High Pressure Read online

  ‘Where’s she from?’

  ‘Bradford, like I said. Her family are from Pakistan, I think.’

  He’d shaken his head at that, looking at her incredulously.

  ‘Reiss? Really? He’s from Charleston. He doesn’t eat with—’

  The manager had arrived to see if he wanted to order before he had a chance to say it. Why was she so stupid? She knew what Reiss was like. Why had she even said that? Marissa could feel herself cowering even more. She just wanted to crawl into a cave and stay there. Forever.

  Thank God he’d looked at the time then, had knocked back the rest of his wine and stood up.

  ‘I’ve got to get over to the embassy. The traffic will be crap with all this stuff going on and the Tube’s like an inferno.’ He’d bent down to kiss her. ‘I’ll see you at home.’

  Was that a promise or a threat?

  What had he been doing there in the first place?

  He should have been in the office in Canary Wharf. He’d said he was going to the Irish embassy for the reception, but that was in Belgravia, nowhere near here. She’d casually asked where he’d been going, to end up walking past this particular restaurant, but he’d been vague, said something about collecting something in Waterstones in Gower Street. But he had staff for that, and he’d almost walked past a Waterstones shop on Tottenham Court Road to get here. And Russell Square Tube station was closer.

  Christ.

  How had he known she’d be here, now, at 1.30?

  Thank God lunch had been moved to 12.30 this morning.

  Part of her had felt sick with relief – the part of her that wasn’t gripped by fear.

  Marissa hurried on down Oxford Street, clutching her handbag. She’d get something wonderful for dinner from Selfridges Foodhall and hopefully that would distract him. He loved everything from Arabica, she’d get batata harra. And something for dessert and some good wine. It was the perfect weather for Middle Eastern food.

  Thoughts flew in her head as Marissa weaved through the crowds on the wide pavement, thankful she’d decided to wear her flat gold sandals, the leather as soft as butter. It was a long walk all the way up Oxford Street in this heat, but walking did her good; it calmed her down and helped her focus. And the Central Line was like an oven.

  Marissa could see the pillared façade of Selfridges when she felt her phone vibrate in her hand.

  Pausing, she dipped into the doorway of a tourist shop, T-shirts and backpacks emblazoned with Union Jacks and ‘I love London’ logos hanging from every conceivable surface, and flipped open the cover, her anxiety making her hands shake. Was Steve texting, checking up on her, or …? But it was only Thelma from the church. Thelma, who managed the soup kitchen like Granuaile, the pirate queen, ready to do battle with a cup of tea permanently cooling in her hand and her red hair piled into an untidy knot.

  How had she forgotten she was due there tonight?

  So much was going around inside her head – lunch and Steve and … But it was Thursday. Steve wouldn’t expect her to be home until after ten when they’d cleared everything away; he’d be outside, waiting to pick her up.

  That was why he was going out with Reiss tonight – because he thought she wouldn’t be home.

  Marissa tried hard to focus, to clear the rising feeling of panic. She needed to be careful. She couldn’t risk mistakes like this.

  Behind her she heard someone talking about the bomb in Trafalgar Square, about something happening in Wimbledon. Half-listening, Marissa could feel her heart racing.

  She’d get the dinner now and this evening she’d leave it out for him. She wasn’t due at the church until six and it was only ten minutes by taxi from the house.

  She still had time to collect the dry-cleaning and to get home and make sure Rani had cleaned everything properly. To make sure the house was exactly how Steve liked it.

  She caught a snatch of the conversation continuing behind her: ‘Bombs. It’s all on Twitter, nobody knows what happening but it’s bad. They’ve evacuating all over. It sounds like chaos.’

  Suddenly feeling as if she was caught in suspended animation, Marissa looked at her phone again. What was it about today, that so much was happening? If there was a security alert, she could have problems getting home and then she’d be late to the church. Ideas flashed through her mind like trains passing in the night, the lights from their windows blurred. Marissa’s thumb hovered over her phone as she replied.

  Just shopping, Oxford Street an oven. Won’t be late. See you later!

  She hit send and closed her eyes, silently thanking Thelma.

  Chapter 5

  ‘Can I offer you a glass of Champagne?’

  Anna Lockharte paused at the entrance to the Irish embassy’s main reception room and smiled at the girl holding a silver salver. She looked like a student, her hair a striking shade of pink. Anna caught the flash of a diamond nose stud as the girl lifted the tray, a smile lighting her elfin face. ‘It’s chilled.’

  ‘That sounds like exactly what I need, but I have to speak. I’d be a bit worried it might go straight to my head.’

  Anna met the girl’s eye in a moment of mutual understanding. The girl grinned. ‘It’ll help cool you down, though, it’s even stuffier inside.’

  ‘I was afraid of that.’ Anna’s hand hovered beside the glass. ‘I should have water, really. I’m already cutting it fine arriving now. If I get tipsy, too, I won’t be popular.’

  Sensing her reluctance, the girl grinned and twisted the tray around to several glasses of sparkling water. Her eyes were grey, like winter surf, and together with her high cheekbones and waif-like figure, she was striking. The girl raised an eyebrow.

  ‘The British have this thing about being early for everything. You’re bang on time.’

  Anna switched her phone to her left hand and reached for a glass of water, unable to resist a grin. It had only taken her a moment to work out the girl’s accent, mixed in with shades of places warmer than her home.

  ‘Dublin?’

  ‘Wexford, you’re close enough. Via the rest of the world.’

  Anna raised an eyebrow. ‘Where? Gap year?’

  ‘Travelling, yes, bit longer than a year.’ The girl rolled her grey eyes. ‘My mother would turn in her grave.’

  ‘She wanted you to go straight to college, get a proper job?’

  ‘Yep. Something nice and steady. I’ve a place at Empress College, computer science, but …’ She shrugged. ‘I wanted to see a bit of the world before I got sucked into deadlines and exams.’

  ‘You are so right. I’m Anna, by the way, Trinity College via New York. I’m feeling your pain.’

  ‘Brioni – everyone calls me Bri.’ She smiled wryly. ‘The college of life – looking for answers.’

  Anna raised her glass. ‘Aren’t we all?’

  Inside, Anna weaved her way quickly across the elegant reception room that dominated the first floor of the embassy. Someone had thrown open the French windows all along the side of the room overlooking the street. You could tell the British weren’t used to hot weather; if they’d been in the Mediterranean, the windows would be firmly shut and the shutters closed to keep out the hottest part of the day. The room was much better designed for winter; heavy brocade curtains were parted with gold rope tassels which mirrored the gold plasterwork on the ceiling and walls. A huge ornate fireplace begged to be the centre of attention.

  Phew, it was hot.

  Anna was very glad she’d clipped her thick auburn hair up off her neck this morning. She was wearing her lightest summer dress, floaty cream organza over silk, but she was still beginning to feel sticky.

  Although the hallway downstairs was a very welcome few degrees cooler than the street, the darkness a relief from the glare outside, as Brioni had said, this room was much stuffier on many levels, with dark-suited academics hovering awkwardly in small groups.

  Male academics. Mostly over fifty.

  Anna knew without looking that she was the only woma
n in the room, if you didn’t count the ambassador’s wife and the staff. Which wasn’t great, really. Not when they were supposed to be announcing the creation of a scholarship for female students in STEM, linking Trinity College Dublin and University College London.

  Anna sipped her water and, hiding her irritation, nodded to several of the professors she recognised as she headed towards the ambassador’s wife, Isolde Mulcahy. On the far side of the room, the ambassador was deep in conversation with a clean-shaven, preppy-looking man.

  The ambassador, Donal Mulcahy, was a tall, good-looking man, one whom age suited. Anna knew he was almost sixty, his dark hair peppered with grey. The man with him was tightening his tie and leaning in to tell Donal something amusing, eliciting hearty laughter. The man had to be Steve Hunt, CEO of Cybex Security Systems – Anna had checked his LinkedIn profile. Even in the photos online, he exuded a natural magnetism that seemed to fill the space around him.

  Anna looked around for Eva Talanova, Cybex’s PR director, who had initiated the contact with Trinity. She didn’t seem to have arrived yet. Anna glanced at her watch; it was getting closer to three, and she’d thought she was running behind. Anna had checked out Eva on LinkedIn, too. Originally from close to Moscow, she’d been an Olympian with the Unified team at the Barcelona Olympics, and now she headed a PR department that – judging by the size of the bursary they were about to announce – had a staggering budget. She was obviously one of those women who was a high achiever, and right now this room needed every one of them.

  ‘Anna, how lovely to see you.’

  Isolde interrupted Anna’s thoughts. Parting from the group she was talking to, Isolde smiled broadly. She was much more attractive in real life than she appeared in press photos: tall, although a little too thin somehow, her dark hair cut in a stylish bob. Anna had met her several times, their paths crossing in both diplomatic and educational capacities. Recognising the relief in Isolde’s eyes at seeing someone she could talk to at last, Anna grinned and leaned forward to air-kiss her cheek. Isolde was a career diplomat’s wife, but being thrown into a reception with a group of ageing male scientists, Anna knew, would be hard work for anyone. They were their own breed, like an old boys’ club. Anna could see now why the girl with the pink hair – Brioni – had rolled her eyes.

  ‘Oh, Anna, I’m so pleased you were able to come. When Dr O’Mahony had to cancel, I thought we’d have to have one of her male colleagues, which didn’t seem to make sense at all.’ The relief in Isolde’s voice was almost tangible as she continued in little more than a whisper. ‘We did explain to Cybex that in the middle of July half the academic population was on holiday, but they insisted. They’ve some new product coming on stream apparently, and this announcement is good timing for them.’

  ‘I was delighted to be invited, Isolde. I know I’m not a scientist, but we need more women in all the “non-traditional” disciplines. I’m sorry more couldn’t come from the Trinity staff, but everyone’s away.’ Anna smiled. ‘Personally, I’d grab any excuse to come to London for a few days, even in this heat.’

  She wasn’t about to tell Isolde that the timing of this trip, coinciding with Rob’s visit to London, couldn’t have been better. He couldn’t take time out to get to Dublin, and her turning up randomly in London and bumping into him could have looked a bit strange. This reception gave her a reason to be here, and she’d jumped at it.

  ‘I know, it’s just so hot, isn’t it? And now Cybex have pushed the start time back – something to do with a journalist who couldn’t get here before three. I just hope we can still finish at the same time or we’ll all melt.’

  Anna smiled. ‘My speech is very short, don’t worry.’ Turning, she glanced across the room. ‘That’s Steve Hunt?’

  Isolde put her glass down on a marble side table, glancing over to her husband and Steve, who were laughing again about something. She nodded in their direction.

  ‘I’ve only just met him. His PR Director has been here a lot, talking about the scholarship, apparently. Really, an award announcement can be organised by email. I don’t know what they’ve been discussing so intently.’ Isolde frowned. ‘Cybex seem very keen to recruit more women, which is fantastic – this scholarship will really open doors. But there do seem to have been a lot of meetings. I shouldn’t say it, but Eva Talanova –’ Isolde lowered her voice and paused, looking around to see if the PR Director had arrived – ‘looks like a character out of James Bond. I’m sure there’s something going on, but honestly the BBC get told things before me. I wondered if it had something to do with her being Russian?’

  The way Isolde inflected the end of the sentence implied she was hoping Anna might be able to supply an answer, but Anna kept her face impassive. Much as she liked Isolde Mulcahy, there was much Anna couldn’t discuss with her, despite – and because of – her brother-in-law’s current position as US ambassador to Moscow. But she could see Isolde was worried. She smiled understandingly.

  ‘Charles doesn’t talk about anything political. He might as well be on the moon to be honest, rather than in Moscow.’ Anna paused, subtly changing the direction of the conversation. ‘Hope, my niece, is visiting him at the moment, but it’s even hotter there than here. Whenever I speak to her, that’s all she can talk about – she says she’ll never complain about the weather in Dublin again.’

  Isolde smiled. ‘Is she settled there now, at school in Dublin?’ She paused. ‘Oh, excuse me for one second.’

  Isolde slipped across the room to speak to one of her staff, who had appeared at the main door, looking confused. Anna sipped her water, already warm, glancing discreetly around the room. Despite her enthusiasm about coming to London, this was going to be a long afternoon.

  Across the room, her back to Anna, the girl with the pink hair, Brioni, was topping up glasses from a bottle of champagne. She glanced up as if she felt Anna looking at her, and smiled. Anna sent her a quick grin. She was singularly the most interesting person in the room. Anyone who got into Empress College had to be super-bright … and then to go off travelling? There was a story there, and Anna’s innate curiosity was getting the better of her. Anna watched her for a moment, as she moved to another group, topping up glasses. A moment later Brioni turned and seemed to freeze, as if she’d caught something or someone out of the corner of her eye. Even from the other side of the room, Anna could see her pale. Someone touched her arm, wanting more champagne. It took her a moment to register and then, turning to top up his glass, she hurriedly excused herself and headed out of the room.

  Frowning, Anna watched her leave, weighing up whether to follow her to see if she was all right.

  Isolde interrupted her thoughts. ‘Sorry, nobody told the kitchen we’d delayed the start time. So, tell me about Hope. I was so impressed with her when we met in Dublin.’

  Quickly glancing towards the door to see if Brioni had reappeared, Anna smiled appreciatively. Isolde had gone out of her way to chat to Hope at a particularly long reception at the American embassy in Dublin.

  ‘She adores Ireland. After everything that happened in Paris, her school is really stable. And safe, thank God.’ Anna paused; it was hard to talk about it even now, the sound of gunfire ever present at the edges of her memory. ‘Really, she’s doing very well. She’s heading to New York to see my mother in a couple of weeks. I’m meeting her there, I managed to get tickets for Hamilton.’

  ‘She’ll love that, it’s just fantastic.’ Before she could continue, Isolde caught a signal from her husband from across the room. ‘Oh, we’re being summoned – let me introduce you properly.’

  Chapter 6

  Sitting in the fully air-conditioned conference room in the CIA office in New York, Rob Power could see how hot everyone was in New Scotland Yard. The video screen on the wall in front of him gave him a full view of their briefing room.

  He checked his phone. It was just 2.30 British Time. Anna should have arrived at the Irish embassy by now. She’d texted from the airport to say she was g
rabbing a cab to her hotel and would head straight out to Belgravia in time for the reception. Rob felt a smile curling across his face. It was so long since he’d seen her that he was having trouble concentrating on the video link. But he needed to get his shit together – he was up next.

  On the screen at the top of the room, a sergeant from the National Crime Agency Cyber Crime Unit switched a red laser pointer on to an aerial map of the city. In capital letters at the top of the map were the words Operation Troy. The sergeant had the sleeves of his white uniform shirt rolled up, a sheen of sweat across his forehead. Beside him, a tall, distinguished-looking man dressed in chinos and a navy blazer waited for the slides to change to a map. Detective Chief Inspector Mike Wesley. He’d been in charge of a murder enquiry that the Irish police had been co-ordinating with, when Anna had tumbled into the middle of it. Her action in London’s St Pancras station had brought all the strands together. Rob would have found Anna’s ability to get caught up in middle of things amusing, if it wasn’t such a continual worry. There were times when he really didn’t know how she managed it. Some people went through their lives without so much as a car accident, but Anna – it was like she attracted danger.

  Interrupting his thoughts, Wesley began to speak. The sound was good on the video link. Rob could hear him as clearly as if they were in the same room.

  ‘All the “incidents” to date have focused on what could be called “establishment” targets, well-known locations that attract tourists as well as local visitors. They appear to be designed to spread fear and stretch emergency resources.’ Mike Wesley paused, his face grim as he turned to the packed room. ‘Each incident is being magnified by social media. Photoshopped images are being shared across multiple platforms using topical hashtags – we believe in an attempt to fuel mass hysteria. We had three people injured, one seriously, in a stampede outside Covent Garden Opera House two weeks ago. References to the Manchester bombing circulated and caused mass panic.’