When she was like this she was far from who she was in her everyday life, truly someone else. The illicitness of it all excited the professor yet again, empowered her yet again, and made her feel magnetic, hypnotic and, well, downright irresistible.
When she reached Carlisle Street, she found number four, its sign lit in pink neon, and entered. The Candy Club was the oldest and largest lesbian nightclub in London, and was Farrell’s favourite place to go when she needed to let off steam.
The professor headed towards the long bar on the ground floor and the many beautiful women milling around in it. A petite woman, quite exquisite in her loveliness, caught sight of Farrell, spun in her seat, mojito in hand, and threw her a knowing smile. ‘Syren St James!’
‘Nell,’ Farrell said, and kissed her on the cheek.
Nell put her hand on Farrell’s forearm and studied her outfit. ‘My, my, Syren. Look at you: more brilliant and delicious than ever. Where have you been lately? I haven’t seen you in almost a month.’
‘I was here the other night,’ Farrell said. ‘Before that I was in Paris. Working. A new project.’
‘Lucky you,’ Nell said. Then she turned conspiratorial and added, ‘You know, we could always leave and …’
‘Not tonight, lover,’ Farrell said gently. ‘I’ve already made plans.’
‘Pity,’ Nell sniffed. ‘Your “plan” here yet?’
‘Haven’t looked,’ Farrell replied.
‘Name?’
‘That’s a secret.’
‘Well,’ Nell said, miffed. ‘If your secret is a no-show, come back.’
Farrell blew Nell a kiss before setting off, feeling anticipation make her heart beat along with the dance music thudding up from the basement. She peered into the nooks and crannies of the ground floor before heading upstairs where she scanned the crowd gathered around the pink pool table. No luck.
Farrell was beginning to think she’d been stood up until she went to the basement where a femme kink performer was pole dancing to the riffs and dubs of a disc jockey named V. J. Wicked. Pink sofas lined the walls facing the stripper.
The professor spotted her quarry on one of those sofas in the far corner of the room, nursing a flute of champagne. With jet-black hair pulled back severely, she was elegantly attired in a black cocktail frock and a pill hat with a black lace veil that obscured the features of her face except for her dusky skin and ruby lips.
‘Hello, Marta,’ Farrell said, sliding into a chair beside her.
Marta took her attention off the dancer, smiled and replied in a soft East European accent. ‘I had faith I’d see you here, my sister.’
The professor smelled Marta’s perfume and was enthralled. ‘I couldn’t stay away.’
Marta ran her ruby fingernails over the back of Farrell’s hand. ‘Of course you couldn’t. Shall we let the games begin?’
Chapter 37
BY SEVEN THAT evening the world’s eyes had turned to five hundred-plus acres of decaying East London land that had been transformed into the city’s new Olympic Park, which featured a stadium packed with ninety thousand lucky fans, a teeming athletes’ village, and sleek modern venues for cycling, basketball, handball, swimming and diving.
These venues were all beautiful structures, but the media had chosen British sculptor Anish Kapoor’s
From his position high on the west side of the stadium, at the window of a lavish hospitality suite set aside for LOCOG, Knight trained his binoculars on the massive Olympic cauldron, which was set on a raised platform on the roof of the observation deck. He wondered how they were going to light it, and then found himself distracted by a BBC broadcaster on a nearby television screen saying that nearly four billion people were expected to tune in to the coverage of the opening ceremonies.
‘Peter?’ Jack Morgan said behind him. ‘There’s someone here who would like to talk to you.’
Knight lowered his binoculars and turned to find the owner of Private standing next to Marcus Morris, the chairman of LOCOG. Morris had been a popular Minister of Sport in a previous Labour government.
The two men shook hands.
‘An honour,’ Knight said as he shook Morris’s hand.
Morris said, ‘I need to hear from you exactly what Richard Guilder said before he died regarding Denton Marshall.’
Knight told him, finishing with, ‘The currency scam had nothing to do with the Olympics. It was greed on Guilder’s part. I’ll testify to that.’
Morris shook Knight’s hand again. ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I didn’t want there to be any hint of impropriety hanging over these Games. But it does nothing to make any of us feel any better about the loss of Denton. It’s a tragedy.’
‘In too many ways to count.’
‘Your mother seems to be holding up.’
Indeed, upon their arrival Amanda had been showered with sympathy and was now somewhere in the crowd behind them.
‘She’s a strong person, and when this Cronus maniac claimed that Denton was crooked she got angry, very angry. Not a good thing.’
‘No, I suppose not,’ Morris said, and smiled at last. ‘And now I’ve got a speech to give.’
‘And an Olympics to open,’ Jack said.
‘That too,’ Morris said, and walked away.
Jack looked out the window at the huge audience, his eyes scanning the roofline.
Knight noticed and said, ‘Security seems brilliant, Jack. It took more than an hour for my mother and I to get through screening at Stratford. And the blokes with the weapons were all Gurkhas.’
‘World’s most fearsome warriors,’ Jack said, nodding.
‘Do you need me somewhere?’
‘We’re fine,’ Jack said. ‘Enjoy the show. You’ve earned it.’
Knight looked around. ‘By the way, where’s Lancer? Poor form to miss his own party.’
Jack winked. ‘That’s a secret. Mike said to thank you again. In the meantime, I think you should introduce me to your mother so I can offer my condolences.’
Knight’s mobile buzzed in his pocket. ‘Of course. One second, Jack.’
He dug out the phone, saw that Hooligan was calling and answered just as the lights in the stadium dimmed and the audience began to cheer.
‘I’m at the stadium,’ Knight said. ‘The opening ceremony’s starting.’
‘Sorry to bother you, but some of us have to work,’ Hooligan snapped. ‘I got results on that hair sample you sent over this morning. They’re—’
A trumpet fanfare erupted from every speaker in the stadium, drowning out what Hooligan had just
