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JOY STOOD IN HER BEDROOM holding Anya’s hand and looking out of the window. Rain dribbled down the casement and jiggled the ivy on either side. It was warm in here, but outside the gale drove the clouds as if they were sheep, and the downpour lashed the lawn. It was evening. A sheet of lightning seared the sky followed by a bang like a cannon. The storm was overhead now.
Joy was interested to see what would happen if the lightning destroyed the oak where Marcie and Nicholas Fleming were sheltering. They would probably be killed. Why didn’t they come in? They must know the risk they were taking. Ah, but they were in love, the fools, their selfish genes kicking in.
It was academic, but all things considered, it would probably be best for everyone concerned if they were killed.
“I can see why your mother would think that,” Fleming said.
“Let’s walk,” Marcie said, linking arms with him. “It’s not any drier under here. And it’s probably not safe in this weather.”
“It’s obvious what the truth is.”
“The secret service, yes, I know. I wonder how long he’d been doing that.”
“Quite some time, I think. Before I went on secondment.”
“Presumably, he and Mr Bronstein were looking after Colonel Orlov. That would explain the men outside the house just before they all had to leave.”
“It must be bigger than that. What does ‘contacted by group, starting with a woman years ago’ mean? And ‘all sponsored same, buddies’? And where does Jilly Bestwick come into it?”
“If we can find Mr Bronstein - ”
“And if, as we both suspect, he’s a member of the CIA ...?”
“Then what?” she said.
“He won’t say a word. I’m not sure what you want from this, Marcie. There’s enough information in this e-mail to prove that Jonathan didn’t kill Jilly Bestwick and Zane Cruse then commit suicide. He was murdered and MI5 tried to suppress the facts by re-invoking his Metropolitan police cover.”
“I know, but that’s not enough.”
“You wouldn’t be thinking about revenge, would you?”
“Of course not.”
“Because that would be very, very silly. I mean it.”
She frowned. “On the contrary, I think it would be only natural. Speaking theoretically.”
“Whoever killed him probably didn’t do it for any personal reason. That’s how the secret service works. And if you go around looking for revenge because your knight’s just been taken you’re likely to be checkmated very quickly.”
“If I wanted revenge, I’d throw the board away.”
“That’s an over-extension of the metaphor. Anyway, if you don’t want vengeance, what do you want?”
“I want to persuade Mummy. She thinks she’s been lied to once about Jonathan – by Daddy and whatever chinless string-pullers she thinks he has behind him - and that she had to find the truth by dint of her own resourcefulness. She thinks more or less everyone was in on the conspiracy, probably even me. If I go to her now and say, ‘Look, Mummy, I’ve found this e-mail. It proves Jonathan didn’t commit suicide after all’, do you think she’d give it or me a second glance? She hates Daddy and she hates Jonathan’s memory, and I’ve got to prove to her she’s got it all – wrong.”
He nodded. “I see.”
“My mother’s never been very forthcoming. But she’s always been there for me. Which is more than can be said for Daddy. Jonathan really loved her. And I really love her ...”
“Are you okay?”
“Not really.”
He put his arms round her and turned her to face him. “You know I’ll help you, whatever.”
“Listen, I’m going to tell you something I’ve never told anyone.”
“Go on then.”
“Seven years ago, when I was fifteen, Mummy had a miscarriage. It was just after one of Daddy’s ‘dalliances’. I would have had a baby sister ... And then, quite by chance, she heard about Anya. She literally came across her. And ... I know this sounds weird but ... I’ve always thought that’s because God wanted me to have a baby sister.”
He smiled. “You believe in God?”
“I’m a confirmed member of the Church of England, Nicholas. What about you?”
“I, er - ”
“The point is, if I lose Mummy, I lose Anya too. I imagine you can appreciate why that would destroy me.”
“Yes, I can.”
“So that’s why I don’t want you to go back to America. You’ve got to help me amass so much evidence to show Jonathan died honourably that it becomes undeniable, even if you’re in the grip of the world’s strongest delusion.”
“Maybe you’re being too pessimistic. It’s a Hotmail address. It contains the date and time of sending. You can’t forge that. Your mother would have to believe you.”
“I’m going to ignore your naïve belief that you can’t whip up a counterfeit Hotmail document. Consider this: if I show it to Mummy and she doesn’t believe it, it’ll reinforce her defences. Because that’s how conspiracy theorists are. They surround themselves with a protective shell of dogma and every new attack that fails to break through actually fortifies it. Like a science-fiction film. Your second attempt has to be doubly good, your third quadruply and so on.”
“I understand, yes.”
“You run out of options sooner than you can possibly imagine. I’ve seen it happen.”
“So we’ve got possession of the trigger, now we’ve got to build the gun.”
“I don’t want to ruin your career, Nick. If you can’t get out of going back to the US, I’ll understand, really.”
“And what will you do?”
“I don’t know yet. But I’ll think of something.”
“Marcie, I’ve already got out of going to the US. My mother ‘suddenly fell ill’ when you told me you wanted me to stay. They quite understand. After all, no one in their right mind would chuck up that sort of an opportunity unless there was a bloody good reason. And I’ve got one. Just not the one they think.”
She kissed his cheek. “You’re a wonderful friend.”
“Are you still going to London tomorrow?”
“Of course. But that’s where you’ll be, won’t you?”
“How about dinner?” he said. “And I’ll tell you what I’ve found.”
“Really? You’ll start tomorrow?”
“No time like the present.”
Ten minutes later, she was back in her room, folding cardigans and bunching socks into pairs to go in her suitcase. She wanted a photograph of Jonathan, maybe one of him and her together, although she wasn’t sure she could go through the process of choosing one without breaking down again.
Joy stored all the keepsakes in the sideboard drawer in the parlour. Hardly anyone ever went in there nowadays, so she’d probably be able to sort through whatever was inside at her convenience. She crept downstairs. Mummy had almost certainly gone to bed now. Daddy was most likely staring into the empty grate in the living room again. She went into the parlour and closed the door and switched the light on.
There were two boxes of photos in the drawer, side by side. She opened the first.
Jonathan’s mobile. What was that doing in there? She remembered Daddy telling her how he’d rung and rung it that day, then discovered he’d left it at home by mistake. Mummy must have put it away.
She had an idea that hit her like a punch in the heart. What if ...? She switched it on. Low battery, but not flat. Names. Sally, Gordon, Daddy, Will, Charles, Spike, Mummy, Marcie, O – yes! – James, Matthew, B – yes!
For a moment, she thought of calling ‘B’, but then she remembered Nicholas - And if, as we both suspect, he’s a member of the CIA, he won’t say a word. It didn’t matter, she held a trump card. It was a question of knowing when to play it. Not now, no. But the time would come.
Just out of interest, she went to his Inbox and pressed ‘messages’. It took her a second to realise what she was looking at, then she had to put her free hand against her face to stop it trembling.
I lov u, Jonathan. ILU W evry atom of my hart.
Jonathan, I’ve nvr met NE1 lk u, you’re ll I wnt n lyf.
I can’t liv w/o u Ny mor Jonathan, I don’t care w@ hpns 2 me now, I lov u.
I cnt stop thnkn bout u. I want u so mch it's painful.
I didn't knw twas posbL 2 lov NE1 dis mch. It's scary.
There were more, many more. She swallowed hard and went to his Outbox.
I can’t believe I’ve been lucky enough to meet you. I just can’t believe it.
You’re the most beautiful, most elegant woman in the world, Jilly. I’d follow you anywhere.
Jilly, you’re sacred to me, I’d die without you.
She was dripping onto the floor now. She put the phone into her pocket and ran back upstairs.
It was early morning. Bronstein and Gavin walked through Green Park together eating cereal bars. Bronstein wore a V-necked jumper and chinos and had his left hand in his pocket. Gavin wore a pinstriped suit and carried an umbrella and a briefcase. Everyone around them was fixed on their destinations, all places with polished floors and strict dress codes involving jackets, haircuts and a recent dry clean. Only the pigeons looked relaxed.
Bronstein threw his wrapper in the bin and took out another bar. “You know yesterday, when you were talking about the Black Maiden?”
“About the lift being temporarily out of order?”
“I’m only asking because, when Orlov and I arrived here, Ruby Parker told us her department was authorised to sabotage operations carried out by the others if she disapproved of them.”
“I didn’t know that, but go on.”
“So what if this whole Kramski thing is an operation by one of those others? It’s not like we know what their agendas are.”
“It’s likely Miss Parker has explored that already. I’d imagine it would be the first thing on her list.”
“But it’s possible she hasn’t closed the book on it.”
“With respect, sir, you’re asking about things I’m too junior to comment on. I can speculate, but that probably isn’t going to be of much use to you.”
“What do you know about the Black Maiden?”
“Nothing at all. Except that she – or he – comes in at four in the morning and leaves at four in the afternoon.”
“Someone must have seen her. Or him.”
“We’ve probably all seen her - or him - ”
“Let’s stop saying ‘or him’, shall we?”
“But seen her without knowing it. I know stories. I don’t know any facts.”
“What stories?”
“Stupid things, like she’s incredibly aged. Or she’s not entirely human. Or again, that she doesn’t really exist, she’s just an empty room. All hooey, as you Americans say.”
Bronstein knitted his brows. “Sounds suspiciously like Tebloev’s version of Constantine Slope.”
“I’ve also heard it’s someone’s job in MI7 to keep such stories going.”
“And you believe that?”
“No.”
“Cushy number if it is. Are you ready for Edgeware?”
Gavin rubbed his hands together. “As I’ll ever be. I’m to catch the train in an hour and a half.”
“Nervous?”
He smiled weakly. “I guess everyone is on their first outing, aren’t they, sir?”
“Don’t take any risks.”
