At that moment, Jason trailed in from the kitchen with a mug. ‘No more tea,’ Lydia said, as kindly as she could manage. ‘Honestly, I’m fine.’
‘It’s coffee,’ Jason said, putting it down on the desk. ‘Are you sure you don’t want anything else?’
‘Actually,’ Lydia looked up at him, a thought forming. ‘How are you getting on with your laptop?’
Jason brightened. ‘Great. I love it.’
‘How do you feel about taking on a few clients? Just the background check ones. It’s all computer work so it doesn’t matter that you can’t go out and about.’
‘You’d trust me with that?’ Jason’s expression was radiant. It made Lydia feel bad that she was asking him for selfish reasons. He looked like she was giving him a gift.
‘It’s super-dull,’ she warned him. ‘Really routine. I’m passing them onto you because I hate doing them. You can say no.’
Jason made a grabby-hands gesture. ‘Give them to me. And the log-ins so I can access the databases. Are they standard checks? Criminal, financial, and driving histories, right? Confirmation of identity?’
Lydia blinked. ‘You’ve really been paying attention.’
Jason grinned. ‘Yes, boss.’
Lydia had set up a proximity alarm for her flat. It was hidden underneath the carpet on the stairs so she would have warning when someone was approaching. Now she was wondering about getting her money back as someone was knocking on the glazed door to Crow Investigations without the alarm having been tripped.
She knew before she opened the door that it was the man who had sprung her from the police station. The one with the strange, unidentifiable power which made Lydia feel unwell.
‘No parcel today?’ This was in reference to the fact that he had been masquerading as a courier. In his line of work it was probably called ‘deep cover’.
‘Can we talk?’
Lydia stepped aside and gestured for him to enter. The hit off his power was as destabilising as always, but she was braced for it now, which helped. Plus, it was becoming familiar. She could separate its notes - the flash of canvas, whipping in the wind, the feel of rolling waves, and the glint of gold. It was a ship, she realised. That was probably why she had felt so sick the first few times she had encountered him. He made her seasick.
‘You shouldn’t be here,’ Lydia said. ‘If my Family see you...’
‘I’ll say I’m delivering something,’ he said. ‘But I take your point. I’ve got a safe house.’
‘Of course you have,’ Lydia said, trying not to be impressed.
‘It’s not mine mine,’ he said, looking slightly abashed. ‘It comes with the job.’
‘And what is that exactly?’
He smiled, looking utterly assured again. ‘I was thinking a regular check in would be best. Same time, same place. Then, if you don’t make it, I know something has happened.’
‘What if I’m just busy?’
‘You won’t be,’ he said in a tone which spoke volumes.
‘And what should I call you?’ He had refused to give her his name in the police station, saying that whatever he said would have to be a lie and that he didn’t want to lie to her. All very mysterious and quasi-noble, but not entirely practical.
‘You choose,’ he said.
‘Living dangerously, there,’ Lydia said. ‘How do you feel about Cuddles? Or Mr PrettyBoy?’
He didn’t rise to the bait, just smiled. ‘You think I’m pretty? That’s nice.’
‘Mr Smith,’ Lydia said. ‘That’s a good spook name. And I don’t know you well enough for first names, anyway.’
‘I hope that’s going to change,’ Mr Smith said.
He gave her an address in Vauxhall, not far from Kennington Park. Not a million miles away from the MI6 headquarters by Vauxhall Bridge, either. ‘Close to your office, then,’ she said. ‘Handy for you. Or are you MI5?’
He looked blank, but that was likely the first thing you learned in spy school.
‘Thursdays at eleven. Here’s a key.’
‘Seriously, though, what happens if I can’t make it? Do I call you or-’
‘No phones. No missing your appointments.’
‘But my job,’ Lydia began, appealing for him to be reasonable. ‘I get caught up in stuff all the time. If I have to do surveillance for a client-’
‘You’ll manage,’ he said. ‘You are a resourceful woman.’
‘Once a week is excessive,’ Lydia tried another tack. ‘Things just aren’t that exciting around here. We’ll have nothing to talk about.’ She knew he wanted information on the Families and that she had agreed to give him some, that didn’t mean she was going to make it easy.
‘I’m sure we’ll think of something,’ he batted back and Lydia had the distinct impression that resistance was futile. Mr Smith wanted her to meet him every Thursday and that was exactly what was going to happen. At least until Lydia could figure out a way to get out of her obligation to him. On the plus side, she was as curious about him and his motives, as he was about her and her Family’s. Part of her, the part which was always getting her into trouble, saw it as an opportunity.
‘You had better be providing coffee and pastries.’
After Mr Smith had gone, Lydia poured herself a large whisky, figuring that she deserved it after that encounter. Every nerve was jangling and she didn’t feel able to clear the mess off her desk, let alone face her client files or accounts. Passing on the outstanding background check work was a relief, but she still had a business to run.
As if eager to prove its worth, Lydia’s proximity alarm beeped and, a moment later, there were footsteps on the landing. Lydia had a clear view from behind her desk to the front door, with its ‘Crow Investigations’ lettering and a tall shape appeared through the obscured glass.
She opened the door to a young Crow. Aiden was one of Lydia’s many cousins. Or maybe nephews. She had never tried to keep track of her wide circle of relatives but supposed that would be something else she had to change, now. He looked older than she remembered, with a scruff of beard and wary eyes, which made her feel positively ancient. Lydia offered him a whisky, which he declined, and he took the client’s seat by the desk, not the sofa, indicating that this wasn’t a social visit.
Lydia sat down opposite and folded her hands. ‘What can I do for you?’
Aiden was sitting forward on the chair, his spine straight. ‘I want to know what you told the police.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘You were arrested. And then you were let out.’ Aiden paused, letting it grow as if he had asked a question.
‘Yes?’ Lydia said eventually. ‘Your point?’
‘What happened? Police don’t just give up like that.’
‘They do when they don’t have a case,’ Lydia said. ‘And I didn’t give them anything.’
Aiden shifted in his seat. ‘That’s not what people are saying. Everyone is nervous.’
‘Well they shouldn’t be. Everything is fine.’ Lydia was trying to keep a lid on her sense of offence. The worst thing she could do would be to ramp up the tension in the room. She had to smooth the waters. Play nice. ’I already went over this,’ she added, trying to sound calm.