“This summit is an addition to the normal programme of G20 events and could be badged G40 because of the number of nations attending. Morocco was selected as host, given its recent advances in technology driving the extension of a reliable and safe water supply to its people.”
“It would seem a perfect time, given the unrest happening in areas where the water is making people sick.” The studio presenter commented.
“The water isn’t making people sick, you stupid woman.” Charles snapped the TV off.
“Dad?”
“Hey, sleepyhead. How are you feeling?”
Lily rubbed at her eyes. “Hungry.”
“Me too. How about we go out for breakfast?”
“What about . . .” Her gaze swivelled to the balcony beyond the fluttering long curtains, to the courtyard below.
“Don’t worry about that. The police will deal with it and we don’t need to be here while they do.”
“You spoke to them?”
“I know this isn’t the best start to our holiday, but. . .” he lost the rest of his words. There was nothing to say to make things better for Terry. “There’s a nice shower in the main bathroom, go freshen up and we’ll go out.”
“Can I call Mum?”
“I don’t know how to call her, her phone broke.”
“Well, she’s at work, you said so.”
“Of course, silly of me to forget.”
How could he have her knowing where they were, about his brother? And he couldn’t have her challenging him about what happened at the airport, about leaving her behind, in Lily’s earshot.
And Lily, what about her? Eva would want her back. He didn’t know if he could give her up; she was all he had left. Could he reunite with Eva? There was only that one meeting with Nancy that she’d seen. He could sweet-talk her again, but did he want to?
“There’s a phone here, Dad.” Lily called him into the room Terry had used as an office.
Charles dialled the 044 for the UK and keyed the zero at the start of the London phone number that international calls didn’t require. After the third time of it failing he suggested trying later. “Phones don’t maybe work as well here.”
“What about my mobile? You still have it, don’t you?”
“It’s not working, I don’t think you have international calls on it.”
“Can’t we get them?”
“When the phones are working, we can try. Now get washed up and let’s go eat. Mum will understand.”
While Lily did as he asked, Charles woke up Terry’s PC.
In his personal email account, he selected one of the oldest unsent drafts with the subject line ‘Your car insurance renewal’. Buried in the bumpf at the bottom amongst the insurance company’s details, he found the phone number. For what it was worth on this call, he blocked Terry’s number and dialled.
He hadn’t even finished wondering whether the number would still be valid when it was answered.
“CJ, it’s Charles Buchanan.”
“No more favours, Charles. I know you were listening when I told you that.”
“Last one, unless a locked door on a different continent is too much for you. It’s a tricky job, it has the potential to draw some real heat and a lot of fireworks afterwards, so it needs to be very untraceable. And obviously it’s not an unpaid favour, you can bill me.”
“Did you know your wife came here, she wanted to contact The Society.”
What was Eva playing at? If she found out—there’d be no reconciliation, even if he decided he wanted it. “Did she, contact them?”
“I did, she’s finding out who killed Hunter Malone for them.”
“She paid you?”
“Not yet, she now owes me a favour.”
Eva, what have you done? You don’t make open-ended promises with people like CJ. And having anything to do with The Society, she was playing with the devil.
“I’ll bill you double. That work for you?” CJ was asking.
“Yes.”
“Glad we understand each other, now where’s the door?”
50
‘I know more secrets than a Catholic priest’, the spook humour on the mug into which Eva poured her first coffee of the day must have been something else, it almost made her smile. She stared at the froth’s bubbles popping, trying to corral her thoughts into something more than panic. Knowing they’d flown to Marrakech hadn’t helped. If they were still there, Lily was one in a million people. And if Charles had moved them on, one in seven billion.
“You’re looking better this morning, how are you doing?” Nora pulled Eva out of her reverie.
Eva shrugged, slopping her now lukewarm coffee over her hand, over the laminate flooring she’d been staring at. She put the mug down and pulled off a piece of blue roll to mop up the puddle.
“Another?” Nora asked.
“I’m good.”
“And I’m the boss.” she said.
“Aren’t you?” Eva’s lips aimed for a smile but what she couldn’t quite manage, Nora made up for, hooting even louder than the noise of the coffee machine grinding the beans.
“I’ll tell himself you said that.” She wiped at her eyes.
“He’s aware, trust me.”
Nora frothed the milk, the hissing steaming filling the silence with all the things Eva couldn’t bring herself to share because then she’d have to think about them. Nora jiggled the milk jug back and forth over the dark liquid in their mugs. “I can never make it pretty but as far as coffees go, best in the capital I’d say. Hmmm, what do you have here then?” she turned the mug anti-clockwise, back again. “Looks like the monster from the deep.” She rinsed the jug, wiped the machine down. “Lily will be fine, she’s with her dad, not a kidnapper or worse.” Nora studied her. “Ah, that’s why you’re worried. He doesn’t know, does he?”
“Know?” Eva’s pretence melted away beneath Nora’s look. “How did you?”
“She looks like him, doesn’t she, Vincent? In the video of her you showed me.”
Eva could only nod, ridiculously close to tears. It was the
