She’s always wanted to visit Brittany, see if it’s really like Cornwall, but not in these circumstances.
‘I’m so pleased you’re better, Kate,’ he says, ignoring her question as if she’s a truculent teenager. ‘Now I need your help.’
‘My help?’ What does he mean? It’s a while before he speaks.
‘I think he’s here,’ he says, quietly.
‘Who?’ But she knows already.
‘Gil – the man from Thailand.’
She should be pleased that he’s talking about his double again, sharing his anxieties. It’s how she always wanted it to be between them – no secrets. But she’s not. She’s scared. She can’t even be sure who she’s talking to.
‘How do you know?’ she asks.
‘His face was picked up on the Underground earlier this morning. I need to know where he turns up next, where he’s heading.’ He pauses. ‘He’s here to destroy me, Kate. All that I’ve achieved. My work, my new life with you. We both might be in danger.’
‘And I’m the one to help?’ she asks, thinking back to the assessment she’s just completed, her ability or otherwise to identify someone. Was it Gil that she just spotted on the Underground? She’s sure it was Rob.
‘There’s no one better,’ he says. ‘I can’t wait for you to be with me in Brittany.’
He hangs up. She stands there holding the receiver for a few seconds before replacing it. She tries to focus on Rob, the man who came to her hospital bedside and talked about art, helped her to get better, helped her to become the person she has always dreamt of being.
She walks back to join Ajay, who is still by the desk. The room’s spinning and she wonders if she’s going to throw up again.
‘Are you OK?’ he asks, looking at her with concern.
‘I need a glass of water.’ She goes over to the sink to steady herself. ‘Are you coming to Brittany too?’ she asks, still trying to process what Rob’s just told her.
‘I’ve got more appointments this morning,’ he says. ‘And I must lock up here. Your driver’s waiting downstairs.’
‘Can you take this off?’ she asks, touching the neckband.
Ajay casts his eyes downwards, as if in shame. ‘Rob will remove it when you reach the house,’ he says.
‘Why not now?’ she asks, increasingly alarmed.
‘He wants to download the data himself,’ he says. ‘It’s early days, still in beta testing.’
He looks up at her, knowing that she doesn’t believe him.
She shakes her head slowly. The device suddenly feels even tighter. Is it a tag of some sort? Like offenders wear under curfew? A tracking device?
‘How was Rob?’ Ajay asks, determinedly changing the subject.
‘OK,’ she says, one hand still on the neckband.
‘He sounded himself, though?’ Ajay looks up at her, waiting for her answer.
‘I think so.’
In truth, she no longer knows.
‘I’ve got some exercises for you to do in France,’ he adds, passing her a piece of paper. His back is towards the door and the camera. She looks at him for a second and then she glances at what he’s written. One word, underlined.
Run.
84
Jake
Jake stands at the train doors, waiting for them to open. Bex is behind him, surrounded by commuters. It’s a long time since he’s been on an early train to London. And he remembers now why he gave up commuting. The train was delayed and overcrowded. They were lucky to get a seat.
‘I need a coffee,’ Bex says as they step onto the platform at Paddington.
‘Me too,’ Jake says.
They eventually got back to Bex’s house at 3 a.m., sitting in the cab of an RAC recovery vehicle. After snatching a couple of hours’ sleep, they dropped Stretch off with a neighbour and caught the first train of the day. Jake wanted to leave the Tesla on the motorway hard shoulder and walk home – it would have only taken a couple of hours – but Bex felt more responsibility for the vehicle, despite it refusing to move another inch. There was also Stretch to think about.
Jake is sure Rob remotely disabled the car, which worries him, makes it even more important that they get to London as soon as possible, check that Kate’s OK.
They grab a coffee on the station concourse and take the Underground to Old Street. Jake hasn’t been in London for a while – he hasn’t been able to afford it – and the sheer volume of commuters on the Tube makes him yearn for the wide-open spaces of Wiltshire. The only wildlife on offer is a rat that he sees scuttling beneath the blackened Tube tracks at King’s Cross.
It’s a five-minute walk from Old Street to Nile Street, which seems to be one big building site. Almost every property is being restored, shrouded in scaffolding and plastic sheeting. Workmen in hard hats and high-vis jackets are everywhere, stopping pedestrians as diggers reverse and lorries arrive. The postcode Jake took down from the Tesla’s satnav is for the whole of the street, but Bex thinks she knows where Rob lives.
‘Kate mentioned once it was in a renovated factory of some sort,’ she says as they walk down the narrow road, looking up at the tall anonymous buildings on either side. Jake can hear the anxiety in her voice. They are both nervous, worried for Kate.
‘Has she been here before?’ he asks, trying not to pry.
‘No.’ Bex raises her eyebrows. ‘I told her to be careful not to live separate lives, but she loves Cornwall and he has to be in London and France for his work.’
They walk back up the street, Bex trying to figure out which building might have once been a factory. Jake is tempted to shout out Kate’s name, see if someone opens a window. Anything to relieve the stress. He barely slept on Bex’s sofa, counting the minutes until they could take the first train.
‘I think this might be it,’ she says, standing in front of a solid corner building with old brickwork and metal period windows.
Jake walks up to the entrance and looks at the panel of buttons. None of them have anything so helpful as a name.
‘Penthouse?’ he says, standing back to gaze up at the high building. A row of small palm trees is visible on the roof. Properties here must be worth millions.
‘How did you guess?’ Bex says.
‘Do you think it makes him happy?’ Jake asks. ‘Having so much money?’
‘You’d always want more,’ Bex says.
‘Let’s walk around the back first,’ Jake says. ‘Maybe there’s a tradesman’s entrance.’
They set off down Shepherdess Walk, a narrow street that runs down one side of the building. Jake glances up at the roof again. Kate would want a garden if she lived in London, just like she kept an allotment when they were on the boat. Is she up there now? He’s convinced she wouldn’t have rung him last night if there hadn’t been a serious problem.
‘Can’t get much sunlight if you’re in a ground-floor flat,’ Bex says as they approach the back of the building on Underwood Row, also narrow. ‘What’s the time?’
But before Jake can answer, his phone rings. It’s DI Hart.
‘Are you with Kate?’ he asks, sounding concerned. He seemed so relaxed last night.