A Few Days Earlier
Honor slipped out of the function early on. She had had her fill of strangers for one night. Had enough of JP and his relentless networking of contacts over this New Army business. Frankly, JP wasn’t in her good books about Peggy. He didn’t even pretend to like her. He was probably delighted she’d disappeared off the radar.
Anyway, it was cooler out of the crush and she preferred the space, the marble floors, the vaulted ceiling with its ironwork, even the huddles of Middle Eastern businessmen crouched over tables too low for them.
One glanced in her direction as she passed. At the navy silk column dress with the cowl neck, the exposed back and shining blonde hair, and she smiled vaguely but didn’t make eye contact. In a chair in the far distant corner, she slipped off the silver mule and slid a bare foot under her as the waiter approached. It was wasteful to pay for a drink when they were free in the function room yards away, but she ordered a glass of Pouilly-Fuissé and black coffee.
Her slim fingers unclasped the crystal-studded clutch bag and extracted the phone, pressing Peggy’s mobile number again. The call rang out as a long-stemmed glass appeared, a pot of coffee. She raised her hand in thanks to the waiter as she imagined the Holst’s Planets ring tone blaring out in Peggy’s bag. Imagined Peggy reaching, pulling the bag up on to her lap, fumbling through papers and books and scarves to answer it. But the call went to answerphone – again. “Hey this is Peggy. Time may be infinite but speak now.”
Honor frowned.
As she sensed movement, she glanced up. But it wasn’t the waiter. A bearded young man in skinny jeans and a denim jacket stood by her. He moved from foot to foot as he glanced around the foyer – his eyes flicking between the tables, across to the reception with its glass bowls of spikey, tropical flowers, the gold braid of the concierge, the ornate doorway through to the fundraiser. Anywhere but at her.
She was excellent with names, but it took her a second. The beard.
The fact he was in London. Out of place.
Ned Fellowes.
What did Peggy say about him? That was it. “He’s always turning up. It’s downright uncanny.”
Still without meeting Honor’s eye, Ned held out his hand. But when she attempted to take it, he slapped his palm against hers – once, twice – before curling his fingers into hers, then breaking away to snap them with a small click. He glanced in her direction, waiting. Normally he reserved his special handshake for Peggy. Honor clicked her thumb and middle finger, and the snap made the waiter turn and frown in their direction. She shook her head, waved him away as he started towards them, and Ned sank into the wingback chair opposite. There was a sweet smell of the deodorant meant for adolescent boys as he placed his canvas shoulder bag with due ceremony on the floor.
“Are you planning to drink that?” he pointed at the silver pot, gnawing at the bed of his devastated thumbnail as Honor poured him a coffee. She was thankful he hadn’t claimed the glass of wine.
“You’re a long way from home, Ned, honey.”
Over the steaming cup, his nose twitched at the mention of home. His eyes were a clear amber peeping out from under his russet hair. He had waxed the tips of his moustache she realised, the curling ends spiralling in on themselves like an old-fashioned strongman.
There was a chink as he put the cup back in its saucer. He’d drained it.
“Two hundred and eighty-three miles.” He grinned at her and then looked away – the grin quick and furtive behind the beard, one front-tooth lying over the edge of the other. “It took three hours and 13 minutes. That’s 11 minutes longer than the average journey. I asked the guard whose name was Peter and he attributed the difference to ‘signalling at Peterborough’.”
There was an old-fashioned ringing which got louder as he pulled his mobile from his pocket, and his train ticket fluttered to the floor.
“I’ll be back tomorrow, Jess. I told you.”
Honor bent to pick up the ticket, sliding it back across the table to him.
Silence.
“Leave it up there. I’ll clean down the whole thing when I come in.” Silence. “I know you do.”
He put his phone down and shook his head as if to clear it of the distraction that was Jess, before reaching across to grip Honor’s forearm.
She bit her tongue to stop herself from yelping in protest.
“Ms Jones, you’re an important person.”
Close up, his crossed-over teeth looked sharp and the twitching nose reminded her of a rodent.
“No.” With her free hand, Honor removed Ned’s hand from her forearm. He sported a thick red rubber band on his wrist she noticed. “I’m an MP – a public servant. You’re every bit as important.”
“But you know the Prime Minister. You talk to her. You meet with her. You need to tell her that citizens are disappearing. She’d want to know.” Ned sat forward on the edge of his chair, his hands clasping and unclasping. Long bony fingers with bitten-down nails. “Every day. There. Gone.” Ned snapped his thumb and middle finger together as he had before, and this time there was a loud dry report like gunfire.
What had Peggy said about him? He’d been sectioned because he posed a risk to himself, not to others. Please God, he was harmless.
Honor gestured at a passing waiter that she wanted the bill, scribbling in the air with an imaginary pen, and Ned’s voice became more urgent. She took a mouthful of the flinty wine as she glanced at her watch – calculating when she could leave. Five past ten – she’d give him another five minutes. Was he having another breakdown? Should she persuade him to ring back this Jess-person, and then talk to Jess herself?
Evidence compelled him to the conclusion, he said, that 33 citizens had disappeared. Honor could help. She was part of the Establishment, and that was useful. It might make all the difference. He needed official protection, and he knew he could rely on her. Meanwhile, he would do everything he could to find the disappeared, and he would keep in close touch with Honor and the Prime Minister – provide them with regular reports. Oral or written, whichever they preferred.
“Trust no one, Ms Jones.” His hand rose to his beard and he pulled and tugged it, glancing about. The Middle Eastern businessmen long gone. “Don’t talk to anyone about this apart from me. It’s not safe.” He placed a memory stick in a plastic wallet on the table between them. “This explains everything.”
Poor sweet Ned. Was he down in London on his own? Did he have anywhere to sleep tonight? His family was in Newcastle. Why was he even down here?
“Ned can I call someone for you? Jess maybe? Is Jess worried about you?”
He looked at her – stricken. There was a pause. A heartbeat. Two before, wailing, he slammed the heel of his hand against his temple. Honor pulled at his arm, rocking the table as he struggled to hit himself again and again, and the empty wine glass crashed to the ground, smashing into a million pieces.
“Stupid Ned,” he whispered. Dropping his head, curved over on himself, he rocked back and forth before his fingers went to the rubber band on his wrist. He snapped it – once, twice, three times. And again – three times. A red line appeared on his pale skin as he lifted his head to lock eyes with her.
He was calm. At peace.
The waiter hurried towards them. A brush and pan in one hand, the bill in the other, but she held up her palm to stop him coming further. The waiter glanced towards the uniformed concierge standing behind the desk, and the concierge moved out.
“I haven’t made myself clear Ms Jones. Peggy is in trouble. She’s been taken. They have her. She’s one of the disappeared. I should have said that at the start.”
A hole opened up at the centre of Honor. In her chest cavity she could feel the pounding beat of her heart.
“Ned, Peggy is working on something and is off-grid so she can concentrate. She sent me a text.”
The text leapt into Honor’s mind as she picked up her bag. “Working on something big sweetie. Need head-space. Will be in touch as soon as I can. Peggyx.”
The dismissal.
Loss.
Ned’s hands flapped in denial. “That’s what they do.” His nose twitched and his voice grew louder in the sudden quiet of the atrium. “What they say. ‘I’m away’.” He snapped at his band. “ ‘I’m on holiday’.” He kept snapping. “ ‘There’s been a bereavement in the family’. ‘I’m on a deadline. Sorry to cancel’. ‘Will get back to you. It might be a while’.
That’s ‘Them’.” Finally, the band snapped. The two pieces flying in opposite directions, but Ned didn’t notice. “Did you see Peggy? Did she ring you after the text? I know she didn’t, because I’m telling you Honor – she’s gone.”
Ned was a paranoid lunatic. Honor’s heart started to race. She’d couldn’t draw breath. Had forgotten how. She needed air. She had to get back to the reception and JP, almost stepping on the silk hem in her haste to stand. Poor Ned. He had to be off his meds.
He slid the small plastic wallet over the table towards her. Afterwards, she thought she picked it up because he used her name. For the first time. Used it as if she was a friend who owed him that much courtesy. She opened the sparkling evening bag, tossing in the wallet. Nauseous. Irritation rising hard and fast. Not at rabbity Ned with his rubber band and his twitches and his Asperger’s. At bloody Peggy. Needing space to work on something big. It was the most inconsiderate thing she had ever done, because it wasn’t just Honor she’d abandoned – it was everybody. It was Ned. She wanted to scream. To weep. When Peggy did make contact, Honor was going to bollock her from here to Kingdom Come.