Mind the Gap

chapter Fourteen

invincible

The shop smelled like an explosion in a perfume factory. The scent was cloying and sickening,

hanging heavy on her throat and in her nose. Her eyes smarted. How can people work in here? she

thought. At every counter there was an-other made-up lady, women whose job description seemed to

include using as many of the products they were trying to sell as possible. Heavy lipstick, thick eyeliner,

foundation, blusher, much of it apparently pasted on with tools more suited to a building site. Jazz actually

found herself slightly perturbed by some of the women, their visages so solid that it seemed they would

crack if they dropped their constant smiles. She imagined them knocking off after a day at work, grimacing

and frowning in front of the mirror while their makeup mask fell off in chunks. Underneath, there would be

the real person.

She caught sight of herself in another mirror and paused yet again. It would take her a long time to

get used to the new look. While the stylist had been working, Jazz felt a thrilling sense of expectation, the

past shouting at her to take control, the future offering that control to her. Her hair was several shades

darker, six inches shorter, and cut in a trendy tousled look that she knew caught people's attention. She'd

attracted more than one appreciative glance since leaving the salon. Inevitably, the lookers' eyes switched

from her to Terence, their smiles replaced by distracted frowns.

Maybe she shocked them. She liked that.

"There's no way I'm going to sit here and let one of those monsters turn me into someone else," Jazz

said. Terence stood beside her, the sleeve of his shirt just touching her shoulder, and he uttered a quiet

laugh.

"I don't blame you," he said. "But you need a touch of something."

Jazz beamed up at him. "Meet me out front in ten min-utes." Terence raised an eyebrow and Jazz

walked away, not looking back.

She felt more like herself than ever, yet her look had changed so much. Maybe it was freedom born

of making a positive choice. As she weaved between the counters she thought of Harry, and the United

Kingdom, and her smile slowly slipped.

"Can I help you with something, madam?" a made-up lady asked.

"No thanks," Jazz said. "Just browsing."

And she browsed. Moving from counter to counter, one display to the next, passing her hand across

a hundred differ-ent shades of the same color, consulting charts and sniffing at testers, and a couple of

minutes later she saw Terence pass by in a mirror, a knowing smile on his face as he headed for the front

of the shop. I hope he thinks I'm making a run for it, Jazz thought, but at the same time she knew that

was un-likely. He could see that he excited her.

Five minutes later she went into the ladies' restroom and spread her haul on the shelf above the sink.

Good stuff, most of it, but she'd never been keen on makeup. She chose lip gloss instead of lipstick and a

touch of something around her eyes. When she reached for the blusher, she realized she did not need it; she

was already flushed.

Smiling, she left the stolen makeup in the bathroom and went to meet Terence. Out on the sidewalk,

he smiled ap-preciatively and offered quiet applause. They fell into step together quite naturally.

A black BMW drifted by as they turned the corner into Brompton Road.

Jazz turned away and looked into a shop window, brows-ing children's fashions at ridiculous prices.

She stared past her own reflection at that of the BMW, saw that the win-dows were down, and tried to

make out who could be inside. They won't know me, she thought. Not now. Not like this. But there was

little comfort in that thought, because if they saw her, they would know her. She hadn't changed that much.

Different clothes and a new haircut could not make her a new person, and if she caught their eye, they

would see the fear and uncertainty that still rode her shoulders.

"What is it?" Terence asked.

Jazz shook her head. The BMW picked up speed and moved on, overtaking a cyclist who lifted a

hand and shouted something unintelligible.

"Really, dear, I don't think we should settle down just yet."

Jazz turned away from the kids' clothes display and glanced after the BMW, then looked at Terence.

She tried to smile but it would not come.

"Oh," he said. He looked after the receding car as well, then nodded as another passed them by.



"Plenty of those here. Posh area. Some would say exclusive. Park your rust-ing Ford Sierra here and it's

liable to be towed away."

Jazz nodded. "I'm okay." Just bloody terrified.

"Do you want to —"

"No, no. No more talk. You were taking me some-where?"

Terence smiled uncertainly, then held her hand and linked her arm through his once again. "Plenty of

time," he said. "Secrets are good, but remember: a secret that hurts is best shared."

"Where'd you get that from, a fortune cookie?"

"Winnie the Pooh."

Jazz laughed out loud, a few faces turned their way, and she wondered how she could possibly feel

so safe with just one man.

They walked along Brompton Road until Harrods stood before them, one of its main corner

entrances marked by two men in top hats and tails welcoming customers in and bidding farewell when they

left.

"I thought you'd been here already today," she said.

"Yesterday," Terence said. "I wanted to buy you some-thing, and it was a good opportunity to

pinpoint a few of the more obvious dangers."

"Dangers?"

Terence leaned in close until their heads were almost touching. "There are cameras everywhere in

there," he said quietly. The noise of the traffic would drown his voice from everyone but her. "Store guards

walking the floors all day. Security contacts on every display case with coded entries for certain people

holding certain keys. If something big is lifted, the whole place goes into lockdown. Lifts stop, elec-tronic

doors close and lock, and every alarm is linked to the local police station."

"You are seriously telling me we're going to rob Harrods?" Jazz asked, and even saying the words

sent a thrill down her spine.

Terence stood up straight again and laughed out loud. London passed them by and ignored them,

because that's what London was, an impersonal place crammed with peo-ple. Millions of stories to be told,

and every one private. "Not all of it," he said. "Just one small bit."

"I just want a carrier bag," Jazz said, smiling.

Terence held her hand, ready to cross the busy street. "Now listen," he said. And he told her what

they were about to do.



****

Jazz knew that she was being tested. Terence had seen what she could do at Mort's house, but once

could so easily be luck. Sure, she'd nicked her clothes this morning, lifted a few tubes of lipstick and

eyeliner from Boots, but any street kid could do that. Practice made perfect. Some scores, though, could

never be practiced. They would count on sleight of hand, confidence, calmness, and a total awareness of

one's surroundings while never becoming the center of someone else's attention. Almost anyone could

learn to be a good thief, but few were born with all the skills required to make it come naturally.

Yet she welcomed this test. Not only because it would be exciting but because it would be proving

herself in Terence's eyes, and that was becoming more important to her than ever. She was a girl full of

questions, and for a long time she had feared the answers. Now, when the questions were mul-tiplying

more rapidly than ever, something in Terence made her less afraid.

She also believed he had answers. The weight of the blade in her shoulder bag, the apparatus he had

mentioned but not explained, why something as important as this blade seemed to be was kept in Mort's

house —here was a man with secrets. Jazz was sure that once he viewed her as more of an equal, he

would take Pooh's advice and share them.

As they reached the pavement near the corner entrance, Terence slipped the bag from Jazz's

shoulder. "Can't take this in there," he said.

She turned to him, ready to confront him over the bag. He could just take off with it, she thought.

I’ll bet he's faster than me, when he needs to be. And I'll bet he knows this area too, which alleys to

slip into, which doors will be unlocked, which shops have a back entrance... She fisted her hands, not

quite sure whether she was ready to fight, and felt her shoulders tighten with tension.

But Terence smiled casually at her and threw her a sur-reptitious wink. "They look more closely at

people carrying bags," he said. He strode on toward the main entrance as if he did not have a care in the

world.

If only she could feel like that. A world without cares. She had never known that, ever, and neither

had her mother.



As she followed Terence, Jazz felt a sudden rush of emotion about her mother, stronger and more

unexpected than any-thing she had felt for weeks. It struck her like a punch, clouding her eyes and building

a rapid pressure behind her face. She never had a day without fear, she thought. Never got up in the

morning and looked out the window, saw birds in the garden and clouds in the sky, thought about

what a beautiful day it was. She always looked further. Past the birds and the garden, searching for

people who wanted to do her harm.

Jazz knew that if she cried now, she would blow the whole day. She would fail the test, and Terence

would likely never trust her again.

She never had her own life to lead. She always led mine for me, worried about me, building

fears about me.

She watched his back, staring at a point between his shoulders and concentrating on the way his shirt

moved as he walked. Damn him, not only was he smooth and intelli-gent, he was also fit. Damn him!

And I know what she was thinking... when they held her down, came at her with the knife...

She was thinking... about... me!

"Wait for me, for Christ's sake!" Jazz said, blowing her anger and venting the pressure behind her

eyes. Terence looked back, hiding his surprise well. The doorman glanced at Jazz, a small smirk touching

his face, and she rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"Sorry, babe," Terence said, recovering sharply.

Jazz shook her head and blew air up at her new ragged fringe. "S'okay. Hot, that's all."

They reached the security point at the entrance and Terence strode straight to the desk. "Afternoon,"

he said. "I don't suppose I could leave this with you for safekeeping? I'm an antiques dealer and I've just

bought this, but it's bulky and heavy."

"No problem, sir," the tall doorman said. He tore a ticket from a small book and handed it to Terence,

tying its corresponding number around the bag's handles. "I'll just pop it in our bag room."

"Many thanks." Terence waited for Jazz this time, offer-ing her a smile, but she could also see the

hint of something else behind his eyes. Anger? Maybe. She hoped so. She liked the idea that something she

did would shake him up.

The doorman opened the door and they stepped in, Jazz giving him her most dazzling smile.

"What was that?" Terence asked quietly as they walked inside the great shop.

"Attracting attention to ourselves. We're good, honest people, leaving our bag at the entrance."

"Really?"

"Yep. Really. Oh, look at this!"

They walked the floors of Harrods, the cheerful couple, the wealthy shoppers. Jazz pointed out some

suits and Terence looked, felt the fabric, and nodded appreciatively. They passed the waxwork of

Mohamed Al Fayed and swapped a whispered comment, Terence smiling and Jazz giggling as they passed

into the cosmetics sections. Jazz had had enough of cosmetics for one day but she browsed nonetheless,

squirting a couple of testers onto her wrists and pressing them up to Terence's nose. He sniffed dutifully,

screwed up his nose, and shook his head. The second time she touched his lips with her wrist, accidentally,

she thought, but as she turned and walked into the cheese section of the store she wasn't so sure.

Terence seemed more at home here. The smells were tremendous, and Jazz followed him as he

cruised back and forth along the counters. He asked for samples of several cheeses and offered her a bite,

but they all smelled too strong for her taste. They moved through into the tea and coffee section, then the

chocolate and cakes, and while Jazz perused the grand displays, Terence acquired small bags of produce.

He did not seem especially excited about any pur-chase, and Jazz wondered whether he shopped here

regu-larly.

For her part, she did her best to hold back her sense of awe. She smiled as she contemplated the

wondrous choco-lates and the mountainous cakes, never quite able to exude boredom but happy with a

middle ground. She took a few chocolate samples when they were offered, nodding in sump-tuous

appreciation. She checked out the prices on a couple of the cakes and tried not to let her shock show.

Terence stood beside her and put his arm gently around her, cupping her elbow in his hand. "Left

here is the meat section," he said. "I want to pick something up for dinner. You like lamb?"

Jazz was amazed at his presumption. "Dinner?"

"Unless you were planning on going home this evening?"

She looked away, confused, silently cursing him for do-ing this to her here and now. Testing me, she

thought. He knows I nearly blew it on the way in, so now he's trying to distract me. One wrong word

or movement from me, and the whole nick is off. She knew that if that happened, the distance between

them would expand rapidly, and by the time they left Harrods, Terence would likely take the blade from her



—by force if necessary —and that would be the last she ever saw of him.

"Lamb's good," she said. "I assume you know how to cook it properly?" Jazz herself had no idea, but

she wanted to appeal to his vanity. Steer him away from trying to trip her up.

His only response was a smile.

The smell in the meat section was similarly heady, the tang of fresh blood blending with fresh fish to

provide an aroma that reminded Jazz strangely of the makeup shop. It consumed the atmosphere of the

place, and any amount of extract ducts and air-conditioning could not change that.

Jazz berated herself for glancing up at the ceiling. Air-conditioning, yes, and extravagant plasterwork,

decorative light fittings, and hams hanging from heavy hooks. But, as Terence had said, there were

cameras everywhere in here.

After Terence selected a cut of meat and added even more to his collection of bags, he touched her

arm and gen-tly guided her back through the fruit section —more heady smells, more glorious

displays—and into the jewelry rooms.

Nothing too extravagant, he had said. Nothing too expen-sive. All the really pricey stuff is well

protected, and much of it isn't even on display. But we'll not go through this for something cheap.

He told her that he'd leave it up to her what she decided to take. Another test.

They were the perfect happy couple as they passed into the fine-jewelry section. Jazz's heart sped

up at what was to come, and she could feel her senses heightened. It might well be that Terence was

testing her. But this, she promised herself, was going to be fun.

"That one's gorgeous."

Jazz tapped her fingernail on the glass display cabinet above a tray of necklaces. It held five pieces

of jewelry and she was indicating the most garish one, a heavy metal chain with bulky mountings for the

five diamonds.

"Which one, madam?" the jewelry manager asked.

"That... Oh, that one's nice too."

"Can we see them all?" Terence asked.

Jazz rolled her eyes at the assistant. "Steve!"

Terence held out his hands in a what-can-I-do gesture. "Show her this one, she'll like that one. Show

her that one, she'll like this one. By the time she chooses, her birthday will be over." He frowned and leaned

forward. "Oh my, that is a beautiful piece!" He was examining the assistant's neck-lace, a subtle, thin chain

with a single sapphire in a tasteful mount. The woman actually blushed, smiling at him just a little too long

for comfort.

Jazz smiled inwardly. Oh yes, she likes him.

"Don't you think, Lucy?"

Jazz glanced at the woman's neck and saw a nervous flush starting across her chest. "Quite," she

said.

Terence smiled at the assistant and nodded down at the display case. "Well, we'll have a look at

those," he said.

Jazz wasn't sure she liked this I'm-in-charge act from Terence, but it seemed to be working. The

assistant barely saw her anymore, and even when she withdrew the tray, un-clipped the necklace, and

placed it around Jazz's neck, it was Terence she looked at.

"Not bad," Terence said.

The woman nodded. "It's gorgeous. Catches her eyes."

Her, not your. Jazz batted her eyelids at Terence, know-ing that the assistant would not see.

"How much is it?" Jazz asked.

The woman moved back slightly, taking the necklace from Jazz's throat and laying it out across both

of her hands. It caught the artificial lights and dazzled, throwing light a thousand different ways. "This piece

is seven thousand pounds," she said. "It's quite unique, handmade, and there are matching earrings and a

bracelet if you're interested."

"Seven thousand," Jazz said, trying to sound disap-pointed. Seven f*cking thousand! she was

actually thinking, but she was delighted at her act. Her face did not actually drop, but she feigned sudden

disinterest.

"This one looks glorious," Terence said. "More similar to your own, madam."

The woman blushed deeper, fussing around as if trying to hide it. "Sorry to say, mine isn't quite the

same quality."

"Jewelry is given worth by its wearer, not its maker. That's what I always say." He was looking right

at her and continued to do so until the woman met his gaze. She looked away again, and Jazz saw a brief,



wry smile curl his lip.

He knows all about himself, she thought. But there was a big difference between arrogance and

confidence. And, any-way, it was all part of the job.

The woman swapped necklaces and held the second one to Jazz's throat.

Terence hummed in appreciation.

Jazz asked how much this one was.

"This is nine thousand four hundred," the woman said. "It really does catch your character, madam.

So stylish and modern."

"Nine thousand," Jazz said. She reached up and held the necklace. She did not actually force the

woman to let go, but still the assistant took one step back, keeping her eyes on the piece.

"Perhaps we should look more in the five-figure range," Terence said.

Jazz threw him a smile, making sure the woman saw.

"There." Terence leaned across the glass display case and tapped its top, indicating a piece a couple

of trays along from the first.

Jazz placed the second necklace back on the tray with her right hand.

For a second the woman looked away, eyes flitting across Terence's athletic form, then down to the

tray he was pointing to.

Jazz lifted her right hand to her face, scratching an imaginary itch on the side of her nose. The

movement caught the woman's attention, Jazz smiled at her and rolled her eyes again, and with the index

and middle fingers of her left hand she lifted another necklace from the first tray.

"Now this is the one, Lucy. This is definitely the one."

Jazz moved to Terence's side, pocketing the necklace and then clasping her hands in front of her

chest, all in the same movement.

"That one?" she said. "Yeah... s'pose..."

The assistant hurriedly locked the first tray away and moved along to them, standing primly while

"Steve" and "Lucy" played out their act.

They looked at several more necklaces, and when Terence saw another couple waiting to be served

he shrugged, held Jazz's arms, and looked at her as though she were an unruly child. "What am I going to

do with you?" he asked.

What indeed? Jazz thought, and for a beat he actually scared her again.

"I'm sorry," Terence said. "If I could have persuaded her to follow your taste..." He pointed at the

assistant's neck again, bringing out more of her flush. "But perhaps next time."

"I certainly hope so," the woman said.

Jazz was already walking away, completing the act by leaving first, unfulfilled and petulant. When

she glanced back, the woman had moved on to the next couple, standing by while they perused a display of

outlandishly priced bracelets.

As Terence approached Jazz, the woman took a long, frank look at his ass. She glanced up and

caught Jazz's eyes, looking away quickly. But there'd been no shame in her ex-pression. She thinks I'm a

spoiled little tramp, Jazz thought. Well, f*ck her.

They left through the candy shop and bakery, Terence pausing only to buy some floured bread rolls.

Sleight of hand, Jazz thought. I magicked it away. She remembered that vision she had seen

several times in the Underground, the Victorian magician who seemed to be looking more intently at her

every time she saw him. Sleight of hand, that's how the greatest tricks were done. Misdirection, skill,

confidence. None of the other ghosts paid her any attention at all. None of the others saw her.

Maybe next time, Jazz could show him a thing or two.

At the security desk, Terence picked up Jazz's shoulder bag with a brief but polite thanks. He turned

and handed it to Jazz, waiting while she shrugged it back on. Then he in-vited her to link arms as they exited

into the busy streets of London.

A black BMW stopped at the curb. Jazz barely flinched. A tall young woman climbed out, followed

by a scruffy man dressed in jeans and T-shirt. He seemed drunk.

Right then, Jazz felt invincible.

"Dinner?" Terence said.

"Of course." She walked with him, this mysterious stranger who seemed so keen to help change her

life. And she realized with a jolt that a sense of invincibility was the surest way to fail his test.

But she could not shed the buzz, nor temper her excite-ment.

"Are you dangerous?" she asked, relishing the risk in-herent in such a question.

He looked at her sidelong. "Deadly."



"Yeah," Jazz said. "p-ssycat."

Terence said nothing else all the way home.