Cold Fusion - Lance Parkin [47]
He leant forward. ‘You’ve got pretty eyes, you know?’
His voice was lilting, hypnotic. His eyes were blue. He was about her age.
‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Your eyes are nice too’ she added, rather wishing she hadn’t.
‘Tegan’s a lovely name, you know. I’ve always thought so.’ She arched an eyebrow.
‘I know it’s an unusual name, but there was a “Tegan” at my school when I was very young. We used to hang around together, go for bike rides, swim in the creek. There wasn’t anything more to it than that, even though our parents seemed to think we’d get married one day. We were only eight.’
Tegan smiled at his innocence, then blinked, remembering the killer question.
His hand brushed against hers. Tegan glanced down.
There was downy blond hair on the back of his hand, running up to the wrist. It stood out against the tanned skin.
Tegan roused herself. It was time to ask it. ‘So whereabouts are you from?’ she asked sweetly.
Bruce chuckled. ‘I’m from a lovely city by the name of Australia, back on Earth.’
‘Really?’ Tegan said. ‘Is it a big place?’
‘Oh yeah, but despite that it’s a really close-knit community,’ he said wistfully. ‘The weather’s beautiful and sunny and there’s a swimming pool in most back gardens.
Everyone knows one other, and we’re all in and out of each other’s houses all the time, making each other casseroles and lamingtons. Everyone talks through their problems at the local coffee shop, or over a nice cup of herbal tea.
That’s the thing, isn’t it? With a little understanding, you can find the perfect blend, and that’s when good neighbours become good friends.’
‘Excuse me while I throw up,’ Tegan said in a still, level voice. She didn’t withdraw her hand.
Bruce blanched. ‘I beg your pardon?’
Tegan leant forward, her eyes narrowing. ‘You’re a liar.
You’ve listened to a couple of Barry Humphries LPs and brewed up some ludicrous half-baked racist stereotype to cover up what you’re really doing here. But I’ve caught you out. Look, mate, I don’t care what you’re doing here, because you’ve insulted my country and you’ve insulted me. Apologize. Now. Then explain why you’ve done it.
And make it good.’
‘What does LP stand for?’ Bruce tried to ask.
‘Answer me!’ Tegan snarled.
‘You’re right,’ he stammered. His voice had shifted to something resembling Canadian. ‘Of course you’re right,’
he added. He struggled to regain control of the situation.
‘Sorry,’ he said finally.
‘Good start. Now, why?’ Tegan demanded.
‘I’m here on special business.’
‘If you’re about to spin me some bull about being a solar panel salesman, I’ll go straight to the police.’
‘No, look, don’t shout, I’m trying to explain.’ He straightened, his entire body language changing from a swaggering lout into something altogether more disciplined in bearing. ‘I’m working here undercover.’
‘You’re a spy?’ Tegan asked.
‘Yes.’
‘OK. So I take it your name isn’t really “Bruce Jovanka”.’
‘No, my name is Cwej, Chris Cwej.’
‘A likely story.’
‘It is,’ he insisted.
‘Prove it.’
‘How? I’m here undercover, so I’ve not brought any ID.’
‘Well, forgive me, but I don’t believe a word of what you say.’
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small grey box. ‘Here. I’ve got a friend–’
‘You surprise me.’
‘–a friend who’ll be able to tell you what my name is.’
He tapped the button.
Nothing happened.
He tapped the button again. Nothing happened.
‘I’m impressed,’ Tegan told him.
‘Look, why don’t we go up to my room? The reception up there will be a lot better. We’ll talk this over, then I’ll try this again.’
Before he could react, a splash of champagne arced through the air towards him. It sloshed along the length of his forehead, streaming down his face.
‘Pervert!’ she shouted. ‘Of all the lousy excuses.’
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