London, the day before Anna dies
Harry has no way of recognising the woman he’s due to meet, but as soon as he spots her walking towards the park bench where he sits waiting, her coat drawn against the biting wind, he knows that this is Maria.
Feeling his foot thrumming self-consciously against the tarmac, he stills his body, suddenly aware of how much he could give away. Pulling a cigarette from the packet and tapping it, out of habit, against the box, he lights up and sits back.
The conversation from earlier that day has been replaying in his mind ever since he received her call. It had played out again and again in his mind as he made his way to Regent’s Park, the ramifications of what had been said rushing at him as he waited, with a growing sense of restlessness, to meet this stranger who knows a worrying amount about his life. And now she’s here, walking towards him, and the only thing he can do is to pull himself together and listen.
Looking away, having a word with himself, he processes the few details he already knows of her, aside from her name – or at least the name she had given him. From this distance, he can see that the woman appears to be in her late twenties. He already knew from her accent on the phone when she rang him yesterday and asked to meet, that she was probably Greek. The call had been made from a payphone in Hampstead according to the number he had found when he re-dialled later, so even if she hadn’t told him upfront that her call was connected to Anna, he would have guessed at it. But he still couldn’t be sure what the connection was, or who had given this woman his phone number.
‘Harry?’
He looks up at her, his eyes automatically moving over her shoulder, sweeping the park for signs of anyone else who might have been following at a distance, but the area is clear.
‘Maria,’ she says, reaching out and shaking his hand. ‘Like I said on the phone, I’m a friend of Anna’s. I also believe we have another person in common.’
‘Another person in common, you say?’ Harry replies, taken off-guard by the lack of foreplay. He softens his voice before taking a drag of his cigarette, hoping she won’t see his fingers trembling.
Maria sits, taking a moment to gather herself.
‘Yes. I think until now, you and I have been working from different angles, towards the same common goal. And I think we could help each other if we joined forces.’
Harry keeps his eyes on her, not yet sure how to play this. Does she know about the meeting he has just come from? She can’t, otherwise she wouldn’t be here. ‘Is that right?’ he says simply, waiting for her to play her hand.
She looks down for a moment and then lifts her head, staring back at him. ‘If you’re anything like me, you’re not going to want to see him get away with it. After everything we’ve given to bringing them to justice …’
‘We?’ He pauses, working through the various meanings.
‘Yes, we …’
‘What are we talking about here?’
Harry works hard to keep his expression cool, taking another drag of his cigarette as he looks out across sculpted hedges circling an ornamental fountain.
‘I assume you’ve heard about David,’ Maria replies, not quite answering his question.
Harry raises an eyebrow, his voice measured. ‘I read something about it.’
Maria leans forward, her voice quieter.
‘David’s not dead.’
Harry’s expression drops.
She half-laughs. ‘Now you’re listening? David is alive and is fleeing to the Maldives – tomorrow evening – where, as I’m sure you know, there is no extradition treaty, so once he is there, he’s free. MI6, they’re no longer interested. The African authorities, from what I gather, because of Nguema’s involvement and how much influence he has there, aren’t in a hurry to prosecute. If anyone does try to fit him up for it, there is a plan to lay the blame on Anna. So the way I see it, there are only two people left on this earth who care about bringing Clive to justice. And one of us has been asked to accompany David to the Maldives, as his mistress.’
Harry cocks his head, feeling a wave of panic rising up inside him. What the fuck is going on?
Attempting to hold it together, to extract as much as he can whilst giving away as little as possible, he exhales a long line of smoke. ‘Well, I certainly didn’t get the memo. OK, now I’m listening.’
‘Anna is due to meet with Clive’s solicitors about the will. David and I are meeting at the airport tomorrow afternoon. He wanted to be sure everything went smoothly in terms of Anna’s reaction to the meeting she is due to have with his father’s solicitors tomorrow morning, so he has been lying low at his father’s flat, “getting his ducks in order”, that’s what you say. Right?’
Harry looks at her, trying to read her expression. She’s beautiful, her direct gaze suggesting both a steeliness and a reserve that is the exact opposite of Anna in almost every respect.
He laughs tightly. ‘I definitely don’t say that.’
Maria pauses then, her expression changing, so that now she is the one surveying him. ‘Why did you do it?’
‘Do what?’
‘All of it. I mean, there must have been easier ways to make money … Seriously, I’m intrigued. I know why I did it, but I can’t work out …’
Harry pauses, his mind running over the events of the past few years, his memory hovering over the image of Anna the night he asked her to be involved – the look of triumph that passed over her face.
How much of all this does Maria know, and how long has she known it? He doesn’t have time to contemplate it now. Besides, it’s not important. Something surges inside him and he blinks hard, rearranging his expression into a wistful smile.
‘But life’s not like that, is it?’ he says. ‘It’s not that straightforward. You must know that as well as I do. You make decisions as and when situations arise; you take steps and you never really know where they will take you. You just do what you think is right in that moment; sometimes you’re right, and sometimes—’ His voice stops abruptly, his face hardening as he thinks about what comes next. ‘Well, maybe I was right, maybe I was wrong. Maybe we all were. It just depends what angle you’re looking at it from.’