by Asia Mackay
‘It’s going to be easy. No tricky cover story to remember. I’ll just be myself.’ I paused. ‘But perkier. More into babies, less into guns.’ I continued eating my cereal.
Jake leaned forward. ‘Dimitri’s file is full of reports on his talent for making anyone who’s pissed him off disappear. He’s ruthless, violent and suspicious of exactly who you are.’
I put my spoon down. ‘I can do this. Don’t worry so much. If I say no to the invite he’s going to find some other way to get to me. Saying yes means I have nothing to hide and I get a golden opportunity to plant a tracking device.’
I pulled out my phone and typed back a message to Dasha.
We would love to. You must show me Dimitri’s favourite watch, I really need inspiration for what to buy Will for Christmas.
I looked at it for a second and then added an exclamation mark after ‘Christmas’. I pressed send. Me but perkier.
I could do this.
On my way to Sandy’s office to update him, my mobile rang.
Gillian. I braced myself for another conversation about what else the Daily Mail had informed her was a potential hidden danger to her granddaughter. Last week it had been baby wipes. The week before, limescale in the kettle.
‘All okay?’
‘Yes, everything’s fine, Alexis. We’ve been having a lovely morning at home.’ GigiCam had shown that Gillian’s mornings at home usually involved Gigi wriggling on her playmat while Gillian snoozed in front of Loose Women. ‘I just can’t find Monkey and I know Gigi likes sleeping with him.’
I tried to think back to where I had last seen him. The nappy bag.
‘Monkey is in the bag.’
‘Oh, yes, why didn’t I think of that? I’ll just check. It’s right here on the table.’ There was a pause as she rummaged through it. ‘Ah, yes, found him.’
I looked up to see Bennie standing next to me. I stared at him. ‘I have to go,’ I told Gillian, and ended the call. ‘Looking for another chance to try to crush my firing hand?’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’ He smirked. ‘Sounds like all that sleep deprivation is making you very clumsy. Better quit now before you really injure yourself.’
‘I’m never going to quit, Bennie. So stop with the attacks. I’m too much of a professional to engage in this playground bullshit.’
‘I wouldn’t say personal calls on work time were very professional.’ He tutted.
I wrinkled my brow. ‘What are you talking about? I just came off a high-level call of the utmost importance. Why would you . . .?’ I stopped. ‘Oh, of course. You wouldn’t know about Monkeys.’
I walked off, leaving him frowning that there was an animal codename in our glossary he was not yet privileged enough to know about.
*
Sandy had none of Jake’s reservations about the dinner.
‘Excellent. This is just the break we need.’
‘What about back-up?’
Sandy shook his head. ‘Too risky. Signs of our people watching the house could be what he’ll be looking for. Besides if he’s on to you then back-up won’t help. The mission is blown.’
Eight had no interest in saving me if it looked like Dimitri and his team were going to take me out. It was better for the Platform to let me die than show their involvement. Rats were there to make problems disappear. Not create them.
‘And if your husband makes any fuss about going with you remind him of all the things he’s dragged you to.’
I didn’t bother pointing out that as tedious as the numerous partner events and work drinks Will had insisted I attend were, they had not at any point endangered my life.
Sandy opened up his laptop. ‘What’s the update on the Drunk Driver?’
‘We’ve confirmed Dimitri is flying to Moscow by private jet from Farnborough airport. R & D are about to start work on embedding a needle into the Lamborghini driver’s seat we sourced and we’re slowly making progress on ways to neutralise the complicated alarm system in Dimitri’s garage.’
‘We’re on the final countdown now.’ Sandy looked up at me. ‘We can’t afford any setbacks. This dinner party had better end with Dimitri thinking you’re just a boring mum friend or we’re fucked.’
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Subject: GirlsLikeBigD**ks
MISSION: #80436
UNIT: UNICORN
WEASEL: DIMITRI TUPOLEV
ALERT: 8 DAYS TO POP DAY
Chapter Fifteen
D-DAY.
Tonight Will and I would be dining with Dasha and Dimitri. I stared at myself in the mirror. I was preparing for social warfare and my husband was my wingman. It had taken a while to find a dress that would help me do my best ‘rich and thin’ impression. I’d settled on a burgundy Whistles number with a gold trim and inbuilt support.
‘Wowzers,’ was Will’s reaction as I came downstairs. ‘Now remind me who these people are again?’
‘Remember I told you about that kids’ charity I had got involved with? Dasha works with them too. And her children are at a school we might send Gigi to.’
‘She’s not even seven months old and we’re talking schools?’ He laughed.
‘Actually, we’re already late to the waiting list. You’re meant to put them down for it at birth.’ For some reason I wasn’t laughing with him.
‘That’s just crazy.’
‘Well, it’s the way things are done.’ I was very aware I was sounding like Tamara. I tried to shake it off and adjusted his tie for him. ‘And, darling, don’t mention GCDSB. If anyone asks about my work let’s just stick with “civil servant”. Her husband is one of those paranoid Russian types and I can’t face an evening of being interrogated over what British security practices involve.’
‘You don’t need to worry. Even after all these years you do realise I have no idea what “Government Data Co.” is actually called. GC . . SDBG . . . GC . . I give up.’ He gave me a long kiss then stroked my cheek. ‘Let’s go before I decide to keep you here instead.’ He took my hand.
I really hoped I wouldn’t regret walking into this exclusive Notting Hill dinner party unarmed.
*
Having observed Dasha and Dimitri’s house several times from outside in all its detached glory I had to admit I had more than a professional interest in seeing what it was like inside. I rang the doorbell and looked up and down the street while we waited. In the large communal gardens opposite, lit up by the overhead street light, was a man wearing a baseball cap with his back to us sitting on a bench smoking. I watched the way he took a drag.
Jake.
Ignoring orders as usual. I smiled.
The front door opened and we were welcomed inside the marble hallway by a uniformed maid. In front of the grand sweeping staircase was a gilt table supporting an enormous white floral centrepiece that wouldn’t have looked out of place at a royal wedding. We followed her through to the drawing room where there were lavish armchairs and plump sofas in grey velvet, and in the corner a large grand piano self-playing Mozart.
Dasha was standing alone in the impressive room, dwarfed by its ridiculous proportions. Her blonde hair was piled high on her head and she wore a pale blue silk jumpsuit and sky-high strappy heels. Round her neck was a diamond necklace that was so enormous it looked as though it had to be fake. Yet the way it beautifully caught the light from the oversized chandelier told me otherwise.
‘Alexis, Will, welcome.’ She held out her arms in greeting. One hand gripped her ever-present vape.
I had brought lilies. Beautiful white lilies. A funeral flower. I think she got the joke as she looked surprisingly happy at receiving them before handing them over to the maid.
She motioned for the waiter to come forward with his tray of champagne glasses.
‘Dimitri is coming shortly. It’s so nice having a relaxed dinner at home.’
‘Yes. Quite.’ I nodded in agre
ement although my idea of a relaxed dinner didn’t involve Spanx, catering, or fake friends.
There were some noises at the front door and Frankie and her husband Boris were led in.
‘Darling, this place is looking incredible.’ Air kisses were exchanged.
A door slammed from somewhere in the house and a minute later Dimitri entered the room. He was larger and more imposing than the many photos we had of him would suggest. His thickset eyebrows gave him such a dark gravitas I could not imagine how he would look smiling. He gave a brief kiss to Frankie, a friendly back slap to Boris and said something obviously very witty in Russian as it made the smaller man laugh out loud. He approached Will and me.
‘Good evening. Welcome to my home.’ He stared at me, unsmiling, as we shook hands.
‘Thanks for having us. Beautiful place you have here.’ Will seemed totally unintimidated by the grand surroundings, the distractingly beautiful wife and the sinister-looking husband. I had underestimated just how used he was to forced socialising from his years as a high-flying lawyer. Or maybe I had just underestimated him.
Dimitri took a glass and sat himself down on one of the sofas. We all followed his lead.
‘Papa! Papa!’ Natalya came running into the room, having left her hiding place at the top of the stairs at the sound of his voice. She raced on to his lap, jolting his hand holding the glass, spilling champagne over him. He spoke shortly to her in low Russian. I couldn’t understand what he said but I saw the girl’s face fall and her eyes fill with tears. She bit her lip, nodded her head, and ran out of the room. Dasha’s face darkened as she got up and followed her daughter. Natalya threw herself into her arms at the bottom of the stairs. Dasha held her for a few moments and stroked her hair before gently taking her hand and walking her up the stairs.
Tamara and her husband Ed walked in.
‘Hello everyone!’
Happy to have an excuse to not focus on the awkwardness of our host’s foul mood we all got up to greet them with an enthusiasm that I think surprised them. Dasha returned to the room, her hostess smile once again in place. As soon as greetings and air kisses had been undertaken we all sat back down again. Tamara was the first to break the silence.
‘So, how are you Alexis? How’s little Gigi?’
‘Good, thank you. Gigi could do with sleeping more but she’s going through such a sweet stage. I must have about a million photos of her on my phone. I—’
‘Show me.’ Dimitri interrupted. There was a pause as we all looked at him. ‘I love babies. Don’t I, darling?’ He turned to me and said again more insistently, ‘Show me.’
Dasha drained her champagne glass.
‘You don’t need to tell a new mother twice.’ I reached into my bag and pulled out my phone. I clicked on to photos and straight away a grinning Gigi popped up. I looked down at her beautiful face and felt nauseous. It felt as if somehow this man’s darkness could sully her very innocence just by his glancing at her image. I cleared my throat.
‘So this was today. Look how pretty that dress is. And here,’ I flicked to the next one where Gigi was covered in puree, frowning. ‘She wasn’t so sure about the new flavour we tried at dinner.’
Dimitri took the phone out of my hand and started to flick through the photos himself.
A sign that he was suspicious of exactly who I was, or he was so lacking in social etiquette he didn’t realise that going through someone’s camera roll uninvited was the equivalent to rifling through their underwear drawer.
‘Okay, you just go ahead. As you can see, she loves the swing, and . . . yes, there she is in the bath with Daddy. You can’t see anything can you? Lucky for bubbles!’ I took another gulp of champagne.
‘Now, yes, there’s a nice one of me and her; a selfie, of course. Husbands never take photos. There are hardly any nice ones of me with her and hundreds of them together.’ There were murmurs of, ‘That’s so true’ from all the wives except Dasha; she was now drinking her second glass of champagne as she stared straight at Dimitri, who was continuing to flick through the two thousand four hundred and fifty-six photos I had on my phone. Suddenly the sound of Gigi gurgling came into the room, along with my embarrassing baby voice saying, ‘That’s it! Come on, roll over! Come on, you can do it! Who’s a clever baby?’
Somewhere around the halfway mark Dimitri stopped and tried to hand my phone back to me but by now I was actually quite enjoying my Gigi slideshow.
‘Actually, if you go a little further back there’s a great one where she’s holding a rattle in each hand. It’s quite amazing – at this point she was only four months old and Google told me that it was very advanced to be dual holding so young.’ I leaned over and flicked through until I reached the photo I was looking for.
‘See?’ I showed him Gigi’s triumph.
‘Yes, I see. Very nice. Lovely daughter.’ He directed this at Will.
A golden Labrador came into the room. As Dasha desperately wanted to reinvent herself as a member of English high society it wasn’t surprising she’d selected a breed of dog in keeping with the social class she was trying to break into.
‘He’s not allowed in here.’ Dimitri grabbed the dog by his collar and took him through to the next-door room.
Frankie moved into the space on the sofa he had vacated.
‘Darling, I have to ask. Your interior designer, was it Sergio?’
Dasha leaned back and folded her arms. ‘Yes.’
Frankie clasped her hands to her chest. ‘Sergio only takes on two projects a year. I cannot believe you got him.’
‘Would you like to look round?’
The Queen Bee was offering up the keys to her kingdom. Of course we weren’t going to say no.
*
The house was, as expected, perfect. But too perfect. It had been interior designed to death. In the elaborate drawing room every coffee-table book on the velvet ottoman had been precisely positioned and quite obviously never opened. The modern kitchen, all clean lines and smooth countertops, was so stark it was hard to believe there was real food in the cupboards.
I thought of our small terraced home, how it was positively straining at the seams to contain all the life within it. Cupboards that couldn’t quite completely shut because of all the toys inside. Bookshelves heaved with battered paperbacks and the odd loose photo – ones that had made us smile but we hadn’t quite got round to finding a frame for. Laundry haphazardly hung to dry round the house. A pile of shoes by the door. It was a home that was well worn but real. And, sleep deprivation and secret job aside, pretty happy.
Dasha’s home felt cold, devoid of love, a monument to the unhappiness of the family that lived there. Or maybe I was being dramatic. Maybe it said nothing at all except that they were rich with good taste and I just knew the lady of the house wanted her husband dead.
Chapter Sixteen
‘ALL YOU NEED IS LOVE’ was the somewhat hopeful sentiment in red curly script above a four-foot black-and-white close-up wedding photo of Dasha and Dimitri. Staring into each other’s eyes, hands clasped, proudly showing off their bling wedding rings. This testament to their love was hung on the wall opposite their bed.
‘That song was our first dance.’ Clearly the irony of that choice when marrying a man worth billions was lost on Dasha. ‘The rings are a Cartier special commission. Russian wedding rings in gold, platinum and black diamond to commemorate his mother. She had very simple and traditional taste.’
I looked at the three interlocking rings on each of their fingers. There was nothing simple or traditional about those rings – even the gold and platinum ones were glinting with extra diamonds.
Dasha had already led Frankie and Tamara through to her dressing room. I took a quick glance around and followed them.
‘Oh my fucking God, woman, this place is insane.’ Frankie slumped down on to the ornate chaise longue in the centre of the room. ‘I never want to leave.’
‘We’re really happy with how it turned out.’ Dasha ra
n a finger along the corner of one of the shelves. She looked at it and rubbed it against her thumb. ‘We carefully planned everything. Even a hidden safe for my jewellery and Dimitri’s watches.’
‘Does he have many watches? I’m thinking of getting Will a new one for Christmas.’
‘Dimitri has quite a collection and wears a different one every evening, although he always wears the same one during the day. A gold Rolex. It was made especially for him. He takes terrible care of it though. Never puts it back in the safe like he should. I even found Natalya playing with it in the bathroom this evening.’
‘Jesus! Lucky he didn’t see her, can’t imagine he would’ve taken it calmly,’ said Frankie, half laughing. There was a pause as we remembered his flash of temper earlier.
I cleared my throat. ‘Dasha, please could I use your loo?’
‘Of course, it’s right through there.’ She gestured to a small door at the back of the dressing room.
Inside the expansive marble bathroom I saw Dimitri’s Rolex next to the sink. I reached into my dress and pulled the small bespoke metal picks out of my underwired bra. I turned the watch over and, using the delicate tools, unscrewed the back of the watch. I took off my right earring and used the other end of the picks to dislodge one of the tiny gems from its setting. I placed the gem inside the watch and carefully replaced the back. The whole operation took just under a minute.
You’ve still got it, I thought, as I watched myself in the mirror putting my earring back in. I flushed the loo, ran the taps for a moment and opened the door to find myself face to face with Dimitri. He filled the whole doorframe.
‘Sorry, I didn’t realise you were waiting.’ I kept my voice level as I looked him in the eye, small grin fixed to my face. Normal. Boring. Harmless. This was what I needed him to think of me.