Read The Greek Who Stole Christmas for Free Online

you. But this morning, when I woke up, I realized I’d got it all wrong.” She sat down. “Harold brought in the newspapers and I saw that we got every single front page. And part of that was thanks to you.
The Times
called you a maniac. The
Mail
said you were idiotic. The
Guardian
thought you were a banker.”
    “That
was
a misprint,” I said.
    Minerva ignored me. “If I’d just turned on those ridiculous lights, the most I would have got would have been the front page of the evening paper. But the way things turned out, I got more publicity than I could have dreamed of. Harold is certain my new CD is going to go straight to number one.”
    “How is Harold?” I asked.
    “He had a very lucky escape last night,” Minerva said. “One of those bullets missed him by a centimetre. It even burnt a hole in the side of his coat.”
    “You mean … it could have hit his pacemaker?” I exclaimed.
    “It was a near miss. But I’m not here to talk about Harold.” She turned to Tim. “I want to make it up to you, Timothy,” she said. “I want to invite you to dinner. I’ve already reserved a table for two.”
    “Isn’t two a little early for dinner?” Tim asked.
    “For just the two of us, I mean!” Minerva smiled but I wasn’t entirely convinced. I’d met sharks with friendlier teeth. “At eight o’clock this evening,” she went on. “There’s a restaurant I go to. It’s called The Gravy.” She giggled mischievously. “I thought we might have a little tête-à-tête.”
    “I’m not that crazy about French food,” Tim muttered.
    “You’ll like this,” Minerva simpered. “Make sure you dress up smart. You should put on that suit of yours with seven buttons and seventeen buttonholes.”
    And with that she was gone.
    I went over to the window and looked out as she left the building. There was a police car waiting for her. It was true, then. The men in blue had now taken over Tim’s job.
    “They’re giving her round-the-clock protection,” I said.
    “They think someone’s going to kill her near a clock?”
    Tim looked slightly dazed. I could see that he was already imagining himself in some swanky restaurant, drinking champagne with the rich and famous. It was time to bring him down to earth.
    “You’re not going,” I said.
    “Why not?” Tim replied.
    “She’s not interested in you, Tim. If she’s invited you out, it’s only for the publicity. That’s all she cares about.”
    “Maybe she’s got a soft spot for me.”
    “I don’t think she’s got a soft spot for anyone except herself. Anyway, she’s a married woman.”
    “Listen, kid.” Tim leant back in his chair. “You don’t understand the female mind. Maybe she’s looking for something rough and a little bit dangerous.”
    “Then she can buy herself a yak.”
    “She likes me!”
    “She’s using you, Tim.”
    “She’s invited me to dinner!”
    “Well, if you’re going, I’m going too.”
    Tim stared at me as if I’d just slapped him in the face – and I can’t say I wasn’t tempted. “Forget it, Nick,” he said. “You heard what she said. This is a dinner for two. I don’t need you there. I’m going on my own. And this time, my decision is final!”
    The Gravy was one of London’s most exclusive restaurants, reserved for celebrities and millionaires. It was so exclusive, even the waiters had trouble getting in, and the name was written in tiny letters as if it didn’t want anyone to notice. It was tucked away in a quiet street near Covent Garden with a doorman sizing up everyone who came close. He looked at Tim and me with an expression of complete disgust. But this was the sort of place where even the doormat didn’t say WELCOME. It preferred to say GO AWAY.
    Why had I come? Part of the answer was that I was worried about Tim. I still didn’t know what Minerva was up to, but I didn’t trust her and I wanted to be there if things took a turn for the worse. But also, I quite fancied dinner at The Gravy.