Nick gritted his teeth. ‘You told me “no problem”. You said it would be easy. Where then is the goddamn report?’ He was gripping the phone so hard his knuckles had turned white and he had the curious urge to throw it across the room.
‘Well, it was easy – to get her cover story, that is, or should I say stories; because I’ve found no less than ten utterly convincing, completely credible backgrounds for the woman. All with the correct documentation, all with legit paper trails a mile long, all of which are complete bloody bullshit. Your girl is a ghost, mate: vapour.’
Nick rubbed his forehead. Harry Walker’s firm was by far the best investigative agency in the country; they had never let him down before. Normally the backgrounds they provided for him were freakily thorough, listing friends from as far back as primary school, identifying their favourite foods, likes, dislikes, the cake their favourite Auntie makes them on Sundays: everything. For them to have come up with exactly nothing on Goodie was unbelievable. She was a human being, for Christ’s sake, and they couldn’t even confirm or deny that she actually purchased food on which to subsist. ‘If she buys anything of importance, mate, it must be on “the dark web” or with cash,’ Nick had been told. Nick did however have significant doubts that she would bother buying her biscuits on ‘the dark web’; that is if she even ate biscuits. His fist thumped down on the table. Of course she must eat biscuits; everyone eats biscuits.
‘Got some info on that other bloke though; Sam Clifton, was it?’ Nick’s head shot up and his grip on the phone relaxed.
‘Go on.’
‘Ex-Special Forces: real Andy McNab type stuff. He left after being a hero in some sort of clusterfuck in Colombia. Partner in a security firm with his best mate now. Lives in south Wales, married, one kid, one of the way. Wife’s a GP; and she – she can talk, believe you me.’
‘Interesting,’ Nick muttered.
‘Oh, and your girl. She knows this couple well. Wife’s face lit up when I mentioned her, described her as a “close family friend”.’ Nick frowned; he couldn’t imagine that surly bastard with a family, and he definitely couldn’t picture Goodie as a ‘family friend’.
‘That’s great but I need more info on the girl. Keep digging.’
Walker sighed down the phone. ‘Listen, Nick, you know how I love to take your money, but this is pointless; I’m getting nowhere. I’d have to actually go to Russia to even start to –’
‘Go.’ Nick cut him off.
‘What?’
‘Go to Russia.’
‘I can’t just swan off to Russia; I’ve got other cases here, I –’
‘I’ll double every fee in your caseload and pay it tomorrow if you concentrate on this one. I know you’ve got other guys who are capable of taking over whilst you go away.’
‘You’re a lunatic, you know that, right?’ Walker chuckled.
‘It’s called eccentric, Walker. When you’ve got money it’s called being eccentric.’ With that Nick ended the call. At least if Walker was going to Russia it would feel like Nick was actually doing something to solve the mystery that was eating away at him. He’d told Walker that it was simply because she would have to be around his family that he wanted to know her history, but he knew that was just an excuse.
After the charity ball he’d asked Goodie if she knew Natasha Alkaev. She’d showed absolutely no reaction to the question, merely staring at him as if weighing something up, after which she told him, ‘I worked with her for a while a long time ago.’ That was all she would say. And Nick noticed the significance of the word ‘with’. In referring to her job as his security, she would always saying she was working for him, not with him. It was a subtle difference but there was very little that got past Nick when he was paying attention, and when it came to Goodie he was definitely paying attention.
He’d told Walker about the look the two women had exchanged at the ball. Walker had paused for a moment and then asked: ‘You sure you’re all right, mate?’ As if Nick was daft or something; and in some ways that assessment was pretty accurate. Who assumed there was a significant connection between two people who simply held each other’s gaze a moment too long in a public place? And who hired private detectives to investigate their security staff? Hell, he knew that now was the absolute worst time for a distraction; until all the contracts were secured he needed to be on top of his game. But Goodie was a puzzle that for some reason he found impossible to leave unsolved. He rubbed his forehead again and then grabbed his briefcase before storming to his door and slamming it behind him.
‘Where’s Ed?’ he blasted at Bertie, who had jumped up out of his seat at the slam of the door. This was another unwelcome change over the last few weeks: Nick was on edge. Gone was the easy-going charmer, replaced by an uptight, anally retentive pain in the arse.
‘Uh …’
‘Bertie,’ Nick said slowly, his patience hanging by a thread. ‘You did tell Ed about the meeting? Please tell me he’s out in reception.’
‘Oh bollocks,’ muttered Bertie, his red face turning even redder as he flailed around, going through the piles of papers on his desk.
‘Bert!’ Nick blasted, his patience completely gone. ‘One thing … one thing I expressly asked you not fuck up this week. You are the most useless –’
Nick stopped shouting as the door to the external office swung open and Goodie stepped through. She never came into the office unannounced or uninvited. Her eyes were cold and her mouth tight as she came to stand behind Bertie and crossed her arms over her chest.
‘Blast,’ Bertie said in a small voice. ‘I really am a useless bugger, aren’t I? No wonder Clive and the others think I’m just a big joke.’ Goodie stared across at Nick, one eyebrow raised, her stance radiating disapproval, making Nick feel like a complete bastard without uttering a word.
‘Oh buggeration,’ Nick sighed, slumping down in the chair opposite his desk. ‘I’m sorry, Bertie. You’re not useless. You’re just … uh …’ Nick rubbed his neck, wracking his brain for a compliment. ‘Look, you’re a good bloke but maybe organizing and planning aren’t your forte.’
‘Well, what else is left, Nick? I’ve bally well ballsed up everything I’ve done so far.’ His eyes dropped from Nick’s and his voice got quieter. ‘I know Mum begged you to give me a chance. I’m thirty-seven and my own mother had to find me a chuffing job.’ Nick looked down at his shoes, lost for words and feeling increasingly guilty.
‘Er …’ At Bertie’s nervous laugh, he looked up. ‘I don’t mean to be rude to a lady but … um … what are you …?’ Goodie had moved Bertie’s chair aside and was clicking on his mouse. His computer screen changed and instead of his screensaver (a picture of him and a couple of his more Bertie-like mates at a polo match, all with their collars turned up, wearing red trousers, Hunter wellies and wax jackets, and all chugging back their pints of beer), a graphic flashed up onto the screen. Nick blinked.
‘Did the design guys finally come up with something decent?’ he asked. For months they’d been trying to design a graphic to represent cold fusion and the energy company. The one currently moving on Bertie’s screen was way better than anything Nick had seen so far.
‘Oh … um … well, I was just messing about a bit. Thought I’d take the whole preserving-nature thing and … well … water and atoms and make it look somehow …’
‘It’s beautiful,’ Nick breathed. ‘Jesus, Bertie, you didn’t tell anyone you could do stuff like this.’
Bertie flushed and loosened his tie self-consciously. ‘Oh … well … I don’t know about any of that, old chap … just … well … I did that graphic design course at uni.’
‘You’re an artist, Bertie,’ Nick told him, smiling widely. ‘I want this sent over to the design team immediately, we can get you working with them full time once Lisa gets back from maternity leave.’
‘Gosh … I … golly … are you …?’ Bertie had, Nick realized, gone into some sort of meltdown. He’d seen it before and knew that it mainly involved repeating increasingly posh words over and over, and getting more and more red in the face. Nick looked up to try and catch Goodie’s eye, but instead he caught her looking down at Bertie, an almost soft expression crossing her features for a moment. When she did notice Nick looking at her, however, her face closed down again and she stepped back from Bertie’s desk before turning towards the door to the reception.
‘Uh, Goodie,’ Nick called, standing to walk around Bertie’s desk and giving him a congratulatory slap on the back on his way past, ‘it’s Easter this weekend.’ Goodie turned to face him, re-crossing her arms over her chest and nodding. ‘I’ve got to go home to Sussex for it.’
‘Ah, yes!’ Bertie exclaimed, in a much better mood now. ‘Little jaunt down the old family pile, isn’t it. Bit of time spent with Mater and Pater, you know. Can’t wait, old boy.’ Every year either Nick or Bertie’s parents hosted Easter, and this year was Nick’s family’s turn.
‘Address?’ Goodie asked, not revealing whether staying in Sussex over Easter made any difference to her. As per usual not revealing anything at all.
‘So … um, you’ll be coming?’ Nick asked.
‘You are still in need of a close protection officer,’ Goodie told him, a hint of exasperation lacing her tone.
‘I mean … you don’t have a family of your own to go to?’ Nick asked, narrowing his eyes.
‘I will send a team to check the location this week,’ Goodie said, ignoring his question as she ignored all personal inquiries. ‘I will have to be relatively close to you but I can maintain a discreet presence. Your family will barely notice I’m there.’ Nick bit his lip. Goodie hadn’t met his family. He thought the likelihood of her ‘maintaining a discreet presence’ with the bunch of nutters that would be at his mum and dad’s over Easter was slim.
Just as he was about say something to that effect, the outer door of the office flew open again and Ed’s lanky frame burst through. Bizarrely he had on Bermuda shorts, a faded Star Wars sweatshirt, flip-flops, and his laboratory goggles still perched on his forehead. ‘Am I late?’ he asked breathlessly.
Nick sighed. ‘I’ve cancelled the meeting, Ed.’ He couldn’t be bothered to point out that even if Ed had been on time there was no way he could have met a potential client dressed the way he was; and Nick knew from bitter experience that any comments on Ed’s outfits would fall on deaf ears.
‘Is Mr Southern accompanying you for Easter, sir?’ Goodie asked.
‘Hurrah!’ Bertie exclaimed. ‘Capital idea! Eddie, old boy, you’ll come on a jaunt to the country with us, won’t you?’
‘Uh?’
‘It would make security easier, Mr Chambers,’ Goodie put in. ‘We work as a unit with Mr Southern’s team, which is fine when you’re all in London, but if you’re separated by an entire county it would be more difficult.’
‘Of course you’re welcome, Ed, but if you’d prefer to go back to your own family, then –’
‘Mum and Dad won’t mind. Doubt I’d get down to Essex anyway,’ Ed said, his hand going up to his forehead, causing him to frown when he encountered the goggles, as if he’d forgotten they were there. ‘But a bit weird staying at your gaff, mate, no offence. And you might be a bit rammed if Goodie and the rest are going too.’ Nick’s mind flashed to the country estate and he suppressed a smile.
‘We can fit you in, Ed; we’ve got plenty of spare rooms.’
‘Well, I don’t want your mum to have to cook for us all; bit of a cheek.’
‘My mother hasn’t cooked a meal for twenty years at least.’
‘Uh … crikey. You lot must be down the chippy a fair bit,’ Ed said, and Nick smiled.
‘Something like that, but honestly, Ed, just come back with us. Until we get everything up and running we need to be a safe as possible.’
Ed shrugged. ‘Well, if you’re sure …’ He trailed off. ‘Guess it’s better than my bedsit.’
‘Ed,’ Nick said slowly, ‘please tell me you’ve moved into the flat I got for you three months ago.’
‘Um …’
Nick rolled his eyes. Ed would live in cardboard box and not take any notice as long as he could carry on working in the lab uninterrupted. ‘I’ll sort it for you.’ Either Nick booked the moving company or Ed would be stuck in that dingy tower block for the rest of his life, no matter how much money was transferred into his bank account.
‘Well, I must say,’ Bertie boomed, ‘this Easter is turning out to be a chuffing good spot of fun, isn’t it? We can get a jolly game of charades going,’ he went on, becoming more and more excited, ‘or even twenty/ twenty-two and strip billiards if we’re feeling frisky as the nights wear on.’ Nick looked at Ed’s blank face. Bertie may as well have been talking in a foreign language. Nick’s mind flashed to his family, then added in Bertie’s, in combination with a mostly-silent Goodie and a freaked-out Ed. It was going to be a long few days.
