Free Outside Chance by Lyndon Stacey Page A

makes us out to be New Age troublemakers. We’re dealing with serious issues here, that we’re passionate about.’
    â€˜Try me. If you can convince me, I’ll do my best to convince the readers. If you can’t, I’ll put your case forward and leave it to people to decide for themselves, with no personal opinions included. Come on, you can’t say fairer than that.’
    Ben was subjected to a long, hard look.
    â€˜All right. But it’s not entirely up to me. I’ll have to get back to you.’
    On cue, Ben took out a business card and handed it over. ‘Call me, then. But don’t leave it too long, I’ve got other commissions coming up.’
    Allerton half saluted and peeled off, taking the lad with him and leaving Ben on his own. Luckily, no one was lurking in the car park with mischief in mind, and within moments he was safely in the driver’s seat and pulling the door shut behind him. For a moment he leaned back against the headrest and closed his eyes. His ribs felt sore and he guessed it would be several days before he would be able to swallow comfortably, but, all in all, he supposed he’d got off relatively lightly. It wasn’t the first time he’d been roughed up in the course of his career; before he started specialising in equine matters he’d reported on a couple of controversial issues where the parties involved had made it very clear that his interest wasn’t welcome. He did feel a bit peeved, though, that this time the violence had been almost incidental.
    â€˜Well, Mouse,’ he said over his shoulder. ‘Next time I go charging in like some Hollywood vigilante, just remind me of how I feel now, would you?’
    Mouse lifted her whiskery muzzle enquiringly for a moment, flattened her ears in pleasure, and then settled down again with a sigh.
    â€˜Yeah, you’re right; I probably wouldn’t listen,’ he said, starting the engine. ‘Always engage my muscle before my brain . . .’
    By the time Ben got back to the cottage, Lisa was just leaving.
    â€˜Too late mate, you missed your chance. I’ve got to pick up my Americans at six-thirty.’ They had met in the doorway, she dressed for the evening in a navy trouser suit and smelling rather strongly of some expensive perfume.
    She spoke lightly, but Ben caught an undertone of hurt disappointment.
    â€˜I’m sorry, Lisa. I really am. I ran into a spot of bother and had to give a statement to the police. It all took time.’
    â€˜What happened?’
    â€˜Oh, just some louts picking on a kid outside a pub. He was one of your protesters, as a matter of fact, collecting money, and the others thought they’d help themselves.’
    â€˜Hang on,’ Lisa caught hold of his jaw and turned it this way and that, peering closely. ‘No black eyes . . . Don’t tell me you broke the habit of a lifetime and kept out of it?’
    â€˜Well, not exactly, but there were a few others who came out of the pub to help. Anyway, I’m only telling you because that’s why I didn’t get back in time to help you enjoy your “quality time”.’
    â€˜Well, it’s your loss.’
    â€˜It is, indeed,’ he said, pulling her into his arms as she tried to edge past. At close range the scent was almost overpowering. ‘Is this a new perfume?’
    Lisa made a rueful face. ‘No. I knocked the bottle over and some of it soaked into my sleeve. I would have changed into my other jacket but I know it isn’t ironed. Is it too awful?’
    â€˜Not
too
awful. It’s probably making a statement. Of sorts.’
    â€˜Yeah, and the statement is probably that I’ve got terminal BO,’ she grimaced, pulling away from him. ‘I’ll have to change, ironed or not. The trouble is, after a few minutes you get desensitised and can’t tell how bad it is.’
    At this point Mouse, who’d