Elizabeth hadn’t known that Viktor was involved with Martin Lomax and the business with the diamonds. But it made sense. Viktor was freelance these days.
‘So you see,’ says the Viking, ‘as soon as he receives these photographs, Viktor Illyich will want to kill you. He will be consumed with revenge. It is very neat. All you need to do now is kill him first.’
‘Kill him yourself, old chap,’ says Stephen. ‘Look at the size of you.’
‘Much easier for me if somebody else does it,’ says the Viking. ‘And who better than a former spy, a little old lady, a woman who knows how to kill, and who has just pulled off one of the thefts of the century? Who better, Stephen?’
‘It’s cowardly,’ says Stephen. ‘Never taken the Swedes for cowards.’
Elizabeth is mulling. Pretending to mull at least. Just arranging her cards in order before playing the first one. She doesn’t have a great hand, though she does have an ace. She will have to proceed with care.
‘Still not for me, I’m afraid,’ says Elizabeth to the Viking. ‘If I refuse, the worst you can do is kill me, which is a nuisance for you, and, honestly, I’ve had a fairly good run. And this would be a nice room to die in. Very cosy.’
The Viking smiles. ‘I think your husband might not agree with that. Perhaps he might like you to stay alive.’
Stephen shrugs. ‘We all go at some point, my Viking friend. I’d rather she wasn’t killed by a cowardly Swede, but best to bow out doing something decent. I’m sure I’d miss her, but someone else would turn up soon enough. Beautiful spies everywhere you look. Falling out of trees.’
Elizabeth smiles. But what if she really were to die? What then? What then for Stephen? Her heart cracks in two, but her face remains placid. Because she knows something the Viking doesn’t know.
‘I think if it’s all the same to you,’ she says, ‘I’m going to take my husband home and forget this conversation ever happened. Put the bags back over our heads: I don’t need to know where I am, and I don’t have any interest in finding out who you are. I understand your position, and I understand why I’m the perfect woman to kill Viktor Illyich, but I’m not going to do it. Which leaves you with two options. Either you kill me – which would be very messy, an awful lot of admin, probably a lot of heat from MI6 when they realize I’ve vanished – or you simply let us go, no more said about it.’
‘Viktor Illyich will kill you though,’ says the Viking. ‘He will find out where you live. I found out easily enough.’
‘I will take my chances,’ says Elizabeth.
Viktor Illyich will not kill Elizabeth, she knows that. That’s her ace. The Viking has been unlucky here. Elizabeth and Stephen will be home before dawn, and will be quite safe. Depending on where they are, of course. ‘So kill me or let me go. Those are your two options. Which do you choose?’
‘I think I choose option three,’ says the Viking. ‘The option where I send Viktor Illyich the full photos.’
‘The full photos?’
‘Yes, for sure. The photos with your friend Joyce Meadowcroft by your side. Both pictures, both names.’
‘Bit below the belt,’ says Stephen. Elizabeth still feels safe. Viktor won’t go after Joyce either. Not if they’re in the photo together. A friend of Elizabeth is a friend of Viktor.
‘Viktor might not have the heart to kill Joyce, of course,’ says the Viking. ‘She is more of a civilian, I think? So here’s my deal. Just as insurance, if Viktor Illyich isn’t dead within two weeks, I will kill your friend Joyce.’
The second date was, if anything, even better than the first. They have just been to Brighton to watch a Polish film. Donna hadn’t realized there were Polish films, though obviously there must be. In a country that size, someone is going to make a film once in a while.
It was an art-house cinema, of course it was, it was in Brighton, and that meant you couldn’t get proper pick ’n’ mix. No chocolate mice, no Kola Cubes, nothing. Just healthy snacks.
But they did let you bring wine into the cinema, so Donna supposed it was OK to put up with a handful of unsalted cashew nuts. Also, everyone stayed quiet during the film, which Donna was not at all used to.
They took the train from Fairhaven. Donna drank a Mojito in a can, and Bogdan drank a large energy drink into which he had mixed a sachet of protein powder.
They walked from the station to the cinema, her arm hooked through Bogdan’s. At one point they walked past a house on Trafalgar Street which Bogdan told her was a crack den, and then past an old forge on London Road where a Lithuanian was buried. Bogdan would make a very good tour guide for a very specific type of tourist.
There were other black people in Brighton, and that was nice to see. Though still few enough for a subtle nod to be exchanged as they passed each other. Donna likes Brighton; she could see herself raiding a few crack dens here before her career was out.
