“I’m not saying he’s mean, just . . . unimaginative. Have you seen him?”
Al shook his head.
“Since when?”
“Last year. October, I think. How about you?”
“About the same.”
Daisy, from the sofa, said, “He calls.”
Al, who had once been in CC’s company when he made such a call, could guess how that would have gone. A lot of talking on CC’s side—mostly gentle descriptions of what he’d been up to, places he’d been—and a lot of silence on Daisy’s. Al thought those phone calls were like playing the radio for a cat: They calmed her, but the flow of information went one way.
Like a cat, too, Daisy had taken to the sofa partly for the comfort it offered, partly as a defendable redoubt. Not that she had anything to worry about in present company, but habit digs deep roots.
Avril Potts said, “Is this the best the Park runs to these days? Or is the décor born of nostalgia?” She pursed her lips, as if in genuine thought. “I mean, short of a few secret policemen, we could be in the GDR.”
But she said it in a way that sounded like she was okay with it. Anyway, they’d not be here long.
Still, he had to ask. “When were you in the GDR?”
“Don’t get literal with me, Hawke. I’ve toasted bigger pedants for breakfast.”
“Fair enough.” He winked at Daisy, who was watching them as if they were engaged in a tennis rally. “You can take your pick of the bedrooms. Back one’s smaller, but there’s less noise and you won’t get the streetlights.”
“The back one,” said Avril, “will be barely big enough to contain the bed. And there’ll be less traffic at night, so that’s not an issue.” Al held up his hands in surrender, but she was already continuing: “But you need more space. Daisy and I will manage, I’m sure.”
Meaning, he guessed, that the more contained Daisy was, the safer she’d feel, and that Avril would gladly offer up her own comfort for that result.
Traffic might not be an issue later, but there was no shortage of it now. A main road wasn’t the obvious location for a safe house, but if obviousness was the criterion, the houses would be less secure. Besides, along this particular stretch there was little other residential property; on this side, a row of strangely out of place cottages, of which the farthest left adjoined an empty space that had once been a car park attached to what had once been a pub. A little beyond that, before the road curved, a lane led to public tennis courts. Opposite, behind a fence, lay school playing fields, where the sons and daughters of the obscenely rich, the frighteningly wealthy and the merely well-to-do could begin to absorb the lessons their lives would hold, chief among these being that money helped. The school itself was along the road to the right, its stout frontage dominating a hundred yards or so of pavement. Obviously most pupil drop-offs and pick-ups involved SUVs, so there was little pedestrian hustle. No, Al concluded; the site had been well chosen. This was a stretch of road on which nobody lingered.
As for why CC had summoned them, they’d have to wait to find out.
To Avril, he said, “Well, up to you. If you change your mind.”
“It’s not a mini-break, Al. We can cope with a little discomfort.”
Daisy herself either agreed with all of this, or didn’t disagree strongly enough to voice her opinion. She was gazing through the window’s yellowed lace. From outside, she would be a vague shadow. There were times when she was much the same if you were in the room with her.
And whose fault was that?
The women had been carrying one small holdall between them. Al knew better than to offer to carry it upstairs.
“About that coffee,” he said.
“Let me,” said Avril. “I remember your coffee only too well.”
She found the kitchen. Sounds of tap turning and kettle filling followed, while Al watched Daisy. Watching Daisy in the past had sometimes been a duty, sometimes a joy, but had never been undertaken without a rearrangement occurring in his heart. This time round, it was the increasingly familiar sensation of recognising time’s footwork, the marks it leaves as it stamps all over you. She was a little more worn, a little more lined, and while carrying nothing like the damage his own battered frame had weathered, was through her middle years now, everything speeding up. Which did not alter the fundamental truth of her: She was, always would be, beautiful. He, meanwhile, would always be a bruiser. It took all sorts.
He said, “How’ve you been?”
She took her time replying, and could only manage, “Same old.”
“CC drop any hints what this is about?”
Daisy shook her head as Avril came back in. “I swear, sometimes I’d swap a safe house for a convenient one. There’s no plunger for the cafetière.”
Al laughed, and even Daisy smiled.
Outside, traffic rumbled as the afternoon got into gear.
“Tell me about this missing book,” River said.
“Yeah, no, better than that. I’ll show you.” Her laptop was on a table in the corner, and he hovered while she called up the footage.
