There was a girl at university, an Eng Lit student who played in a ukelele band. She and Simon slept together intermittently, but he was never quite sure what she expected from him, and eventually the relationship faded into a friendship with which they were both more comfortable. He wondered, vaguely, if he was gay, and in the spirit of experiment, allowed himself to be seduced by his male tutor, a mediaevalist with a penchant for Gregorian plainchant and spanking. That didn’t really work out either, and Simon decided to let the whole sex thing slide, and to concentrate on his studies. He left with a first-class degree and an unfocused sense of longing. For what or for whom, he didn’t know. For almost a year he lived at home, celibate and unemployed. Then one day, almost as a joke, a friend emailed him a link to MI5’s recruitment page. From day one, the secret world felt like home.
He’s told Janie that he’s “here on business,” and this seems to satisfy her. She asks him about his likes and dislikes. About movies he’s seen, about pop videos, boy-bands, celebrities, shopping and fashion. In anyone else this bubblegum worldview would be exasperating. In Janie, it’s enchanting.
Two dragon-fruit Martinis later (Sprite for her, touchingly), they’re dancing. The playlist is commercial pop, and Janie sings along to every track. Simon’s not much of a dancer, but the floor’s too crowded to do more than shuffle and nod. The tempo slows, and he places his hands on her hips, feeling their gentle sway, inhaling the scent of the jasmine blooms pinned to her upswept hair. Intoxicated, he draws her towards him, and she lays her head on his shoulder. Through his jacket, which he dares not remove for fear that it will be stolen, he feels the unyielding pressure of her breasts. His heart pounding, he touches his lips to the soft tendrils of hair at her temple. He doesn’t think she’ll sense this but she does, and her face tilts up to his, her lips parted.
Kissing her, feeling the sugary flicker of her tongue, he feels a lightness of being so intense he wonders if he’s going to pass out. She moves her mouth across his cheek, nips his earlobe with her little cat’s teeth. “You know I wasn’t always a girl,” she whispers.
He knows. He can feel the evidence swelling against his thigh.
“It’s fine, Janie,” he says. “Really, it’s fine.”
Back at the Sea Bird Hotel, Eve knocks on Simon’s door, but he’s still out. And having a good time, she hopes. He’s a good friend and colleague, but he definitely needs to loosen up.
In her room, she takes out the envelope that Jin has given her. Inside is a single A4 page, which appears to be a printout of a transfer of funds between two international banks. The banks and account-holders are identified only by number codes. The sum in question is a little over £17 million.
Eve stares at the paper for a moment, trying to divine its importance, before replacing it in its envelope and locking it in her briefcase. Jin, she knows, is returning to Beijing tomorrow. The investigation into Zhang Lei’s murder will continue, but there is no more that she can contribute. It’s time for her and Simon to fly back to London, report to Richard Edwards, and investigate the lead that Jin has given her at such personal risk. She also needs, urgently, to make things right with Niko. It will be good to be home again, but part of her will miss Shanghai and its luxurious strangeness, its myriad scents and colours. And part of her, she’s forced to admit, will miss Jin Qiang.
In bed, she reviews the evening moment by moment, and in particular the dancing. The open window admits a faint breeze, and with it the corrupt tang of Suzhou Creek. It takes her some time to fall asleep.
Drifting between wakefulness and dream, Simon knows a peace that he’s never thought possible. Beside him, Janie turns, and raises her arms sleepily above her head. “Promise you like me?” she murmurs. “Not just using for sex? Wham-bam, then bye-bye Janie?”
“Like you?” he wants to tell her. “I love you. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted. I’d give up my work, my country, everything I know and believe in, to share my life with you.” But he says nothing, and instead plants slow kisses on the pale curve of her left breast. She watches him for a moment, and then, eyelids fluttering, she plucks at her nipples and they begin again.
Some time later Simon wakes, and through half-closed eyes sees her tiptoeing round the room, slim-hipped and naked, long hair swinging round her shoulders. When she first brought him here, he was touched by the modesty of the place. The cheap chest of drawers and dressing table, the Barbie-pink curtains and bedspread, the Hello Kitty poster on the wall. Now she touches his clothes, running her fingers over the jacket he’s slung over the single chair. A slim hand disappears, and an instant later reappears holding his phone. She looks at it admiringly for a couple of seconds, and replaces it. The action touches Simon, who guesses that such an article is way beyond her budget.
Then, with great speed, she dresses herself, pulling on white knickers, jeans and a T-shirt, and pushing her feet into a pair of trainers. As she tip-toes towards Simon, he pretends to be asleep. She leans over him for a moment, so close that he can hear her breath, and then backs soundlessly away. Opening his eyes, he sees her dip her hand back into his jacket, take the phone, and hurry from the room.
Simon lies there for a moment, too shocked to move. Then he leaps from the bed, and lifts the rattan blind. He catches a fleeting glimpse of Janie beneath a street light, moving fast, and then she’s gone.
He pulls
