‘I don’t understand why I can’t take far guard tonight,’ Goodie snapped at Sam, who was slouched on her sofa, smirking at her.
‘No excuses, Goodie,’ Sam said smugly. ‘This place will definitely be allowing birds in.’
Goodie put her hands on her hips and scowled at him. ‘Will take man like you second to put monkey suit on; for me is as complicated as finding and defusing an anti-personnel mine in hurricane.’ Goodie’s irritation had thickened her Russian accent, proving to Sam that she was truly rattled.
‘Careful, myshka,* your Russian’s showing. You wouldn’t want me to think he was getting to you, would you?’
Goodie scowled across at him. ‘I wish I could wipe your memory of everything I told you in that bunker.’ Sam knew very well that if Goodie had not been convinced both of them were going to be executed when their mission failed and they were captured by a Columbian drug cartel eight years ago, that she would never have told him so much of her past. It was down to her that the worst long-term damage he’d come out of it with was his scarred cheek; she’d saved his life. He owed her; she could trust him to keep her secrets, she knew that; but that didn’t mean he couldn’t bait her when they were alone. ‘Don’t call me that again. Of course the arrogant prick’s not getting to me; I just don’t want to be trussed up like a turkey. You guys never have to do this for work.’
‘You sure? Seems to me like you might be getting to him: wanting me to check on you, wanting to know who was protecting you. Took all I had to keep a straight face on in there. I was tempted to tell him what you did to those Colombians in the compound after we were captured; that would have shut him up quick smart.’
‘Bugger off,’ Goodie told him, then muttered a few choice insults in Russian.
‘Watch yourself or I’ll tell Katie you threw away those chocolate brownies she sent you.’
‘I was not risking another gastric assault from you wife,’ Goodie said, shuddering at the reminder of the last piece of Katie’s sponge cake she had shovelled unsuspectingly into her mouth and nearly choked on. It wasn’t as if Goodie was even fussy; she’d happily eaten the unidentifiable, foul-smelling ‘re-fried beans’ from the rat-infested establishments in deepest darkest Guatemala, and the raw baby octopus, sannakji, in Korea, which kept moving even after being chopped up. But anything produced by Sam’s wife, especially in the cake line, was likely to be worse. ‘Don’t you tell her that, you bastard,’ Goodie added quickly, and Sam smiled: there were very few people Goodie cared about but Katie was definitely one of them.
Goodie huffed and puffed but eventually she did disappear to her room to get ready. When she came out half an hour later Sam blinked, rubbed his eyes, and blinked again.
‘Holy Christ,’ he muttered, and Goodie shot him a warning look.
‘You’ve seen me dressed up before,’ she told him, slipping on her heels and then searching around for her clutch bag. (Instead of the standard lipstick and mascara most women would carry, Goodie’s bag contained a knife and pepper spray.) Yes, Sam had seen her dressed up. However, she was normally posing as something less savoury than a woman attending a posh charity ball where each ticket was worth over five thousand pounds. So Sam had never seen Goodie wearing a dress like the long, black, elegant, backless one she was wearing now; never seen her face made up with care and to perfection; never seen her short hair swept back from her face and secured stylishly at the back of her head. She handed him a familiar pot of skin-coloured cream and he stood up to take it.
‘Where are your weapons?’ he asked after he’d started the process of covering up the scars on Goodie’s back and shoulders. She showed him the contents of her bag and then pulled the long slit at the side of her leg to the side to reveal a discreet holster on her upper thigh with a knife and a small handgun attached. Sam nodded, then watched as she stepped into four-inch heels that looked like some sort of torture device for feet. He almost felt sorry for that rich bastard now.
*****
‘Ed, you look fine,’ muttered Nick impatiently. ‘Seriously, we’ve got to go.’
‘Can’t you just potter off to this one without me?’ Ed said in a small voice. ‘There’s no way I’ll fit in somewhere proper posh like that.’
Nick sighed, eyeing Ed’s lanky form in his ill-fitting suit and his mass of uncontrollable chestnut hair. ‘Of course you’ll fit in,’ he lied smoothly. ‘Anyway, you’re a bloody genius; who cares what you wear?’ Ed shifted uncomfortably whilst Nick adjusted the cufflink on his own tux; in contrast his was perfectly fitted, as you would expect from Savile Row. On reflection he should have thought about taking Ed to a tailor himself, but how was he to know that Ed would opt for the Marks & Spencer disaster his mum had bought him a few years ago. Well, it was too late now. ‘Come on, mate, you can do this, okay? There’s going to be all sorts of people there interested in your advances and we need to get it out there – the time for lurking in the shadows is over, my friend.’ Nick herded him out the door and to the lift. He was so focused on making sure Ed actually made it out of the flat that he didn’t see her until she slipped into the lift after them; and that was when his brain shut down.
‘Oh, hi, Goodie,’ Ed mumbled, more intent on fiddling with his sleeves to try to get them to reach his wrists than taking in the woman standing next to them. Goodie gave him a curt nod (they were all now used to the non-verbal responses she employed wherever possible), and after a few more seconds she flicked a glance over to Nick.
Nick was frozen. He knew there was something he should be doing now but unfortunately he could not for the life of him take his eyes off the blonde woman standing beside him, from the sweeping lines of her dress to her long lashes and smoky eye shadow highlighting the almost unnatural bright blue of her eyes. In all his years having to attend these poxy events, he’d never been more grateful for the dress code. Goodie frowned at his paralyzed state and leaned across him to press the lift button. Ah, yes, Nick thought; that was the something he was supposed to do. He shook his head to clear it and dragged his eyes away from her, only to keep glancing back. He noticed again the tension in her frame as the doors closed, and he wished for the millionth time he knew why.
‘No Salem?’ he asked into the suffocating silence, his voice slightly strangled for some reason.
‘With Sam,’ she told him as the doors swept back and she walked out into the lobby, her heels clicking on the tiles. Nick’s mouth fell open; her entire back was exposed. He was suddenly torn between praising the lord for the invention of backless dresses and wanting to rip his own jacket off to cover her. The thought of every last person in the ballroom being party to the view he had right now made a curious flash of rage shoot through him and his face flush red. Maybe he was coming down with something. After a few paces she stopped and turned; this was the routine over the last two weeks – she would walk out, check the area, then allow Nick to walk on past her and follow behind. When he didn’t move she put her hands on her hips, a slight frown marring her perfect features. Although he could feel her irritation, he knew she wouldn’t say anything, what with the whole invisible-presence thing seeming to extend to any unnecessary speech on her part. Ed shuffled out of the lift still fiddling, this time with his belt, and then looked back at Nick.
‘Uh … you coming or what?’ Ed asked him. ‘This was your sodding idea.’
Nick jerked back to full consciousness. ‘Right … yes, let’s …’ he looked over at Goodie for a moment and again lost his train of thought.
‘You all right, mate?’ Ed asked, trying to flatten his hair with little noticeable effect. ‘Maybe we shouldn’t go if you’re not firing on all cylinders – it’s not like I’ll be able to handle that crowd on my own; I’d make a right pig’s ear of it.’
‘I’m fine, Ed,’ Nick snapped, dragging his eyes from Goodie and striding forward. ‘And stop bloody fidgeting.’
*****
All the way over in the limo Ed seemed be getting more and more worked up. He was twisting in his seat, pulling at his clothes, and chewing his lip so hard he’d nearly split it.
‘Ed, calm down,’ Nick told him for what felt like the hundredth time, unable to keep the frustration from his voice.
‘I can’t just calm down ’cause you keep growling it at me, you bastard; that’s not how panic attacks work. This is ridiculous; I’m going home.’
‘We’re here now, you freak, no going back,’ Nick told him firmly as the limo joined the queue outside the Savoy.
‘Shit, shit, shit,’ muttered Ed, his eyes taking on a wild look as he searched for a means of escape. Each limo in front of them was moving on smoothly and the queue was rapidly diminishing. It felt weird to actually be sitting in the back with Goodie for a change instead of driving his own car up front, even if she had separated herself as much as possible from them by perching on the backward-facing seat opposite.
‘Don’t even think about it,’ warned Nick as he watched Ed look longingly at the door handle nearest to him. ‘The press can see us from there; you’d be eaten alive.’
‘I’m going to be eaten alive anyway,’ Ed replied, his voice breaking as if he were about to cry and his movements becoming more jerky and anxious as he stared out of the window at the beautiful, glamorous people disembarking from their cars. That’s when Goodie moved. She had been looking out of her window doing the whole invisible-presence thing, but on hearing Ed’s broken voice her head snapped around. She leaned forward into his personal space and placed her hands over his shaking ones to steady them and stop their fiddling.
‘These people,’ she told him in a low, fierce voice, ‘they are nothing. Do you hear me?’
Ed nodded slowly, struck dumb by the unprecedented physical contact from Goodie.
‘You are worth a thousand of them. You work magic with your science. You will change the world. This, this night, these people – to you they should be nothing. You use them to get what you need, then you forget about them. They are but sand in your eye for a moment, do not let them stand in the way of what you want.’
Goodie slid back into her seat, withdrawing her hands from Ed’s but keeping eye contact.
‘I’m scared,’ Ed whispered.
‘There is no courage without fear,’ Goodie told him before throwing open the door to an explosion of flashes from the waiting press. Once she was out of the car, Ed glanced at a shocked and silent Nick for a moment before squaring his shoulders and pushing out of the limo after her.
*****
‘Well, that’s what we’re hoping, Sir Talbot,’ Nick said across the group he and Ed were standing in. ‘Of course driving energy prices down isn’t going to be popular with everyone, but yes, that’s the ultimate aim once we’re up and running.’ Somehow Nick had managed to manoeuvre a still-nervous-but-holding-it-together Ed into the exact group he’d wanted to discuss the project with. Sir Talbot was commissioner of the Energy Advisory Board, Ian Mowat ran a multi-billion pound haulage company, Irene Blake was the Minister for Energy. The more positive buzz these people heard about what they were trying to do, the better, as far as Nick was concerned.
‘So, Mr Chambers.’ All eyes in the circle swung to the tall, dark-haired woman who had just joined their group. Nick recognized her and wracked his brains to try to remember her name. He nudged Bertie, who was standing between him and Ed, but Bertie was staring spellbound at the woman with a vacant expression; not for the first time did Nick miss his ultra-efficient previous assistant, who would have already muttered the woman’s name into his ear by now. ‘It seems this idea will be making you and your company money. By all accounts you have enough of that to be going on with as it is.’ She had a slightly more pronounced Russian accent than Goodie and she was strikingly beautiful, her long, gold gown almost dazzling.
Nick inclined his head to agree. There was no point arguing that he had money; he’d worked hard for it. Her perfect, fire-engine-red lips smiled a smile that did not reach her eyes. ‘What I would like to know is how this will benefit those who cannot afford energy? Is it only the privileged that will reap the rewards?’
‘Good point, Miss …’
‘My name is Natasha Alkaev.’
‘Of course, Miss Alkaev,’ Nick said smoothly, causing Bertie to let out a small squeak as Nick stood on his foot. ‘Forgive me, I don’t know what I was thinking; of course I recognize you.’ Natasha laughed.
‘Don’t worry, Mr Chambers,’ she said through a genuine smile now. ‘I didn’t peg you as the type to be perusing the pages of Vogue in your downtime.’
Nick smiled back; he was surprised by her; some of the supermodels he had dated would not have taken that slight so well. ‘In answer to your question: yes, we hope this will benefit those most in need of electricity and power. As you may already be aware, the projects in Africa where merry-go-rounds were installed to power villages were not as successful as hoped. We think we can provide a better solution, given the access.’
Natasha’s head was cocked to the side in a way that stirred something familiar in his mind, and she was listening intently. ‘And underprivileged areas in other countries?’
‘It is my hope, Miss Alkaev, as was my father’s before me, that we can solve the energy crisis in all areas of need and do it in an environmentally sound way.’
‘You talk a good game, Mr Chambers, and please call me Tasha.’
‘I’m a determined man, Tasha.’
‘He bally well is you know. Never known a chap work so hard,’ Bertie boomed. In Nick’s experience Bertie really only spoke in various different volumes of BOOM, whatever the company or situation. ‘Fantastic at everything even at our old prep school, weren’t you, Flopsy? Should have seen him on the rugby pitch; best damn winger Westminster ever saw.’
Nick sighed and looked down at his shoes for a moment. What possible bearing could his performance on the rugby field have to this discussion? And was it really necessary to let everyone know his prep-school nickname?
‘Flopsy?’ Irene Blake muttered, one eyebrow raised and a smile on her lips.
‘It was because of my hair,’ Nick said through a fixed smile, aiming a kick at Bertie’s shin, which provoked another small squeak. ‘Bert, mate, I’m not sure anyone’s interested in … ’ Nick trailed off as he noticed he had lost Tasha’s attention. Her gaze was fixed over Nick’s shoulder, her eyes were wide and he could have sworn they were slightly glazed.
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Ian Mowat said from Nick’s other side. ‘Never does any harm to know a bloke’s background.’ Nick barely registered the words. He was watching as Natasha reached up with her right hand and laid it flat over the centre of her chest. Nick turned to see what she was focused on and saw Goodie standing a few feet behind him, her hand also flat over her chest and her eyes fixed on Natasha. Before he could comment, they both looked away as if they had never seen each other before, each focusing on their targets: Goodie on Nick, and Natasha on the circle of people around him.
* myshka – little mouse
