At, for instance, the traffic warden crossing the road, already snapping the SUV on her phone.
Lech said, “You know how, sometimes, there’s something you need to do, and then someone else comes along and does it for you?”
“What are you on about? Sir?”
“Doesn’t matter,” said Lech.
“Is this your car?” asked the approaching warden.
The driver turned.
Lech moved away, towards Rashford’s open door, so he was the only one watching when Taverner came out.
A moment after Diana had spoken Louisa was flat against the wall, her right arm halfway up her back, and while the element of surprise had certainly made an appearance, it hadn’t done so in the way she’d expected. Which, come to think of it— But Louisa didn’t have time to think of it; she was busy being pinioned and shouted at.
“Are you armed?”
“Does she have a gun?”
“Check her shoes.”
My shoes? . . .
She was still puzzling over that when Diana hooked a foot round Nicola Kelly’s ankle and pushed her down the stairs.
And here was the element of surprise again. This time Louisa embraced it, throwing herself backward and dislodging one of the pair restraining her, who promptly tripped over the tumbling Kelly, and pushing the other back against the opposite wall, where they both teetered for a moment before they too succumbed to gravity, and joined the sprawl at the foot of the staircase. A mêlée which didn’t seem to inconvenience Diana, who picked her way past it untroubled, bending to retrieve sundry articles on her way.
When she stepped out onto Cheapside, in full view of Lech, she was carrying her bag, and also Kelly’s gun.
All she needed was a pair of shades, as Lech put it afterwards, and she’d be Bonnie Parker.
Diana emerged into sunshine feeling like Clyde Barrow. A slow horse—the one who’d been through the grinder—was waiting on the pavement, his jaw slack.
“Your colleague needs assistance,” she told him. When he didn’t move, she said, “Now,” and he made to speak, changed his mind, and hurried into Rashford’s, where he’d discover the impromptu game of Twister at the foot of the stairs.
The SUV was still double-yellow parked, an infraction being investigated by one of London’s traffic enforcers, a paramilitary-uniformed Nigerian woman. She had her phone out, taking details, but froze like Elsa at the sight of a well-dressed middle-aged woman accessorised with hat and gun.
Diana, coming within three inches of her, said quietly, “Check it against your don’t-even-think-about-it list, bury the paperwork, and find somewhere else to monitor. Clear?”
The woman nodded.
“Excellent.” She waited another beat, and the warden scurried away.
And now the remaining Dog. It was presumably the gun, she thought—it couldn’t be the tote bag, classy as it was—that was reducing everyone to marble. Instead of approaching him, she crooked a finger. He came to her with the air of one summoned by dread. She spoke.
“Your boss is in a heap at the bottom of the stairs, this Candlestub bullshit will be history by bedtime, and I’m First fucking Desk. You have two seconds to decide where your loyalties lie, and by loyalties I mean career prospects.”
“Ma’am,” he said.
“Good choice. Here.” She handed him Kelly’s gun. “Now, door.”
He put the gun in his pocket and opened the back door for her.
“Quick as you like.”
The others were piling out of Rashford’s as the SUV took off down Cheapside, a motley looking bunch, dim and ragged, as if a trip to see the wizard hadn’t paid off the way it ought. But Diana didn’t look back. She was too busy instructing her driver.
“This is private,” Roddy whispered furiously.
“It’s not as private as all that,” Ashley pointed out. “I’m here, for a start.”
He’d dialled into his Zoom call because obviously—obviously—as soon as he’d done that she’d make herself scarce: go make a cup of tea or whatever. But she’d just pushed her chair back and settled in to watch: cramping his style. Which was a lot of style to cramp, but she was putting effort into it.
“Is there someone with you?” Leia Six asked.
Which was another problem: he’d got his Leias mixed up. Six was definitely not the Leia he’d experienced the meet-cute tension with.
“No,” he told her.
“Yes,” said Ashley, leaning into shot. “Hi. Are you Roddy’s girlfriend?”