LEO & CLIO 1 (close window to return)

It was pouring so heavily with rain that even the windscreen wipers struggled to clear it away. Leon almost stayed in the car, but as his business was failing, he thought it best to make an effort if he was to keep a roof over his head. At forty-one years of age, he should be doing better, but fewer and fewer people seemed to desire the services of a private investigator—especially one who wasn’t famous. One or two high-profile practices captured most of the work in London, but only for those able to afford high costs.

He had left the SAS after his involvement in the raid on the Iranian Embassy two years earlier. His lump sum had held him up and kept him out of debt up to now. He never carried an umbrella—stupid. It always rained in April. He stepped out of the car and ran inside, getting drenched in the process. The pub wasn’t busy, and his potential client sat at a table on her own. She wore a blue coat and sported a blue umbrella, propped up by the leg of the table, dripping water; exactly as she had said in her phone call.

He went straight to the table. “Mrs Simpson,” he said, offering his hand. “Leon. I hope I haven’t kept you waiting too long?”
She was pretty, older than him by ten years, he thought. She looked at her watch.
“You are ten minutes late. What was the problem, current against you?”
“Sorry,” he said. “How do you mean?”
“Did you swim here?” she asked with a smile and sipped wine from her glass. “I’ll get you a drink. Shall we move over there by that radiator so you can dry out?”
“I see you are about to finish your glass. I’ll get you one.