“Which are words best kept between these walls. You’re First Desk now, Diana. That carries responsibilities above and beyond the operational. Caretaker or not, the PM has a right to expect your loyalty.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not planning a coup.”
“Good to know.”
“I’ll let her own party do that.”
“You’re not filling me with confidence.”
She said, “Blowing off steam. That’s all.” She dipped her head ever so slightly. “Thanks for arguing the case, anyway.”
“Yes, well. Let me handle the politics.” He looked at his watch, noticed the dusting of crumbs on his sleeve, and brushed himself in irritation. “Time I was away. Be brave and true, and all that sort of thing.”
“Oliver.”
She smiled him out of the room, thinking:
It did no harm to have Oliver Nash think he was in charge.
“No way,” said Emma Flyte.
“You owe me one,” said Louisa.
“No I don’t. Where on earth did you get that idea?”
Louisa said, “I just thought it might sway you if I said that.”
“Huh.”
Emma was at home. Even a week into unemployment it felt strange, not going to work. First day, she’d pounded her phone: contacts contacts contacts. Putting the word out that she was on the market. She imagined networks lighting up, like an old-fashioned switchboard; messages relayed from one source to another; information absorbed, mulled over, passed on. There’d be speculation—
Didn’t matter. Give it a week, give it two, the serious players would come to her. For the moment she just had to play the waiting game.
The trouble was, it was a game she was really bad at. The week had been purgatory: household chores, bloody books, staring at the TV until its programmes became nervous. Having nothing to do was driving her crazy. A call from Louisa was a relief.
They weren’t friends, exactly. They were friendly, though. And now she was no longer Park, perhaps they could take things onto the next level; like, do stuff together without getting into a fight. Time would tell.
But whatever happened next, this phantom favour wasn’t going to be it.
“It would be a quick in, quick out.”
“It’s Regent’s Park, not Tesco’s.”
“That’s what I meant. Those self-service checkouts take forever. Anyway, if you’re too chicken—”
“Fuck off, Louisa.”
“—too
“You realise he’s gay?”
There was a slight pause. Then Louisa said, “Yeah, I knew that.”
“You didn’t, did you?”
“Course I did. Doesn’t mean he won’t want to do us both a favour.”
“Except it wouldn’t be doing me a favour, because I have no interest in persuading someone on the Hub to break the law. Can I run that past you again? What you’re asking is against the law.”
“Used to happen all the time when I was at the Park.”
“And remind me where you are now?”
“. . . Point taken.”
“It’s not only a sackable offence. I genuinely think Lady Di would have someone shot.”
Louisa said, “I knew that really. Just thought it was worth taking a punt.”
Emma said, “Are you drinking?”
“Glass of wine.”
“Gimme a sec.” She didn’t know why she said that: she took the phone with her as she went into her kitchen, found a glass, and poured herself a healthy slug of Malbec. Benefits of unemployment: you didn’t have to worry about next morning’s head. The disadvantage was, of course, that if it went on too long, she’d be swapping the Malbec for Thunderbird. And that wasn’t a good look at all.
Glass full, she said, “How’s things?”
“Same as.”
“That bad, huh?”
“You heard David Cartwright died?”
“Yes. How’s whatsisname taking it?”
“River. Much as you’d expect. I’ll pass on your regards, shall I?”
“Just make sure he knows I forgot his name.” Emma sipped her wine. Mid-week drinking had a certain vibe, she decided. Maybe those folk sleeping in doorways had a point. “What about the fat bastard?”
“You seriously want to know?”
“I’m hoping you’ll say he’s at death’s door.”
Louisa said, “I doubt death would answer. It’d hide behind the sofa, pretending to be out.”
“Good point. Who you looking for?”
“Missing kid.”
“How old?”
“Seventeen.”
“Girl?”
“No.”
“How come you’re looking?”
“It’s complicated.”
“You’re shagging the dad?”
There was a pause. Then Louisa said, “Long time ago.”
