Chapter 65 Surveillance
Cait meets me at Pret. No one in our circle comes here. The counter staff don’t speak to you, and everyone looks like they’re waiting for a bus. It’s the first thing I mention to Cait when she arrives.
‘That’s the point, Lalla – we can speak privately here,’ she says in a hushed, conspiratorial tone.
‘So what did you find out at Hollis’s flat? You’re looking tired. I presume you stayed late?’
‘I had to. It’s his address, but there’s no way I could get in. He was there the whole time, so I just watched him from one of those industrial bins. I could see right into his living room.’
‘Brilliant work, Cait, and did you find anything out?’
‘He’s good-looking, isn’t he? And he’s so committed to the wheelchair thing. I didn’t see him stand once. I really got into it. I think I like stalking.’
‘Well, it’s nice to see you broadening your interests.’
I sip my coffee while Cait retrieves her notebooks and tries to find the right page. The coffee is surprisingly good. Cait casts another suspicious look around the café and says, ‘The police knew I was there.’
‘How?’ I say, about to throw my coffee over her as the last thing I need is the police talking to Hollis.
‘I have to report to the police station every week. It’s a condition of my bail, and I didn’t realize they monitor my location. They told me off for being out after curfew and asked what I was doing.’
‘Christ, Cait, you’ve got to be more careful. Did they ask for a name?’
‘No. They just said they’d re-arrest me if I was out again after curfew.’
‘How are the twins?’ I say, trying to move her onto less dramatic topics as the woman next to us is staring.
We speak about children for a good ten minutes.
I explain how Nelly is getting on with her exam practice (not well) and how Nathan is teaching me how to speak worm (apparently worms only use vowel sounds and the letter ‘w’).
Cait explains that living with her mum is difficult, as her mum thinks she spoils the girls, but she’s quickly back on her favourite topic – London’s underground crime bosses and Matthew Hollis.
We share a millionaire’s shortbread (shouldn’t have bothered) and part company.
I watch Cait pull her scarf over her mouth and slip into the stream of pedestrians.
With the potential divorce ahead, I need to be rid of Hollis or I won’t even get the house from Stephen.
I think that framing Cait is the best way forward, as she’s going to be in prison anyway, and her electronic tag will now have recorded her presence both at Hollis’s flat and his shooting club.
Also, her DNA and fingerprints are all over his car.
As I’m finishing my coffee, I have a call from an unfamiliar number. I imagine it’s the estate agent again, as I’ve transferred Lawrence’s fifty thousand to secure Hampstead. I know it’s crazy, given what Stephen has been doing, but I’m pushing ahead with my plan on all fronts, regardless.
It’s a female voice, but it’s not Esmae’s. The woman tells me that she’s the receptionist at the Harley Street Health Centre, and she’s called to arrange a conversation with the doctor, as the results from my fertility tests have arrived, which seems a little bit bloody late.
I ask for the results, and she says the doctor wants to speak to me.
I tell her I’d prefer not to, as I don’t have much time.
She says it’s protocol. I tell her that women have been denied unmediated access to information about their own health for centuries, and she repeats the whole conversation from the top until I am browbeaten into accepting a telephone appointment.
About dinner time, with no word about Stephen’s partner nomination, I call Josh Krill. I’ve been trying to get in touch with Josh for days, but he’s not been answering my calls.
‘Why the fuck are you calling me?’ he says, charming as ever.
‘I wonder if I could get an update on our agreement,’ I say.
‘My wife’s listening,’ he whispers.
‘I’ll be discreet,’ I say. ‘Now, tell me, is Stephen Rook in line to be made partner?’
‘I recommended him, all right, which made me look like a prick. What more do you want from me?’
‘I want more than a recommendation. I want certainty.’
‘He’s third rate, at best. He’s nowhere near the cut. How could I make him a partner?’
‘You have influence. You manage to silence anyone you abuse. You work it out, or I’m going public with my story. My contact is keen to speak her truth.’
‘I’ve done what I said I’d do,’ he sneers. ‘Can’t do more than that unless you offer a little sweetener, if you know what I mean.’
‘As kind as your offer is, I believe I have enough leverage. Your career is worth millions, so I think you’re getting quite enough. You have one week, or this goes public.’