The Code War (9 page)

Nancy stood at the small sink and
looked in the mirror. She turned around and opened the door to the
shower cubicle behind her. Beside her was a closed window of
frosted glass that was allowing plenty of early evening light into
the room. She reached into the cubicle and fiddled with the
controls until the shower kicked into life. She turned back and
gazed again at her reflection in the mirror.

'Well, you've started something
now girl. So you'll have to see it through.'

The steam from the shower was obscuring
the mirror in front of her. She raised her hand and wiped a space
clear till she could see herself again. Nancy liked what she
saw.

She
tore
herself away from her reflection and entered the shower. She felt
the luxury of the hot water stream over her as she sluiced away
love's vestiges and thought about her next moves.

But as Nancy towelled herself down
and stepped out of the shower she saw something quite startling. On
the mirror in front of her the capital letter R had mysteriously
appeared in the middle of the area that she had previously wiped
with her hand. She checked the window. It was securely fastened on
the inside. She carefully turned the door handle and pulled it. The
key was still in the lock. Nothing. The door didn’t move. Nancy
turned back towards the mirror again. The last guest must have
written on it with their finger before she came in, she mused, and
the heat from the water vapour had only just revealed it. Nancy
told herself that there must be a logical explanation. No-one had
been in, she would have known it. She’d had her eyes open all the
time and would’ve seen the door open. Nancy vigorously wiped the R
from the mirror with the side of her fist and blocked it from her
mind. She wrapped herself in her towel, unlocked the door and
returned to her room. She was glad to see it was empty. Andy had
thoughtfully dressed and left the bedroom free for her. She could
hear the boys talking in low tones in the lounge. She opened up her
case and pulled out her make-up bag.

Nancy carefully applied some black
eyeliner and bright lipstick. She pursed her lips as she looked in
the mirror making sure the coverage was even and neat. Then she
dressed in some new underwear bought as a treat for her holidays
and on top of that a short pink skirt and a pink woollen blouse
with short sleeves and a low neckline. Finally she pulled on a pair
of medium high heels and then paused to look at herself in the long
mirror on the room’s only wardrobe.

It was the same Nancy as before
and yet, though nothing had changed, everything had changed. As she
turned sideways left and right to regard her neat figure in profile
it seemed to her that she was a different person. Her bust was just
the same size as before and her legs were no longer. They were all
just…working harder. She opened the bedroom door, stepped into the
corridor and walked slowly down into the lounge. The boys had heard
her approach and had stopped talking. As Nancy stood before them,
one smooth leg carefully placed behind the other, they gaped at
her, waiting for her to make the first move.

Nancy paused before speaking, enjoying
the moment. She moved her front foot slightly so that her body
swayed, delicate and sinewy in front of them. Her big toe traced a
short arc on the rug beneath her, teasing the fibres this way and
that. Was this how matadors tormented their raging prey, with small
insolent movements? How could cruelty be so delicious? For a moment
of exquisite pleasure she felt power and control that had never
been hers before. Always too much competition. Always someone with
a deeper cleavage. Not now.

Earlier Nancy had talked about
calling the boys in alphabetical order. But that wouldn't meet the
need. If she was going to travel five hours each way to Jerusalem
she wanted to do it in style.

She looked from Pete to Martin and
back again, smiling. 'Pete, my wardrobe door is stuck. Could I
borrow you a minute?'

'Sure.' Pete stood up obediently. He was
only human.

Nancy turned and walked back to
her bedroom. The boys followed her with their eyes, their gazes
fixed on her lilting hemline. Pete looked at the other two for a
moment without expression and then followed Nancy down the
corridor. He was walking surprisingly fast.

Nancy stood by one of the beds.
The corner of the
duvet was turned back,
invitingly. She was smiling and had her hands behind her back, feet
together. They both knew who was calling the shots.

Nancy
looked gorgeous and knew it. She held out her hand. It was
part invitation and part order. Pete was glad to obey. He stepped
forward and took her hand and she drew him to her, surprisingly
firmly. His lips bore down on hers and his hands searched for
landing places on her body.

She stopped him.

'I need a small favour.'

'Oh, what's that?'

'I need you to hire me a car.'

'What? Are you kidding?' He pulled
his head back.

'No. Not kidding. I want you to hire me
a car. Just for one day. Can you do that for me?'

'No. Of course I can't. I'm just a
poor student. I'm borassic. Skint. I can barely afford this study
tour.'

'Really? Haven't you got any money?'

'No. I'm broke
. Truly. Is that what this…?'

Nancy placed her finger on his
chest, tapping gently. 'Because, you know, I was convinced,
absolutely convinced,' she looked up earnestly into his eyes, 'that
you were the son of the Duke of Buckinghamshire. First and only
son. Isn't that odd? You've heard of the Duke of Buckinghamshire,
haven't you? He owns half the county. Filthy rich, apparently.' She
gazed at him with wide-eyed sincerity like a young daughter
mesmerised by her dad.

Pete rushed
his hands to the top of his head. Then he pulled them down
over his ears, squashing his face. His lips puckered out like a
blowfish. 'How did you find out?'

'Oh, I just keep my eyes
open
.'

'No-one must ever
know
,' he hissed. 'If they do, if they
find out at uni that I'm a toff, I'll be meat. I'll lose all my
friends. How did you find out?'

'Well
,
let's see,' said Nancy tilting her head up to the left. 'Was it
your perfectly manicured finger nails that gave you away?' Pete
looked down at his fingertips. 'No. Was it your upper-class accent
that occasionally slips through when you forget to talk common?'
She hesitated playfully. 'No.' Nancy pretended to
ponder.

'Hmm. Maybe it was the..'

'Oh no
,
the cheque for this trip,' wailed Pete. 'My mum.'

'…the cheque. D
rawn on Barings Bank of London. A bank for toffs. In the
name of Sir Edmund Temple-Grenville. Your father, I
believe.'

'My dad always signs a few cheques
and leaves them for my mum. For shopping in Harrod's and such like.
She's not supposed to use them for me.'

'
And
then I simply cross-checked your dad's name with Who's Who and it
gave me his title and all his details. And there you were too. Pete
Temple. First son.'

'Oh no, I'm ruined.'

'No-one need ever know.'

'You mean that? Can you really keep a
secret?

'Mum's the word.' Nancy tapped her
nose twice with her finger.

'Very funny. Oh, Nancy. Thank you
so much. I'm so grateful.'

'The car, Pete.'

'Oh yes, the car. OK, no problem.
Yes. I can take care of that. So long as the others don't know it's
me. I'm sure I can sort you out a little Polo. For a
day.'

'No.'

'What do you mean, no?'

Nancy looked at him patiently.

'OK, a Golf. But that's it. That's all I
can manage.'

'No.'

'What do you want?'

'Jaguar. XJ12. Automatic. With
air-conditioning and FM radio. And electric windows. And a full
tank of petrol.'

'No. You're mad. They'll cut me off. My
parents will cut my inheritance.'

Nancy went to the door and grasped the
handle.

'All right. It's a deal.' Pete
dragged her back. 'It's a deal,' he repeated. 'I'll do
it.'

'
Thank
you,' said Nancy. 'You're a gentleman. And in your case, you're not
only a gentleman, you're probably a knight. Or an earl. Or a
baronet. Or something.' She smiled conspiratorially and walked to
the door again. 'Won't say a word,' she whispered with a grin. She
grasped the handle a second time.

'Hang on,' said Pete grabbing her
by the waist and pulling her back into the middle of the room.
'What about your side of the bargain?'

'I'm fulfilling my side. I promised to
keep your secret.'

'I think there was something else.'

Nancy sighed. 'Oh, very well.' She
placed her hands on his shoulders and flicked her hair back. 'But
you owe me, OK?'

Lev's Bistro,
Eilat

Nancy
swallowed a small sip of wine and reflected on the second
spooky event that had happened shortly before. Was there a ghost in
the apartment?

The evening was deliciously warm
and the candles on the tables added a magic glow to the knots of
people who had come out to dine.
Barely
thirty yards away the sea lapped onto the fine sandy beach and here
and there upturned fishing boats awaited the next day's work.
Desert cicadas chirruped away noisily on nearby trees. There was a
hubbub of conversation all around that occasionally surged as
people on one table or another exploded in mirthful exuberance or
engaged in the type of loud discussion that Israelis so delighted
in. The mood was joyful as if everyone had their own reason for
celebration.

Martin was recounting an anecdote from
one of his university rugby club's outings.

'So there I was in the front row of the
scrum, we've locked arms and we're just about to engage with the
other team. There's onIy a minute to the final whistle and we're
just one point ahead. I was face to face with one-tooth Tarrant,
the dinosaur of Durham, and he's seriously unchuffed that they're
losing. Now bear in mind, that morning I'd washed my hair and I
couldn't do a thing with it. I'd tried rollers, curlers, crimping,
you name it, nothing worked.' Pete and Andy are rocking in their
chairs laughing.

'Then the referee shouts 'engage'
and we all crash against each other. One-tooth Tarrant sees his
opportunity and he grabs my hair and starts pulling it. I shouted
'ouch, let go' and he shouts in his gritty Glaswegian accent 'your
hair's a mess anyway' - a sentiment I could hardly disagree with,
to be fair. Totally illegal, of course, grabbing my hair, but the
referee's on the other side of the scrum watching their hooker, so
he can't see what Tarrant's doing. Anyway, the ball comes out and
someone kicks it into touch and then the whistle goes. We've won.
So I get back in the changing room and happen to look at myself in
the mirror and I see he's totally succeeded where I'd completely
failed. One-tooth Tarrant has managed to make me look amazing. It's
the best hairstyle I've ever had. I'm never going to wash my hair
again. So I have this big dilemma, do I go into Durham's changing
room to thank him or not?'

While the boys' attention was
f
ocused on Martin's story, Nancy's
thoughts tumbled over the earlier events of the evening.

After Pete had finished, Nancy got
up from the bed, wrapped herself in her now-damp towel, excused
herself politely to Pete and slipped across the hall into the
shower room.

There she soaked herself again in
the shower and made sure she was ready to go out and eat with the
boys.

But how was she going to
disappoint Martin?
He'd be bound to feel
left out. Not to mention frustrated. She'd have to find a way to
let him down gently.

Returning to her room she
gratefully found it empty and this time dressed
in a pair of shorts and a tee-shirt. She completed her relaxed look
with a pair of casual seaside shoes and turned towards the mirror
to check her appearance.

Then she
ventured towards the lounge. And there was Martin looking
at her.

Wanting to be called. And not
wanting.

Part of the gang. And not part of the
gang.

Smiling happily. And terrified of being
found out.

In that instant, Nancy knew his
secret. She had to protect him.

'Martin, I can't get the top off
my deodorant. Can you come and help?
'

And Martin glanced nervously at
his two mates, forced a smile onto his face and walked towards her.
Like a man facing the gallows.

Nancy closed the door behind them.
Martin stood in the middle of the room, as nervous as a child in a
haunted castle.

'Look…' he began.

'It's all right,' whispered Nancy,
walking forward and putting her finger to his lips. 'I know. You're
gay. I won't tell.'

Martin almost melted and sat
himself on the bed. 'I know I should tell them. Just come out with
it. One day I will. I'm just not ready yet. For now I just want to
pretend. Is that all right?'

'Of course. Tell them when you
feel ready. Look, why don't we sit here for a bit and chat? How
about you tell me what it's like to be at university? I've never
been.'