A Study in Victory Red Page 2

  "Come now, Doc," Michael set his fork down, accidentally clinking it hard against the plate, catching Joe's attention. "That cat of yours will come back."

  "It wasn't my cat," Joe said. "I just took it in most nights and fed it often. It's more a place to live that's troubling me."

  Michael stared intently at him, then chuckled, the sound turning into a full-bellied laugh.

  "Doc," he said. "I have the answer to all your problems. Well, the flat problem at least, not sure I can help with the cat."

  Joe hesitated. Michael was a good man, but a crazy look in his eyes showed itself every now and then since returning to London.

  "You do?"

  "Yes," he said. "And if you wipe that frown off your face, I shall tell you."

  Joe sighed and added another cube of sugar to his luke-warm tea.

  "Right," Michael continued. "There's a lovely chap named Edward who comes by the university occasionally. I bumped into him just two days ago, on Saturday. He mentioned he was looking for a flat and did I know of any. I didn't, and your situation had not happened yet."

  Joe perked up at his friend's words. Could his luck finally be changing?

  "Did he say anything about needing a flatmate?" Joe asked. "Or anything along those lines?"

  "Unfortunately not," Michael said. "He was there to pick up his friend. She'd gotten herself into some trouble. Sneaking into the cadaver room, of all things."

  "Why was a woman sneaking into the cadaver room? Is she a student?" Joe regretted the questions as soon as he asked. Sending Michael off on a tangent was dangerous at the best of times, but Joe was more concerned with a potential new flatmate than the woman, no matter how interesting Michael's story was.

  "She's not a student," Michael said. "Her name is Irene, and she's just an oddball. Pretty, in her own right, I suppose-"

  "Michael."

  "-but very plain and looks at you like she knows whether you're wearing briefs or shorts under your trousers. I mean, if she put in a little more effort with her looks, then maybe I'd-"

  "Michael." Joe banged the table, startling his friend. "Back to this Edward fellow who's looking for a flat? Do you know how I can reach him?"

  "Lunching at Arthur's Inn today," Michael said.

  "How would you know that?" Joe disregarded his tea, too cold to finish.

  "As they left the university, Irene complained about their change in lunch venue, as they were now going to Arthur's Inn on Mondays. I chimed in and assured them that Arthur's Inn is delightful and the fish and chip lunch is half price on Mondays, between twelve and one. I told them to ask for a table in the corner, it offers a lovely view-"

  "So, they are there today?" Joe checked his watch. Ten minutes after twelve.

  "Oh, Edward was quite keen for the fish," Michael said. "And if he isn't there, you can probably find him at the police station. He's an Inspector."

  "Thank you." Joe retrieved some money from his pocket for the two cups of tea. He tossed the coins on the table. "I mean it, Michael, thank you."

  "Hopefully, next time we meet," Michael said. "You'll be able to tell me all about your new flat, and your new flatmate."

  "Hopefully."

  Joe left the cafe and tried to enjoy the sun on his way to Arthur's Inn. The walk wasn't a long one, but he was surprisingly nervous. He wasn't much for chatting, but before the war, he'd engage with people easily enough. Now, he wanted nothing more than to retreat into a good and comfortable flat and figure out what he wanted to do with the rest of his life.

  The pavement was busy, everyone out for a lunchtime stroll, soaking up the rare sun blazing down. Joe tucked his bag closer to him, squeezing through a nattering group of women from an office building. When he emerged from their giggles and perfume, he realized he was half a block from the pub.

  As he closed the gap, his palms became clammy, and he wiped them on his trousers. He needed to encourage positive thoughts. Perhaps this would all work out.

  Arthur's Inn was emptying as the lunch hour came to an end, but a few people remained, scattered at tables in the dark pub. The smell of fish drifted to his nose. He'd have to carry out one to munch on while he removed the rest of his belongings out of, what was now, a crime scene.

  A couple sat near the outer edge of tables, and as Joe approached, he recognized them instantly. Detective Inspector Lestrade, a wiry man with stern features, had interviewed Joe about the car through his house that very morning. The woman across from Lestrade, Irene he assumed, had been there as well and had given Joe a hard curious look as if she could see into his very soul.

  Michael's claim that Irene was plain rang true in regards to her non-remarkable coloured clothing and simple hairstyle. As she spoke to the detective, though, her hands moved with every word, big eyes widening and narrowing, matching the tone of her voice with such animation, Joe felt the excitement from the door. Her dark hair hung in waves over her shoulders, the front pinned back under a dark blue hat, the brim casting a short shadow over her forehead.

  The two were in an intense discussion as Joe approached, each with half an eaten fish and chip lunch on the table. Detective Lestrade halted his sentence and raised his eyebrow at Joe in pleasant surprise.

  If Irene felt the same surprise as her friend, she kept the emotion to herself. In fact, a grin spread across her face as her eyes swept over Joe's person.

  "Excellent," she said, voice snappy and bright, but serious as she motioned to Joe. "You, a medical surgeon and a war veteran, must understand the importance of proper equipment when performing procedures of any kind."

  Joe almost turned to see if she was speaking to someone else. He was a medical man, and had served in the war, but how did she know? He hadn't even shared that much information with DI Lestrade this morning.

  His mouth hung open like a fish out of water, as he realized they were waiting for his answer. He couldn't argue her statement, but he felt as though their discussion hung on his reply. A little knot formed in the centre of his chest.

  "Uh, yes." He swallowed through the knot. "Proper equipment is essential, though I've made do with far less than the best."

  Irene scoffed and steepled her fingers, staring hard at Detective Lestrade. "The point is-"

  "The point is," Lestrade cut her off. "Return the equipment you 'borrowed' and maybe the lab will let you use it again."

  Joe saw his chance to steal the conversation, and before he could second guess himself, he spoke.

  "My friend Michael told me that you're looking for a flat," he said, a little faster than he'd hoped. "As am I. A flatmate would suit me should I find someone willing to share."

  Lestrade nodded slowly, seemingly remembering the conversation he'd had with Michael at the university.

  Irene let out a pleased hmph, taking a quick look at Joe. She must've liked what she saw, because she twisted in her seat and reached to the next table, dragging an empty chair beside her.

  "Sit," she said to Joe. "Michael was correct, if he was the mousy looking man from the university."

  "Uh, yes, that's him," Joe said, sitting, unsure why Irene was taking the lead in this conversation. Now at her level, he noticed her bare face, free from rouge, except for a coat on her eyelashes, stretching them long over her doe eyes, and a soft red on her lips, worn from eating.

  She pushed her plate of chips toward Joe, offering him some. "I am looking for a flat. However, so is half of London. With the city rebuilding, everyone's eager to move back here, and they are scooping up all the decent flats. I am certainly not opposed to a flatmate should we find a two-bedroom with enough space for both of us to share."

  Joe's head whirled with panic and he waved his hands frantically, attempting to halt the conversation.

  "Sorry," he said. "Stop, please. Stop talking."

  Irene clamped her mouth shut, raising an eyebrow at him.

  "Sorry," Joe said again, cheeks burning with embarrassment. "Michael mentioned that Edward was looking for a flat."

 
; Lestrade chuckled. "And I was, for her. Michael never let me finish my sentence before he started prattling on about something else."

  Joe's chest tightened as the panic sucked out his breath. He needed to walk away before he embarrassed himself any further. Just the mere suggestion of sharing a space with a woman he didn't know-

  "I would love to find a place close to the university," Irene said. "Preferably with a large window on a colourful street, for interest sake. Thoughts?"

  Joe willed himself to stand and run out of the pub, but he sat there like a bullfrog on a lilypad, staring at Irene. She spoke as if completely satisfied with the prospect of sharing a flat with him. They didn't even know each other. It was all well and good for two men to share a flat, but for Joe, awkward at the best of times, to share his quarters with such a seemingly outspoken woman made his palms sweat and his mouth go dry.

  "I don't think..." He tried. "I don't think it's appropriate."

  "Why the blazes not?" Irene said. "We are two people, each needing a flat. We'd have much better luck finding a more expensive one to split."

  Joe looked at Lestrade for any kind of assistance. Lestrade poked Irene's hand.

  "You two are not married," he said to her. "You can't just live together without some sort of relationship, or chaperone."

  "Relationship?" she said. "Then I will tell people he is my assistant, for my cases."

  Lestrade sighed. "No, Irene. Not that kind-"

  "I know what you meant," she snapped, grabbing her fork and stabbing a piece of fish.

  Again, Joe willed his feet to just take one bloody step away from the table, but his body was determined to see this conversation through.

  "This is one argument you won't win," Lestrade said to her. "Two unmarried people-"

  "For heaven's sake." She shoved the fish in her mouth. "Two people need a place to live, what does it matter what gender they are?"

  "It matters to proper society."

  "Hang society." She stabbed two chips, shoving them in her mouth with the fish. Joe watched her as if she were an exotic animal. His desperation to find a decent flat tempted him to figure out how to make this situation work, but he preferred a normal, quiet life. He didn't need rumours spread, or people gossiping.

  From his peripherals, he saw Lestrade's eyes narrow, as if working out their conundrum. A smirk spread over his face, and that was Joe's cue to leave. He didn't want any part of some concocted scheme. His body finally listened to him and he stood.

  "I'm sorry to bother you," he said. "And to have caused an argument. I'll take my leave. Have a pleasant day."

  Lestrade caught his arm before he could step away.

  "One moment, Joe," he said, the smirk spreading into a smile as he stared at Irene.

  Joe sat back down and waited.

  "I think I have the answer to this problem," Lestrade said. "I know a place that's both downtown and quite lovely. Plenty of room for two people to come and go as they please, like ships through the night, with a second bedroom on a completely different floor, and a landlady who shall keep the whispering down."

  Joe's intrigue peaked him as he imagined this flat. He'd been ready to leave, prepared to wallow in self-pity and look in the classifieds, but this place intrigued him. A whole separate floor for a single bedroom? He didn't need much more than that. If the place came with a landlady, who'd cook them some meals, Joe could just eat in his room and not engage with Irene.

  Joe's gut told him rooming with this particular woman was perhaps a bad idea, but this flat sounded so appealing that he turned to Lestrade, eager to know more.

  Irene leaned forward and snapped at the detective. "I don't even know if that house is still standing."

  "Yes, you do," he snapped back.

  They stared at each other for a solid minute, and Joe almost gave up for good. He'd been trying to figure out exactly who these two were to one another. They didn't seem like a couple, more like brother and sister. He eyed the chips, snatching one, and finishing off two more before Irene finally looked at him.

  "I would get the bedroom on the main floor, off the common area," she said, words biting as if challenging Joe to argue. "You'd have the one on the third floor."

  "That suits me," he said.

  A separate room, three floors up, precisely what he wanted.

  "As you heard," she continued. "I like to conduct experiments, and often have chemicals around."

  Chemistry was a strong subject for him in school, and he hadn't worked with chemicals in a while. "Chemistry is quite interesting at times."

  She clenched her jaw, and confusion started over him. Was he suppose to baulk at all these things she threw at him? Did she want him to argue back?

  "I get depressed and sulky," she said. "And sometimes don't speak for days on end."

  Joe either needed to match her, blow for blow, and see this new place, or give up and walk away. She'd been eager for a flatmate, but not in whatever place Lestrade had suggested, even though this mystery place sounded wonderful and precisely what Joe wanted. Also, everything she lobbed at him in challenge, suited him just fine, as if Irene was tailor-made to be his flatmate, female or not.

  "I enjoy the quiet," he said.

  A small smirk upended the corner of Irene's mouth. "I have woman troubles once a month."

  He shrugged again. "I'm a doctor and have three older sisters. Neither blood nor womanly issues bother me."

  Relief spread over him as those final words came out with as much confidence as the previous sentences. While the statement was true, discussing these subjects in public made him squirm.

  Irene, however, seemed not to care. She tapped her finger on the table, thinking. Lestrade chuckled and clasped his hands together.

  "It appears," he said to her. "That you have no arguments left. Now, tell Mister Watson where-"

  "Watson?" Irene slammed her hands on the table and pivoted her whole body toward Joe.

  "Yes," Joe stuck out his hand. "We should've done introductions first. It's actually Joseph Watson, Doctor of-."

  She shook her head and stood up. "No. If you had any other name but Watson..."

  She turned and purposefully strode away, leaving Joe gaping after her. Lestrade cursed under his breath and slid out of his chair, quickly catching her.

  They bickered back and forth a few times, then Lestrade turned to Joe.

  "Where are you from?" he asked.

  Still reeling from Irene's quick departure, Joe stammered. "Up by Durham."

  "See?" Lestrade gestured wildly at Joe, voice raised at Irene. "This could be good for you. It's been long enough."

  She glared at him, fingers curling into fists, jaw clenched. Lestrade put his hands on his hips and sighed as if Irene was always this stubborn and all he had to do was wait her out.

  She scowled and plucked his notepad and pen from his pocket and marched back to Joe.

  He stood as she approached. He didn't want her anger towering over him. She wasn't tall, but her frustration brimmed like a volcano.

  She flipped to a blank page in the notepad and scribbled an address. She ripped the page from the pad and handed it to Joe.

  "Meet me tomorrow at noon," she said, voice softening, though her words were still clipped. "I apologize for storming away. I did not mean to leave in the middle of our conversation."

  Joe opened his mouth to tell her not to worry when she spoke again, words quick.

  "Actually," she said. "I did intend to leave that conversation mid-sentence. But I hope it doesn't cast a pall over our flatmate relationship."

  She stuck her hand out. Joe grasped her firm grip, better than half the men he'd shaken hands with. Her rough fingers and dry skin surprised him as if she were a labourer.

  "It's alright," he stammered.

  "Good." She gave him a curt nod. "Until tomorrow."

  She turned and walked away from Joe and Lestrade.

  "Well done on the apology," Lestrade called after her, words dripping with sar
casm. "I'm proud of you."

  She threw up her two fingers in what could've been a reverse victory sign, but Joe was sure she meant something far more offensive.

  "Good to see you again, Joe," Lestrade said, extending his own hand. "Should this work out, we'll probably bump into each other more often."

  Joe shook the detective's hand, but his eyes drifted back to Irene. She walked away with so much confidence that a worry nibbled at Joe. Was he getting in over his head?

  "Lestrade," he said before the detective could walk away. "You and I don't know each other, but you seem to know her very well. Tell me your honest opinion, is becoming her flatmate a wise decision?"

  Lestrade let out a long, heavy breath and pinched the bridge of his nose.

  "Short answer," he said. "Yes."

  "And the long answer?"

  Lestrade shrugged. "Hard to say. I love her like my own family, but she is difficult at the best of times. Her loyalty, though, knows no bounds. You get past her particularities and make a friend out of her, you shall have a friend for life."

  Joe nodded and clasped Lestrade's hand once more before the lanky detective threw some money on the table and sauntered away in the same direction as Irene.

  Joe wrapped a handful of chips in a napkin and headed for the exit, excitement stirring in his belly. Hopefully, this new flat held peaceful nights and a quiet future.

  Joe unfolded the piece of paper with one hand.

  Irene's handwriting was messy, insistent, and scattered, like her, and the address was scrawled so hard, the ink bled through the paper.

  221B Baker Street.

  Chapter III

  Revisiting the Past in a Familiar Home

  Irene checked her watch as she stood on the corner of Baker Street and Melcombe. Noon on the dot. Joe Watson was nowhere in sight, and he had two minutes to arrive, or she was leaving.

  She bounced on her toes and adjusted her beret. She rarely got nervous, and she was an equal, if not better opponent to everyone and anyone, but this street fired her nerves and gave her jitters.

  As Eddy reminded her several times yesterday after lunch, she needed a place to live, and this was her best option. Eddy's sister's home was overrun with other women who'd come to bunk with them, and, while they taught her many useful things about make-up and fashion, and she appreciated the science behind it all, they drove her crazy. There was no room in Marla's flat for her habits and hobbies, and she had no room to spread out.