Rip Tide

‘Excellent credentials.’ Best to begin with the positive, then move in for the kill. ‘But awfully young. If you think about it, she’s only really had the one mission in Frankfurt.’

Mackay nodded. ‘So you think Arbuthnot’s our man for the job?’

‘I think so. Sound pair of hands.’

Mackay nodded. Arthur was surprised. Perhaps this was going to be easier than he’d expected.

Mackay went on nodding in an absent-minded sort of way. But then he said firmly, ‘Can’t see Arbuthnot myself. Too conventional in my view, and he’s just not going to have the radar for office gossip that we need. My vote’s for Maria – her credentials are just as good, and she’s shown initiative in the past. Yes. I think Maria’s the one for this job.’

Chapter 16

The old Sikh had driven Liz all the way to Birmingham International Station, though he obviously suspected she was a hysterical woman who had overreacted to some harmless game played by a pair of boys. She had decided not to call the police, as her attackers were long gone into the maze of streets around the Khans’ house and she did not want to draw the attention of the local constabulary to her interest in the family. She would tell Fontana about it in the morning. He might know the boys – they obviously knew him – and be able to find out what their connection was with Amir Khan, and why they had attacked her.

The train from Birmingham to King’s Cross had been packed and with no seat reservation she’d had to stand all the way, which had not helped her to calm down. So when she got inside her Kentish Town flat, Liz headed straight for the fridge and poured herself a glass of Sauvignon Blanc from the half-full bottle there.

She had moved into this flat six months ago, after she’d got back from the operation where she had first met Martin. The flat was on the ground floor of a large Victorian house; she’d previously owned the basement flat in the same building. When she first bought that, it had been dark and gloomy, but it was all she could afford at the time and, as the first property she had ever owned, she had loved it. Gradually, over several years, she had brightened it up and improved it. The whole place had been painted white, and the wallpaper, which had hung off the wall in a strip over the bath where the steam had detached it, had been removed and the bathroom tiled. She’d bought a new washing machine to replace the one she’d inherited when she moved in, which had had a habit of stopping in the middle of its cycle, leaving her underwear in a puddle of grey scummy water.

But when she’d returned from her posting in Belfast, the flat, even in its improved state, had no longer seemed so welcoming. It had been empty while she’d been away and she seemed to have grown out of it. So when the flat above had come up for sale she’d gone to look at it, even though she knew she couldn’t afford it, and as soon as she saw the high airy living room with its corniced ceiling and Victorian fireplace, and the big sash windows overlooking the garden, she fell in love all over again. Her mother’s close friend Edward had lent her some money, and that, together with a breathtakingly huge mortgage and the surprisingly large profit she’d made selling the basement, had been enough to secure the flat.

She took her glass of wine into the bedroom, still feeling rattled by her experiences in Birmingham. She looked at the phone, hesitating, then picked up and dialled.

Martin answered at once.

‘Hello. It’s Liz.’

He laughed. ‘I was sitting here, thinking about you. I was just about to ring you.’

‘Is everything all right?’ she asked.

‘Yes, of course. Though the lady I was after seems to have given us the slip this time.’

‘You’ll find her,’ Liz said confidently. Just talking to Martin was a relief.

‘What about you? What is your news?’

‘I’ve been in Birmingham all day, looking into the background of our friend in the Santé.’

‘Ah. How did it go?’

‘Okay, though some of his friends were not very pleased to see me.’

Martin could read between the lines. ‘I don’t like the sound of that. Are you sure you’re all right? You’re not hurt, are you?’

‘No. Not hurt, just a bit shaken up. But I’m fine now,’ she said, and it was true. Just hearing his voice had made her feel better. They talked for a few minutes more, planning their next meeting, then they said good night and rang off.