Chapter Seven #2
I tried to yank my arm away, but he was too strong. He kept a smile on his face. To someone watching, we probably looked like a playful couple.
He put his mouth to my ear, as if we were lovers. I froze. He said, “Don’t fight me. We wouldn’t want you to get hurt.”
Diana
Diana stood in the ladies’ restroom off the lobby of a glistening tower less than half a mile from the building called the
Gherkin in the City of London. The room was fancy, tricked out in marble, lit like a dressing room, folded hand towels beside
the basins. The stalls were empty; she was alone, apart from the multiple reflections of herself in all the mirrors.
She washed her hands slowly. She had five minutes before she was due upstairs, enough time to compose herself. Charlotte mustn’t
see any worry in her face, no hint at all that Anya was AWOL and the body of an Asian woman had been found in the Thames.
As to that, Diana had a contact in the police who might be able to tell her more, but she was loath to get in touch yet. Better
to wait a little. She’d had scares like this before that had turned out to be nothing. She looked at her reflection, searching
for signs of stress on her face. Sometimes she wished it showed more. People assumed she was infinitely capable, but everybody
had a breaking point.
I could do it all, she thought, if other people didn’t make changes, like compressing the timeline for Anya Brown to deliver.
This morning was proof that that wasn’t working, that they’d moved too fast bringing Anya Brown here, and Diana had been right
to call it. The question was, would anyone listen to her now, even after she’d been proved right?
It was so important that they got this right.
They were gambling with the highest of stakes.
Lives had been lost and deep down, this troubled Diana, even though she understood the deaths had been necessary.
You couldn’t play with fire unless you accepted you might be burned, and that went for both the Kats and the Larks.
However, the ultimate gamble was whether the objects they were seeking would lead them to The Book of Wonder. If they didn’t, all this effort would have been spent and lives would have been lost for nothing, and that, she knew, would
keep her up at night for the rest of her life.
But she mustn’t let doubt get in her way. She was as confident as she could be that they were on the right track. They’d based
their decision on information passed from woman to woman in whispers over centuries. Some dismissed them as nonsense, but
Diana was convinced they had truth in them.
The whispers suggested that clues to the location of The Book of Wonder were encoded somewhere or somehow in Magnus Beaufort’s collection and within the embroidery, too. Diana just had to bring
the relevant objects together and have the means to interpret them.
“I insist that we keep the embroidery from Anya until we’re sure she’s loyal to us. We don’t want her seeing it, then putting
two and two together once she has access to his collection. She could go rogue,” Charlotte had said.
Diana believed there was sense in that approach—Anya was a very bright girl—but she wondered if Charlotte might revise it
now that timing was a more urgent issue. The Fellowship of the Larks weren’t the only ones looking for The Book of Wonder. The Order of St. Katherine were, too. It was a race. But Diana believed the Larks had the upper hand now. The Kats didn’t
have Anya, and, more important, they didn’t know that the Beaufort collection had survived. Yet. Diana didn’t underestimate
their ability to find out.
She really needed to talk to Charlotte about the necessity of not rushing this.
She closed her eyes, placed the palms of her hands on her belly, and inhaled slowly and deeply, then exhaled.
When she opened her eyes again, she saw reflections of herself everywhere—the room was a hall of mirrors—but she looked calm and composed, her shoulders back, her head high, and she took some strength from that.
She would go to this meeting and press palms with Charlotte’s City contact.
Then she would locate Anya and talk to her again.
Hopefully, she’d have had a chance to cool down by then.
She hadn’t fled out of town; the tracker on her phone told Diana that Anya was still in Central London.
She was a bright girl. She would come to see that there was only one sensible choice she could make. Certainly, it was worth
giving her time and space to allow her to think the decision had been hers to make. And if she didn’t make the right choice,
well, Diana didn’t love threatening people, but if it came to it, she would.
She wasn’t worried about Magnus. He’d be fine if he got what he wanted in the end. His self-absorption was truly a gift, on
occasion.
The express elevator took her up to the forty-fourth floor in seconds. It was on the outside of the building and its glass
walls offered majestic views of London’s most iconic sights. The day was clear, and in the far distance, Diana saw planes
circling Heathrow Airport. The River Thames cut its serpentine path through the City like a mythological beast. Perspective
was always useful. You had to think big and be bold to achieve anything meaningful. Women wouldn’t have better lives unless
they were brave.
The elevator stopped and its doors slid open. Diana stepped out, looking perfectly composed. She approached a curved reception
desk.
“I’m here to see Bridget Farley,” she told the polished receptionist.
The meeting room was finer than Diana had imagined. Carpet thick enough to threaten the stability of her heels, a view just
as good as the one from the elevator. They were directly above the Tower of London. Charlotte Craven was already in the room.
Bridget Farley was, too. She sat at the head of a large conference table, polished to a gleam.
Bridget wore a dark pantsuit and cream blouse, heavily accessorized by chunky gold jewelry.
She had glossy red curls, emeralds in her ears, and a vintage Rolex on her wrist. Diana had a lot of admiration for Bridget.
She’d smashed through the glass ceiling, making her a powerful ally for the Larks, but she was tricky to handle.
Bridget wasn’t known to be a good team player.
Bridget believed that Bridget was always right.
Diana shook hands with her. Bridget’s grip was assertive, as usual. They sat.
“I have good news and bad,” Bridget said. “The good news is that we are fully supportive of your venture and can help you
arrange funding. The bad news is that we can raise only half of what you’ll need, and we’ve been unable to secure any other
backers. It’s disappointing. To secure the site, you’ll need to find an extra twenty million pounds. I hate to admit it, but
I’ve run out of rope to get that for you, and believe me, I’ve tried every contact I know.”
Charlotte and Diana exchanged a glance. Charlotte nodded.
“We have a source for the money,” Diana said. “Our only obstacle is an unpredictable timeline in terms of liquidity.”
“Investors hate two things: lack of liquidity and unpredictability. Can you give me an estimate?”
“We should have access to the full amount in three months,” Charlotte said. Diana smiled to cover up the rush of doubt she
felt. It was an audacious claim. They hadn’t agreed that Charlotte could promise this. She likely wouldn’t have if she’d known
that right now, Anya Brown was probably trying to figure out a future where she didn’t have anything to do with her father
or his collection.
Bridget smiled. “Three months is doable. These things take time, anyway. So long as you can guarantee it.”
“I guarantee it,” Charlotte said, boldly.
Diana kept her mouth shut, but she felt as if this might be the straw that broke her back. Even if she got Anya back on board
in the next twenty-four hours, three months could prove impossible. But it was an unbreakable rule of the Fellowship of the
Larks that you never contradicted your sisters in public. If you did, there would be consequences.
Sid
Sid’s neighbor peered at the photograph he’d found online of Minxu Peng.
“Yes,” she said. “That’s her. Can I ask why you have this?”
He told her about the anonymous note he’d received and the searches he’d done. She said, “I think we’d better have a little
chat. Would you like a cup of tea?”
Her cottage wasn’t as nice as his and Anya’s place. It shared the views but the interior had the bleak feel of a student rental,
with cheap fittings and drafty windows that rattled in the wind.
“Take a seat, dear.” As Maggie made tea, Sid sat at the table, which was covered with a neatly organized array of folders,
a laptop, an iPad, and a notebook. It looked very businesslike, not what he was expecting.
She set down mugs of tea and sat.
“I need to tell you something,” she said. “And it might sound crazy, but bear with me, because I promise it’s true.”
“Okay,” he said quietly. He was starting to feel uneasy.
“Min—Minxu—has come to harm, I’m sure of it.”
“For real?”
“It’s very real. We think Min got hurt because she knew too much.”
“Too much about what?”
“About what the Institute is doing. Ask yourself why someone like Min, who trained in your specialty, was given a job at the
Institute.”
“I don’t know.” He hadn’t had a chance to think about it properly, but it was odd. “I’m sorry, but who are you exactly?” he
asked.
“I’m an investigator. I’ve been looking into Min’s disappearance on behalf of her family. Her parents desperately want to
find their daughter.”
Sid stared. She looked nothing like how he imagined a private investigator would. “I guess you’re going to tell me next that your name isn’t Maggie.” He laughed, but she didn’t crack a smile.
“My name is Mel Drummond.” She handed him a card. It had a company name on it: Drummond Private Investigations.
“No way.” This couldn’t be real. Unless it could.