The pavement seemed to rise up in front of her as Gabriela moved through Camden Town, back towards the house, Madeleine’s words still spinning in her mind.
‘It only came up because I was talking to colleagues here who are investigating a businesswoman called Irena Vasiliev on grounds of corporate tax evasion, on a huge scale, along with a number of other substantial crimes.’
Madeleine had barely looked at her as she spoke, her voice so quiet she could hardly hear it. Irena Vasiliev. The name echoed through her head as she moved, instinctively, her body taking over from her addled mind.
‘They brought the case to me in private as they wondered if I knew anything. Because the thing is—’ She looked at Gabriela then, catching her eye and holding it. ‘Whilst going through the documents, the secret recordings and the evidence brought by insiders who have been working on the case, evidence has been amassed that one of Vasiliev’s associates was having a relationship with a woman who used to work for the FCO.’
Gabriela’s blood ran cold as she recalled Madeleine’s face, watching her as she slipped a pile of papers across the table, the details jumping out like bullets.
Mr Ivan Popov is director of a number of global companies. One of them is GEF Energy Ltd, a business engaged in the provision of renewable energy and solar power. The ownership of GEF is divided between an investment company and another company, the Stan Group, registered to the British Virgin Islands.
Following Gabriela’s eyes across the page, Madeleine tore off a piece of bread, speaking between mouthfuls, in an effort at nonchalance. ‘Unofficially, the Stan Group, which shields itself behind the anonymity of one of the world’s biggest tax havens, is known to be run by Irena Vasiliev, a prolific Russian criminal. You might have heard of her?’ She paused for effect, but she didn’t look at Gabriela. ‘This associate of hers, Ivan Popov, is implicated in bribery related to his efforts in running GEF outside of Russia. Vasiliev herself is unable to leave her mother country for fear of prosecution. The UK is not the only jurisdiction she’s wanted by, not by a long shot, and the powers that be seem keen to give her protection in Moscow.’
Unable to speak, Gabriela simply stared at Madeleine as she continued.
‘During the course of ongoing NCA investigations, recordings have been made of Popov telling Vasiliev about bribes he was facilitating to get the company contracts in certain Caribbean countries. One of the ministers involved, apparently, was making more and more outlandish requests, and more frequent too: expensive jewellery and watches for the minister’s mother … He even requested a £500,000 car at one stage.’
Her mind flipped to the bag stashed behind the wardrobe in the hotel suite. Ivan’s face when he walked in and found her there – to think, in that moment, the worst possible conclusion she could think of was that he might be having an affair.
Leaning forward, Madeleine placed a hand on the papers and slid them back towards her. ‘It goes on.’
Gabriela felt herself nodding, but still no words would come. How long had she known?
‘But the bottom line is, Popov, one way or another, is going to jail. The other reason I’m now involved is because it turns out Mr Popov is quite a busy bee. And while he has been working hard to cover his tracks in this case, he has taken his eye off the ball elsewhere. Namely another sideline he runs supplying false student visas to traffickers, to help them move people from Russia to France and the UK, via Poland, usually. When all this comes out, well, you can imagine the papers are going to have a field day.’
Madeleine had watched her as she stood up, pushing herself out of the booth, the acid rising in her gut.
‘I’m going to go to the bathroom.’
Gabriela moved across the restaurant, keeping her eyes on her feet as if to make sure the ground was real and strong enough to hold her.
Behind the bathroom door, she put her hand to her mouth and drew the breath in and out of her lungs in sharp bursts to stop herself hyperventilating, the image of Ivan and then Irena flashing in front of her. It couldn’t be true. There must have been a mistake. Shaking her head, she struggled to clear her mind of the image: Emsworth, Nguema and Vasiliev, in that meeting in Moscow. How had she not recognised her at the restaurant? And yet, she’d never seen her face. No, there was no way of her knowing they were the same person. Though could she really claim not to have known something was wrong?
‘Gabriela?’ Madeleine was knocking on the toilet door.
She stood with her back against the wall, as far away from the cubicle door as possible.
Madeleine’s voice continued calmly, ‘Even if he makes it back to Russia, we are working on ways to bring him back here to stand trial. You know as well as I do the sentences for people involved in facilitating people trafficking. That’s an offence subject to life imprisonment, in some cases. There are potential fraud charges, too: we’re going to strip him bare. Not to mention how the press will spin the story, when they get hold of it.’
The press. The words hit her so hard she could almost feel her teeth fall out.
Her next thought was Layla. If Ivan was going to jail, what would become of them? If there was fraud involved, the chances were that they would seize his assets, take his money – and hers? Any money she had now was his, except for the house in Dartmouth Park and her mother’s place in Wiltshire … Another bullet struck her chest. Might the authorities not feasibly try to retrospectively claim cash from her, and then where would she be? Where would Callum and Sadie live if she was forced to sell their home?
She closed her eyes, blocking out the headlines she could already see forming in her mind: Former FCO employee leads double life with Russian oligarch involved in human trafficking. The words Sadie was now old enough to read, at least in part.
Her fingers fumbling on the handle of the door, she paused for a split second before pushing open the door and facing Madeleine.
‘Tell me what I need to do.’
Her fingers were no longer her own as she typed the message to Ivan, the sound of car horns blaring as she pulled her house keys from her bag, knowing that Tom would not yet be home, that she still had time to think: time to process the thoughts clawing at one another in her head.
Just checking you got home OK. Gx
The sound of his reply a moment later made her jump.
All fine, just packing. Excited to catch up on your news.
What had she been thinking, contemplating telling him that she was going to quit her job? Had she really been planning to break up with Tom, to expose him to the truth, to expose Sadie and Callum? Had she really imagined they would play happy families on alternate weekends, she and Ivan and their three children on day trips to Legoland? For a moment she wondered if she had lost her mind.
The moment she pushed open the door, she heard the familiar strains of Shirley Scott from the kitchen and instantly she knew Tom was home.
‘Hey,’ he said, sticking his neck around the doorway from the kitchen, a smile stretched across his face.
She must have looked taken aback to see him there as his face fell. ‘You’ve forgotten, haven’t you?’
‘Forgotten what?’ she said, collecting herself as she moved into the hall.
‘Sadie’s parents’ evening. We talked about it on Friday before you left.’
Vaguely, she remembered the conversation. She put down her bags. ‘Of course not, I just thought we were meeting there. I’m glad you’re home.’
The words rushed out of her and she moved towards Tom and pulled him so close to her that he laughed with surprise.
‘I love you,’ she said, her whole body shaking with the realisation. ‘Oh God, I love you so much.’