Diana Taverner had eaten an Italian meal, had drunk two glasses of Chilean wine, but was feeling irredeemably British as she arrived at her Notting Hill home: tired, irritable, full of dread. ‘Home’, anyway – when asked she’d say ‘home’ was the Cotswolds, careful never to name the actual village; London was her workplace, her business address. But on the few occasions when she suffered through a weekend in Temple Guiting, she found herself glued to her phone, counting the hours. The cottage had woodburning stoves and exposed beams, stone-flagged floors and a curious window-seat halfway up its narrow staircase, all of which, back in the city, she’d recount as rustic charm, and most of which was a fucking nuisance. She could see stars there, true, but indoors she had to keep her head low. Exposed beams were dangerous. Home, in fact, was Regent’s Park. But the Notting Hill house was elegant and subtle and carpeted to a hush; it had spot lighting and spotless walls. It had a fridge full of wine. She shucked her shoes off, gathered the mail, padded into the kitchen and poured herself another glass. Through the sliding door, she could see the intruder light was on, which meant a fox had been doing the rounds. It would go off in a minute. She put the mail on the table, and carried the wine upstairs.
Removed her make-up. Took deep breaths. She hadn’t waded out so far she couldn’t make it back safely. She was First Fucking Desk. She’d taken apart bigger threats than Damien Cantor, than Peter Bloody Judd. And troublesome angels weren’t an unprecedented hazard. Some had tried it on with God, and look where that got them.
Her wine finished, she left the mirror to its own reflections, and took her glass downstairs to refill it.
The intruder light was still on.
The garden was a thin strip of land, most of it paved; large plants in huge pots were kept alive by a weekly gardener. There was furniture too, in case Diana ever made any friends, and ever invited them round, and they ever decided to enjoy each other’s company in the garden. It was wooden, sturdy, and when the intruder light was on looked like props on a stage. She unlocked the door, opened it and stepped down onto the path. The smoke from Jackson Lamb’s cigarette reached her even before she registered his bulk, squatting in one of the chairs.
He said, ‘What are you doing in my garden?’
She shook her head.
‘Now you say, “No, it’s
‘Fuck off. You know how long it’ll take the Dogs to get here? And it will
‘Might as well sit while we’re waiting, then.’
Diana stared at him, then shook her head again and went back into her kitchen and filled her wineglass. Really filled it. Had to be careful carrying it outside again, in case it slopped over the rim.
She set it on the table, pulled another of the heavy wooden chairs out, and sat.
Looking at the glass, Lamb said, ‘No, don’t worry. I’m fine.’
‘I know. There’s a bottle poking out of your pocket.’
‘Oh. That.’ He brought it out, removed its cap. ‘Cheers.’
She raised her glass in what she hoped was an aggressively sardonic manner.
‘So,’ he said. ‘I suppose you’re wondering why I invited you out here for a chat.’
‘Cut the comedy and get to the point.’
‘You’ve been using my crew for training purposes. Like they were dummies in a shooting gallery.’
‘Oh, I’m sorry. Is there a reason I shouldn’t be doing that?’
‘Only the obvious. That they’re my fucking dummies.’
‘And they do you so much credit.’ She glanced at his feet, where a pile of cigarette stubs had mushroomed. ‘How long have you been here?’
‘Longer than I expected. Since when have you had a social life?’
‘Sorry to inconvenience you.’
‘Yeah, I may have had to piss in one of your plant pots.’
Diana doubted he was kidding. She motioned towards his cigarette. ‘Can I have one of those?’
He sighed. ‘Some people just make themselves free and easy with other people’s property.’ But he handed her one.
‘Did you make this yourself?’
‘Just hold it at an angle.’
He shoved a plastic lighter across. The first inhalation reminded her of her first one ever. ‘God in heaven. Where did this come from?’
‘Old Miles’s.’
‘Ah, Christ. It’s closed down, right?’ She shook her head. ‘The old guard used to gather there. Back in Partner’s day.’
‘Just the suits,’ he said. ‘And the hangers-on.’
‘Suits and hangers,’ she said. Then: ‘It’s all changing though, isn’t it? I thought everything had changed enough already. But it keeps on happening.’
‘If I wanted to listen to a stroppy woman getting maudlin, I’d have picked a City bar.’ He took a swallow from his bottle, which had a label Diana didn’t recognise, then said, ‘So that’s why you had us all wiped. So your newbies wouldn’t know they were tailing professionals.’
She breathed out smoke that looked blacker than natural. ‘It took you long enough.’
‘Once I’d established I was still getting paid, it didn’t seem that urgent. Besides. You didn’t put anyone on me.’
