
    Carruthers made no move to get up from the armchair next to the gramophone where he’d been sat reading a book. A nearly empty glass sat beside him. “I found your Scotch. Hope you don’t mind?”
                  “Not at all. Another?” Nick asked, tossing his hat onto the sideboard and pouring himself a glass.
                  “Better not, or sleep really will get the better of me. You’ve been keeping some late hours.”
                  “You gave me a job to do.”
    Carruthers’ presence was an annoyance Nick was trying not to let show, but he was doing a bad job of it.
                  “So I did.” Carruthers leaned forward and fixed Nick with a baleful stare. “But I’m afraid I’ve got a new problem and yet again you’re sat in the middle of it.”
                  “I must be lucky.”
                  Carruthers narrowed his eyes in pique. “You’re very flippant, Mr Valentine. I would have expected more from a man of your experience and training, even given the circumstances of your dismissal.” The last words were added with particular and, Nick thought, wholly unnecessary emphasis.
                  “The story of my life. I’ve been a constant disappointment to everyone. Most of all myself. Cheers.” Nick raised his glass and finished it in one long swallow. He felt a warm glow that had almost as much to do with the whisky as it did seeing Carruthers shake his head. “So, I trust this isn’t a social call? Do you want to come right to the point?”
                  “The point? Where have you been tonight and who have you been with?”
                  “If I told you, you probably wouldn’t believe me.”
                  “Well, that would be unfortunate for you, because you really need me to believe you.”
                  “And why is that?”
                  “You really don’t know?” A frown crossed Carruthers’ face.
                  “Enlighten me.” Nick hauled himself out the chair and crossed back to the sideboard with his glass. Carruthers was making him thirsty.
                  “You went to The Blue Rose tonight.”
                  “You have been