Catherine said, “And that’s your mission. Should you decide to accept it.”
“Leg it to Cheapside, locate Taverner, extricate her from . . . malefactors, and get her to Chelsea,” said Louisa.
“That’s right.”
“Except she didn’t say ‘malefactors,’” Lech suggested.
“No,” said Catherine. “She didn’t say ‘malefactors.’”
“And what’s in it for us?” asked Louisa.
“I’m tempted to suggest Taverner’s undying gratitude. But I think we all know the concept’s alien to her.”
“What’s Lamb say?”
“He said, ‘This is going to be good.’”
Louisa was at her desk; Lech by the window. Catherine had closed the door behind her, and stood regarding the pair of them. She didn’t appear to be enjoying the moment, probably because she knew what their response would be.
“So what are we waiting for?”
She said, “I should remind you that it’s only a few days since your last adventure. And,” looking pointedly at Lech, “you’re still walking like somebody stole your stretcher.”
“A bit stiff, that’s all. Besides, that was Ho’s fault. And he’s not joining us, is he?”
“No,” said Catherine. “Lamb had something else in mind for Roddy.”
Of all the reasons Diana had for wanting to run Sparrow’s head up a pole, here was number one: that she’d been forced to enlist the slow horses for aid and succour. The only upside she could see was they’d be bound to fuck things up, and the way things stood, even that wasn’t actually an upside.
She was on the roof. On the street below, a black SUV—a Service car—was illegally parked outside Rashford’s door, its team, bar the driver, now in the building. Theoretically this should have been a source of gratification—her boys and girls on the hub could track a warm body through London’s streets as easily as if she had a red balloon tied to her sleeve—but just once, she’d have found ineptitude welcome. Because the Dogs were here to take her back to the Park, and from that moment on she’d be officially suspended, a career limbo from which few emerged intact. And if she were relying on Slough House for rescue she’d be better off with an actual red balloon, one she could float away on.
Meanwhile, she was still carrying her secret mobile, and the last thing she needed to be found in possession of was a link to Peter Judd. Stepping back from the edge, she was removing the sim card when the mosquito buzz that had been nagging away in the background penetrated her consciousness.
Looking up, she saw the drone hovering twenty yards overhead.
This doesn’t get covered in the style mags, but good-hair days bring their own problems. Running a comb through his locks, Roddy offered his reflection a steely glance, then mussed himself up again and activated the engaging, puppyish grin. Then tried a steely/tousled combo, which was a bit of a mixed message frankly, before opting for the side-parting/puppyish look.
Check. It. Out.
Roddy Ho is in the house.
He’d decided, after some magnificent brooding on the matter, to nix the phone call and go for Zoom. Play to your strengths, dude—he’d be an idiot not to put the goodies on the counter. Face it, he’d dazzled her during the audition; she’d seen the role, not the man, and figured him for some charismatic crumbly. Her bolshiness had been down to understandable disappointment. Only fair to let her see what lay beneath the Hobi-Wan robes. And let’s not forget what you’re playing for: Any woman desperate enough to dress up as a cartoon character is looking to get laid.
Here we go.
“Babes, I can’t be the only one who felt a little friction the other night—and friction’s what it’s about, ya feel me? I push a little, you push back . . .”
（Miming this, so she got the picture.）
“Am I right or am I right? I mean, I could definitely be into you.”
This being the chief objective, when you got down to it.
But his rehearsal was interrupted by noises on the staircase.
He waited until they’d gone—Louisa and Lech; off skiving—and decided: okay. No time like the now. It was after four so those wasters wouldn’t be back, and he was unlikely to be interrupted. So: Zoom invite—“Important Follow-Up”—twenty minutes from now—despatched. Roddy leaned back and cracked his knuckles. Then thought: Hang on—was it Leia Six or Leia Seven who’d been the bolshy one? Because he’d just sent the invite to Leia Six, and— “Roddy?”