Paris Spring
Page 36
‘I have the names. They’re all looking forward to it. We’re so glad Will can make it, and we’re sorry to be in such a rush. You know how it goes.’
‘That’s just how we like it,’ Francesca said. ‘It’s opening-night panic here.’
In Whitehall, the pavements were thick with gangs of visitors, the curious and the lost. Crackling commentaries spilled from the open-topped tour buses and a few words floated through the window in Flemyng’s inner office that Lucy had decided she must open at last.
She was still at the desk, fiddling with a heavy black pen but writing nothing. She didn’t know he had arrived back until the door opened and he was standing in front of her. She noticed sweat stains on his pink shirt, and a hint of wildness in his hair. But he smiled.
‘Where have you been?’
‘I went for walk. I’m allowed to, don’t you think?’ He was still smiling, hanging his jacket on the coatstand, undoing another shirt button. Looking away as he spoke, he said, ‘Anything up? An exciting telegram maybe?’ He busied himself with an open red box on the corner of the desk, and she saw the nervousness in his shuffling with the files inside. He closed it and turned the lock with the tiny brass key that went back into his pocket.
Lucy was ready. Her tremble had gone, and she was alert to every change in his expression. He was relaxing, but she spotted the effort in masking the tiredness. Lucy said he should sit down, and even gestured to his chair as she stood up from it, in charge again.
She took his place in the doorway, turning away to close the door quietly. Spinning round, strands of light red hair sweeping across her face, she sensed that they were both reluctant to break the deep silence. His eyes were fixed on her, and she realized that his concentration had kicked in.
‘You’re going to have to get to Paul’s office quickly,’ she said.
‘Paul? Quickly?’
She watched him lean back and slip one hand into his shirt, touching the scar.
‘When you were out’ and she added with a deliberate hint of the cruelty that intimates understand ‘... wherever you were...’
He was utterly still.
‘I heard some strange tidings from Paul. And bad, however you look at it.’
His hands were back on the desk and she saw that he was trying to hold them still.
‘There’s a dead American. And he has your phone number in his pocket.’
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About James Naughtie
JAMES NAUGHTIE, who presented Today on BBC Radio 4 for twenty-one years, is a special correspondent for BBC News. He has written books on politics and music and published his first novel, The Madness of July, in 2014. He lives in Edinburgh and London.
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First published in the UK in 2016 by Head of Zeus Ltd
Copyright © James Naughtie, 2016
The moral right of James Naughtie to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act of 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. All characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
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A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.
ISBN (HB) 9781784080198
ISBN (XTPB) 9781784080204
ISBN (E) 9781784080181
Jacket design: Ghost
Jacket images: Ghost and Laurence Winram / Trevillion Images
Author photo: Hugh Dickens
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