‘Nice,’ said Xavier, stretching out his arms in appreciation of the width and scale of his room. There was a huge double bed, a sofa beneath a large bay window, a door connecting to a sizeable en-suite bathroom. ‘Where’s Jacqui going?’
‘There are two bedrooms on the other side, above the nursery,’ Luc replied. ‘What my uncle used to call the nursery, anyway. The girls can go in there and share a bathroom.’ Kite’s heart sank. ‘Ali will need his privacy. I have put him in the attic. In the future, Jacqui can sleep there. Or you two can argue over this room and switch.’
‘No way,’ said Xavier. ‘Shotgun.’
‘You haven’t even seen the other rooms,’ his father replied. ‘How can you be so certain?’
Even this simple question was loaded with unnecessary malice. Xavier again caught Kite’s eye and shrugged, as if to say: ‘What did I do?’ They climbed the stairs to the attic, which was just as Kite had visualised: a cramped landing, with bedrooms on either side divided by a bathroom. He noticed that the smaller of the two rooms had been converted into a makeshift office with a modern desk and swivel chair. There was a single bed in the corner, but the sheets had not been made up. Eskandarian would presumably be sleeping in the other room. Kite looked around for a lamp and found one on top of a chest of drawers behind the door. It was small enough to switch with the light from his bedroom but not as modern in design as the one created by the Falcons. Kite walked across the landing and immediately spotted a button telephone beside Eskandarian’s bed. It hadn’t been in any of the photographs. Luc had probably had it wired in on the Iranian’s instructions. BOX 88 had been monitoring his phones and fax messages for several months, but neither Peele nor Strawson had mentioned anything to Kite about a phone line in the bedroom. So where to put the lamp? Near the phone, so that the Falcons could eavesdrop on any calls, or across the landing in the makeshift office, where perhaps Eskandarian would hold private meetings with visitors to the house? Kite wished that he could seek out Peele’s advice, but it was too late to walk over to the safe house. Besides, the switch had to be made before Eskandarian’s arrival.
‘Has he got married?’ Xavier asked.
‘Who, Ali?’ The windows were not particularly clean and Luc was checking for dust on the sills. ‘No. He likes women too much. He was engaged to a girl in Paris eleven years ago, but when he went home to Iran, she didn’t go with him.’
This was new information. BOX 88 knew that Eskandarian was a ladies’ man who preferred to remain single. On trips to Europe and Asia in the previous six years, surveillance reports had mentioned women in Eskandarian’s entourage with whom he was casually involved. As far as Kite was aware, there was no record on file of a fiancée.
‘Is she still around?’ Xavier asked. He was checking out the bathroom, picking up bottles of bath salts, turning the ancient taps at the sink.
‘Non,’ Luc replied, continuing in French: ‘She moved to Barcelona. Married a Catalan nationalist and had a baby. She likes politicians.’
Kite didn’t know what a Catalan was but resolved to elicit the woman’s name for his morning report. He would need to ask the question without it sounding nosey and unnatural. With luck, she would come up in conversation at a later point.
‘OK, now we swim,’ Xavier announced and immediately called out Jacqui’s name. His voice boomed around the attic. ‘We’re going to the pool!’ he shouted. ‘Mum! You coming?’
‘There’s no need to shout, darling.’ Rosamund had appeared at the bottom of the stairs, looking as serene and composed as ever. ‘Yes, we’re all going.’
Martha was beside her, a towel looped around her neck. She had already changed into a pale cream summer dress. A dark blue swimsuit was visible in silhouette underneath. She stared directly at Kite as she looked up the stairs.
‘Hi. I’m Lockie.’
‘I know. I’m Martha.’
‘We’ve actually met before,’ he said.
‘Really?’
‘Yeah. At a party in London last year.’
‘Oh? I don’t remember.’
Xavier was standing beside him. Kite felt his cheeks flush. He was slightly crushed that Martha had no recollection of their meeting, although she seemed embarrassed by her failure to remember, rather than indifferent.
‘Hi, Xav,’ she said, adjusting her hair as she looked up the stairs.
‘Hey.’ Xavier walked down towards her and they hugged in a way that made Kite edgy. ‘Good flight?’
‘Fine, thanks. So lovely to be here. The house is amazing.’
Kite wanted to play it cool but found himself following Xavier downstairs and nodding at Martha, aware that he probably looked like a lovesick puppy. She smiled at him, as if apologising for the effect she was having, and walked off. Luc emerged from the master bedroom.
‘You coming, Papa?’ Xavier asked.
‘Maybe,’ Luc replied. ‘I have a lot to do. I have to find my trunks.’
‘Come,’ said Kite. He was impatient to clear the house. ‘You’ve driven for eight hours. It’ll be good to swim it off.’
To his relief, Luc agreed and assured both of them that he would appear at the pool ‘before too long’.
‘Great,’ Xavier told him. ‘So let’s go.’
Kite took his time, changing into swimming trunks, putting sun cream on his pale Scottish skin, listening out to see if Luc was on his way to the pool. Xavier appeared wearing a pair of canary yellow Bermuda shorts, a towel clutched in his right hand, a packet of cigarettes in the other.
‘Ready?’
‘Sure.’
Kite had no alternative but to go with him. Walking the narrow paths of the garden, bordered by rosemary bushes and olive trees, he could hear the splashes and laughter of Jacqui and Martha up ahead in the pool. Luc and Rosamund were still in the house. They would probably spend at least
