Clothes Maketh The Man — Part 32.

She stood in the doorway wearing a graphite grey pencil skirt, a white blouse and what might best be described as ‘sensible shoes’. As I stared at her in surprise, still bruised and battered from the events of the previous night, I felt a small sob rise in my throat.

Devina put a smart looking briefcase on the table and the police officer excused himself.

“I did you…” I said, but she cut me off.

“Be quiet,” she said dismissively. “I’m making the necessary arrangements to have you released into my care. At the moment the less you say the better.”

“But how can you?” I asked.

“I’ve made a few calls and cashed in a few favors. You don’t need to know, but needless to say you owe me.”

My acquaintance with Devina was close enough to know this probably wasn’t a good thing. Of all the people I could think of to owe a favor, Devina was one of the least accommodating.

“You realise, of course, you’ve disappointed a lot of people. And who on earth is this ‘Margo’ person you’ve been hanging around with? She’s a complication I’d not foreseen.”

Devina was talking in a most cryptic manner. It was as if this had all been her plan all along. The events and privations I’d been subjected to were, you’d have thought, all children…