Page 114 of The Last Love Song
‘Oh, nothing,’ sighed Lulu. ‘It’s just that at times you can be so dull.’
‘Thanks a bunch. Okay...’ Todd grabbed her, pinned her against the wall and put his lips harshly to hers. A hand snaked up under her top.
‘Stop it, stop it!’ Lulu wrenched herself out of his grasp.
Todd watched as she wiped her lips with the back of her hand.
‘Christ, you should see the look on your face. Do I disgust you that much?’
‘No. Sorry, time of the month and all that.’
Todd sank into the chair by the telephone table in the hall. He sighed. ‘What is going on, Lulu? We haven’t made love for weeks now. You seem to be deliberately avoiding me. You’re out most nights when I get home. I can’t remember the last time we spent an evening together.’
‘Sorry. It’s just the way things are.’ She shrugged.
‘Too busy with your career, your causes and Con Daly to have time for me?’
‘You have loads of places and parties you could go to, Todd.’
‘Yes, I do. But it just so happens that the time I do have off I would prefer to spend at home with my wife.’
‘God, youaregetting boring.’
Todd shook his head. ‘I give up. Go on, Lulu, go and get your tits out for your director friend. You’re probably getting them out for Con too, for all I know.’
‘Don’t be juvenile, Todd. Look, I’ll be late tonight.’
‘What a surprise.’
‘Bye.’
The door slammed and Todd gave a little wave in its direction.
‘Bye-bye, Lulu.’
Con stared at the telephone. He knew he should call Sorcha, but the sound of her hurt, strained voice was not something he was able to deal with tonight. He left his study and went into the kitchen to grab a beer from the fridge.
A terrible rehearsal, a row with Derek and then that Detective Inspector Cross had stuck his beak-like nose through the glass of the studio.
They’d gone to the pub, where Cross had laid down the law. Apparently, a Loyalist hit list had been discovered, on which, along with leading Republican politicians and activists, Con’s name had been included. He’d suggested that Con keep a low profile and curtail his political activities if he valued his safety. He’d also suggested that Helen McCarthy hire a couple of bodyguards to supplement the police cover. The inspector thought it doubtful there’d be a problem in New York, but he was recommending some protection from the NYPD to be on the safe side.
‘You really think the poison-pen letter may have come from a Loyalist group?’
‘The possibility has to be considered. It may only be a coincidence that we discovered the hit list in the same week as you got the letter, but it’s better to be safe than sorry. Just mind your backside, Mr Daly, until this situation calms down.’
The detective had left the pub and Con ordered himself two double whiskeys. Then he had driven home to his empty house, whereupon he’d tried to take his mind off his problems by concentrating on a new song. At half past four he’d given up and found solace in the fridge.
Con took a slug from the beer bottle. Lulu would be here soon. That would take his mind off things. She was coming over to discuss an idea she had about Con meeting up with John Lennon in New York and maybe joining his ‘bed-ins’ for peace for a few hours in front of the camera.
The telephone rang. Con walked across the hall to the study and picked it up.
‘Yeah?’
‘Con, it’s Helen.’
‘Oh, hi.’
‘How are you?’
