“But you’ll help?”
“I’ll do what I can,” Harriet said. “I’ll be in touch as I have more of the pieces sorted out.”
Erin stood and said, “I’m very grateful, and I’m sure Charlie will be, too.” Something was wrong. Erin wasn’t smiling.
“But?” Harriet ventured.
Emotion strained her voice, but Erin spoke quietly as she said, “I have to wonder how it is that you’re here, in this beautiful office – in Westminster – with your assistant, your position… when, from what little I know, you were just as guilty as Charlie.”
Harriet missed a beat before replying, “More. The guilt doesn’t even compare.” She reached out her hand for a parting handshake and repeated her earlier words, “I’ll be in touch.”
Harriet stared at the door after Erin left. Her finger went to the intercom, “Anna, cancel the rest of my appointments for today.”
There was a pause before Anna replied, “Yes, Ms. Spencer.”
Harriet looked around her office as if seeing it for the first time, seeing it through Erin’s eyes. She took in the rich detailing – the oak finishing, the leather, the artwork. And although her own office didn’t have much of a view, she could slip around the corner to a beautiful conference room with a view of the London Eye and the River Thames. From the conference room, in daylight, she could gaze at the old bronze statue of Boudicca, the Celtic queen who nearly drove the Romans off the island, in full glory with her charging horses. Yes, without a doubt she was living a better life than Charlotte.
She pulled open one of her desk drawers to remove a glass and a bottle of scotch. A little early for a drink, isn’t it? she could hear Daniel’s voice in her head. Pouring herself a healthy amount, she lifted the glass in the air and thought, To you, my friend.
As she sipped her drink, she used her desk computer to connect to His Majesty’s Prison, Drake Hall. She entered Charlotte’s six-digit prisoner number, which she suspected was permanently imprinted on her brain after entering it so many times, and Charlotte’s file appeared in projection above her desk. As always, Harriet was distracted by the image of Charlotte, floating in the air. The prisons automatically updated their prisoner image files on a monthly basis, so she knew this to be a fairly recent likeness.
To Harriet, Charlotte was perfect. Whereas others might notice her slightly crooked nose, her thin lips, or how her ears stuck out just a bit far from the sides of her head, Harriet was more likely to lose herself in Charlotte’s blue-green eyes. She wanted to reach out and stroke her hair, to touch her cheek, to run her thumb over the corners of her mouth and eyes where she imagined there could be fine lines from smiling, if she ever smiled anymore. She wanted to feel Charlotte’s lean but strong arms around her. But it was just an image, and Harriet knew better. She turned off her file.
She wanted the scotch to make her feel numb, but it would take a great deal more alcohol to accomplish that.
Unable to fight back the memory any longer, she thought of that night.
After she left the house, she had initially gone to 85 Westchester Place, where Daniel usually stayed in an upstairs room. She thought he would be working. She used her key at the front door and found the two guards on duty playing cards in the main room. On the table, where they could both see it, was a small monitor with direct feeds from the front and rear entrances. She recognized both of their faces, as they were men she had known for several years at least. They nodded in acknowledgement as she walked past them and down the hallway. She often came over to work in her office, so it was nothing out of the ordinary for her to be there.
Her pace slowed as she started up the stairs. Something was wrong. Why were all the lights off upstairs? She returned to the two guards and asked, “Has Daniel gone out?”
The older of the two – Ethan – stood and looked concerned as he addressed her. “He left about an hour ago. Is everything all right?”
She ignored the question and instead asked, “Did he say where he was going?”
“No, ma’am. He didn’t say,” Ethan replied.
She rushed back out the door without thanking him.
Daniel and Harriet had been working together for longer than she cared to recall, and she knew his habits. He was a man of routine. She went by all his regular places but still couldn’t locate him, and as she checked each place off her mental list, her trepidation increased.
With a few unlikely places still on her list, she headed for the Tube station to go across town. As she approached the station, she saw the scrolling emergency message on the marquis above the entrance. She read the words: “Police Alert – Assassination Attempt of P.M. – Westminster and St. James on Lockdown – Further Details to Follow.”
Feeling a sudden panic, Harriet knew she needed to get home and get to Charlotte. Wherever Daniel was, she would have to trust him to be safe.
Her memory jumped ahead to entering her house that night, walking past the broken doorjamb and hearing the police in her kitchen. She knew they were there before she could see them, and she had mere seconds to compose herself for whatever she would find. But no amount of time could have adequately prepared her to find Charlotte, handcuffed, pressed against her kitchen counter, and covered in blood. Harriet’s heart leapt into her throat as she thought Charlotte was injured, and then her mind registered Daniel’s body on the floor, watching as the police worked on him. Feeling time passing incredibly slowly, she observed the amount of blood on the floor near Daniel’s body and dimly understood that he was lost.
She heard a knocking on her office door, bringing her back to the present day. Opening the door just wide enough to poke her head through, Anna asked, “Would you like a cup of tea, Ms. Spencer?”
This wasn’t the first time she had cancelled appointments, nor was it the first time that Anna had seen her drinking scotch in her office. A true professional, Anna said nothing about it.
“Thank you, Anna, that would be nice.”
“Right away, then,” she said with a duck of her head.
Yes, Harriet thought, far guiltier than Charlie. If only you knew, Erin.
By the end of her workday, Harriet had had Anna fetch her everything she could find on the governor of Drake Hall, a person by the name of Naomi James. She wanted to know who she was – her background, how long she had been running Drake Hall, and what she did in her free time. She told Anna to search using her security code, which would give her access to files that any sane person would be alarmed to learn the government collected.
She then dismissed Anna early so she could read the files without interruption. “Are you sure, Ms. Spencer?” Anna asked when Harriet told her to go home early. “Shall I run and get you some takeaway? You’ve hardly eaten anything all day.”
“No, thank you. I’ll be fine. See you tomorrow, Anna.”
Anna left, and Harriet pulled up the main file on Naomi James. She studied her image – mousy brown hair arranged neatly, slender face, dark brown eyes, freckles, and young looking. She couldn’t have been older than twenty-five. Harriet checked her birthdate and calculated her age: twenty-eight. All right, she thought, so she looks a bit young for her age.
Rather than working her way up the ranks, Naomi had been fast-tracked into her position as governor by going through a graduate training program. She had gone straight from university into the prison service, moving rapidly through several senior postings until she became governor at Drake Hall. So far, she had a distinguished service record with only the usual early, minor mishaps – a consequence of the learning curve involved in working in prisons.
She was single, at least on record. She rented a flat on a modest, sensible street in Birmingham, a relatively quick commute to the prison – and a mere half hour away from London on the fast train. Not that she would splurge on the expense of the fast train. Harriet pulled her accounts to see where she spent her money. She had a monthly membership to a gym – no surprise there, given her occupation. She scanned through Naomi’s
other expenses – a green grocer, a butcher, some kind of repair service, a clothing store, a salon, a few restaurants and cafés, and several entries for a place ambiguously named The Fox. Harriet switched over to a search on The Fox, and found that it was a bar with a reputation as popular for those attracted to the same sex. Interesting, she thought.
Harriet looked again at her records and her expenditures at The Fox. It seemed she went there regularly, every Saturday morning during “happy hour,” and occasionally during the week.
Tomorrow was Saturday.
Chapter Forty-One
Harriet took the train to the Birmingham Moor Street station and walked the fifteen minutes until she arrived at the brick building that housed The Fox. Her heels echoed loudly on the cement sidewalk as she walked up to the entrance, smoothing down her skirt and feeling confident in her appearance. She was pushing forty-eight, but age had been kind to her so far. The worker at the door asked for her membership card or entrance fee, and she scanned her digicard to deposit the required sum.
Harriet entered the bar and surveyed her surroundings. The interior was somewhat smaller than she expected. She knew who she was looking for and she immediately spotted her subject at the far end of the bar, but she also knew to take her time. She sat down on a bar stool and ordered a scotch on the rocks, grateful that alcohol was being openly sold in public establishments again. She sipped her drink and purposely looked anywhere but at Naomi James.
Before arriving at The Fox, Harriet had unbuttoned her emerald silk blouse two buttons lower than she would be willing to wear for work. Now seated at the bar and leaning slightly forward, she ran her fingers through her hair and smiled at the bartender, making conversation about the latest films. She hadn’t actually seen of the films, but she had learned about them through Anna. At least they weren’t talking about the weather.
After about a half hour, she looked in Naomi’s direction and caught her eye. Harriet gave her a small smile and looked away, knowing she had her attention. She uncrossed and crossed her legs. She sipped the last few drops of her drink, and thanked the bartender for the drink as she got up to leave. She felt Naomi’s eyes on her as she left.
These days, it seemed everything Harriet did was a calculated move. She didn’t just want Naomi to talk to her, to find her interesting; rather, she wanted Naomi to go home and think about her as that mysterious woman in the bar with whom she hadn’t gotten the chance to talk. She wanted Naomi to think of her with a tinge of longing, of possibility she hadn’t had the chance to explore. She wanted Naomi to be primed for the next time she would see her.
Harriet waited a week and returned to The Fox the following Saturday, showing up almost an hour later than she had been the previous week. She again paid the entrance fee and made her way to the bar. A different bartender was working, but she followed the same routine of ordering a drink, sipping it slowly, and making friendly, if cautious, chitchat. She knew this game.
Within ten minutes, Naomi appeared at her side. “Hello,” Naomi said. “May I buy you a drink?”
Harriet eyed her drink, which was mainly just the “rocks” left from her scotch on the rocks. “Thank you,” she said, and she smiled at her. “My name is Harriet.”
“Naomi.”
“I think I remember you,” Harriet replied. “Were you here last week?”
“Yes, I was,” she said, her cheeks flushing and her mouth widening into a smile. “And I definitely remember you.”
“Oh?” Harriet asked innocently.
“We don’t see many new faces around here,” Naomi replied, “And certainly none as gorgeous as yours.”
Harriet rewarded her with a smile and said, “The London scene grows old after a while. I wanted a change.”
“You live in London?” Naomi asked.
“Mm-hmm,” she replied. She looked at the bartender, and Naomi followed her eyes.
“The lady would like another drink,” Naomi said.
“Another scotch on the rocks?” the bartender asked. Harriet nodded and said please.
“Thank you for the drink,” she said to Naomi.
“It’s my pleasure,” Naomi replied.
Harriet angled her body toward her, asking, “So, Naomi, what is it that you do for a living?”
Naomi seemed to stand up taller as she replied, “I’m the governor at Drake Hall – a woman’s prison in Staffordshire.”
Harriet carefully managed her expression as she said, “I’m familiar with it, actually. That’s quite a feat – being a governor at your age.” She looked her over appreciatively, and Naomi blushed again. Harriet leaned in closer and, smiling slightly, asked, “Do you have any other talents?”
“I can think of one or two,” Naomi said, looking eager and pleased with herself.
Harriet smiled and accepted her drink from the bartender. Naomi talked for a while about the demands of her work, how it required someone of maturity and sound judgment, and how it was a position of responsibility and respect. She told Harriet about all the officers under her command. Finally, she apologized for talking so much about herself and asked what Harriet did for a living.
Harriet hesitated then replied, “Don’t hold it against me, but I’m a Member of Parliament.”
Naomi looked momentarily stunned before asking, “Are you really?”
“I am,” Harriet replied, giving what she hoped passed for a humble smile.
“Wow, and look at me, going on about my position,” Naomi said.
“Oh no,” Harriet said, touching her arm, “What you do you is so interesting. My day is full of meetings and hearings, and mostly paperwork. It’s really quite mundane – nothing like working with prisoners.”
Naomi looked down at Harriet’s hand on her arm and then met her eyes, asking, “You’re not just saying that?”
“Of course not,” Harriet replied, sliding her hand down Naomi’s arm, caressing her skin. Naomi seemed to almost lean into her touch, and Harriet took that as her opportunity to seize the moment. “Do you live around here?” she asked lightly.
“Yes, actually,” Naomi said, swallowing hard. Harriet noted that her breathing seemed more rapid. “It’s a quick walk, really. Eight minutes, tops.”
“It’s a bit loud in here, don’t you think?” Harriet asked.
“We could go to my place,” Naomi offered,.
“That would be lovely,” Harriet replied.
#
Harriet waited until an appropriate amount of time seemed to have passed before she moved to collect her clothes from Naomi’s floor. “I’m afraid I need to run and catch the train back,” Harriet told her.
“Oh,” she said, sounding disappointed. “You’re sure you can’t stay longer?”
“Unfortunately, no.” Harriet let her words linger before slipping her blouse on and adding, “Perhaps we could see each other next Saturday. Do you have plans?”
“Really?” Naomi asked, sitting up, hugging the duvet in front of her chest. “I mean, no, I don’t have any plans.”
Harriet turned toward her as she leaned over to pull her skirt up. “Good,” she said, giving Naomi a small smile. “Shall I meet you at The Fox, or… here?”
With a relaxed expression, Naomi smiled back at her and replied, “Here. I’ll, uh, tidy up before then.” She flushed, apparently embarrassed by the disarray of her flat. “Is five o’clock too late? I’ll be working ‘til four that morning.”
“It’s perfect,” Harriet said. She made a point to kiss Naomi goodbye.
Harriet looked out the window on the train, watching as the buildings and lights blurred into abstraction. She was trying to assess whether she felt as though her actions were morally wrong. She knew that they were, that she had purposely seduced that young woman – and not because she wanted sex. Or at least, that wasn’t the primary reason. Naomi was caught in her web. Harriet felt a small rush of exhilaration at how easy it had been and, more importantly, how in a couple of more weeks she would get what she needed from her
. With that thought, she felt a resurgence of guilt. Yet, she wondered, what was this small sin when lined up next to all her others?
When Harriet arrived home, she went immediately upstairs to the bathroom. She stripped down and examined her neck, chest, and back for any love bites. Glad to have found none, she opted for a long, hot shower, scrubbing the makeup off her face and feeling the water soak into her hair.
She couldn’t shake the feeling of being bothered by the course of events. Naomi had been sincere in her lust and Harriet was confident that she had been a satisfying lover, so what was the problem? Did she feel guilt because she enjoyed being with Naomi? Should she have found a way to remain dispassionate and aloof? Well, she thought, it’s too late to go back now. But she knew she wouldn’t take it back even if she could, not when her actions had set her on the path to achieve her goal.
She turned off the water and toweled off, evaluating what her next steps should be when she returned the following week.
“Harriet? Would you like something to eat?” a voice called up the stairs. Harriet then heard him coming up the stairs. He entered the bedroom where she was dressing and whistled appreciatively.
She looked over at Thomas and smiled as though nothing was wrong, then asked, “Were you calling for me?”
“I was just seeing if you’re hungry,” he replied, walking over and encircling his arms around her waist, kissing the side of her neck. “Are you?”
She moved out of his embrace and said, “Not really, but I could go for a drink.”
“All right,” he said. He hesitated, looking slightly annoyed, and added, “I just thought you wanted to have dinner together tonight. Well, a really late dinner, it seems. Otherwise, I may have gone out.”
The Organization Page 18